let lemons be angry

Hongkong as I knew it before was a schizophrenic friend: chaotic pavements, shopping bags around wrists, glassy luxury malls, rushing into woolen crowds, a concrete cluster of noise.

Hongkong as I saw it over the weekend was a little boy: mountains and the unending bay, waking up to play on a beanbag, quiet waits for the shuttle bus at night, spontaneous bites at odd times, half-mouthfuls of cantonese and getting lost, tiny hands clasping mine.

Sometimes a country eludes you if you search too hard to find it. Tourist guides, planned days, the best food, the best places to go--they are tricks, distractions from the real country sifting just below the surface, the home behind the flag.