let lemons be angry

My hongkong trip. See that white smudge in the middle of the photo? I mentioned there was a speck on my lens, and this fine-looking gentleman proceeded to reach out a little finger and try to wipe it away. Apart from being flattered by this boy's attention ("Oh man, when are they gonna come out?" "Are the che-ches joining us for lunch?"), the rest of my short trip was the usual insane list of strike-offs and walking till our legs throbbed at night.

I didn't take many photos because I had less tourist fascination. And my holga back fell out and all the film with it, so I lost my stereotypical night scene long exposures. After two days of walking I felt meaningless, as I usually do on hongkong trips. It's the people I stayed with that made it all sweet, and the spirit of adventure that kept us walking. "Sasa! Lane Crawford! Big Sasa! Big Watsons! Look at your map!"

I was born there, in a neon light jungle. It's hard to imagine that, when I still know so little about it. The hongkong I do remember is a pattern of habits, not places. Like buying distilled water from the Mannings on this street, and having my dad pick up our laundry and oyster omelette from that street. And it's habits I miss, not places. In fact, going back to a place and not going through its habits makes me feel like a stranger all over again.

There are always things to learn, like finding a seat in an authentic dimsum restaurant. You have to swim through the mildly curious eyes and find vacancies at any round table. Sit with retirees reading newspapers, or hiphop boys looking like they want to pick a fight. Turn the teapot covers upside-down so the old dishes will be cleared away. Wash all the utensils in a cup of hot tea. Peek into cannisters of dimsum that dimsum aunties trolley around, and try to finish the double portions.

And now that I know this, I have to go to the same place and do the same thing the next time I visit. A new habit.