A few months ago, I reached the point where life in Hong Kong lost its newness. It was only natural. The scents and colors that were so palpably different when we arrived have become part of the daily landscape. The British influence, the wacky architecture, the Hong Kong bureaucracy, the culture, and the food all feel normal or comfortably familiar now. It is as if my eyes changed. I am not looking for ways to contrast, interpret, and process. I am not thinking about things from an outsider’s perspective and the obvious result is a difficulty coming up with suitable blog topics.
I never wanted my personal life or my experience as a parent to be central to the ‘3 Years’ blog. I started it as a way to think about this huge change in our lives and to process it myself, maybe even as a document for the future. But now that I have sunk in here, have a routine and friends and a sense of belonging, those initial moments of pure wonder are rare.
Boarding a ferry this morning with Frances to go to Peng Chau, a fishing village 15 minutes from DB where I was hoping to get something framed, I had a flash of mindfulness about this place and time. Surrounded by the faces of Southeast Asians, I was aware that it is a lucky thing to be comfortable in a place that was once foreign, to know the rhythm and the ways of a place that seemed exotic at one time. And watching Frances weave among the waiting passengers, making conversation with strangers underscored that; by extension, this child will grow up with the sights and smells of Southeast Asia in her consciousness.
I realized that I had forgotten that there are still moments of wonder and much to discover and I need to go farther to seek them out. The frame store was closed when we got there. The number on the sign was disconnected. I walked around the lanes of Peng Chau, all accessible only by bike, and tried to discourage Frances from petting stray cats and pulling the incense out of offering cans that sit outside most doors despite how cute it was that she tilted her head to the side and sang ‘Happy Birthday’ to one of them.
When I wound back around to the frame shop, its shutters were still closed. A woman walked up to me and said I should just knock on the gate; she knew the owner and said she’d be home. Eventually, a woman in slippers answered and let me in, apologized and went into the back to change clothes. She called her husband, who was an artist with a long ponytail, the international sign of anti-establishment solidarity apparently. He liked my drawing and as we decided on the frame and came up with a price, we carried out a conversation in pigeon English that challenged me to refine and simplify my artist statement. Their little dog had a ponytail holder keeping the hair out of its eyes and Frances kept pointing at it and then at my ponytail and exclaiming, ‘SAME!’
A dear friend just returned to New York after a stint in DC and I told her I was envious of her ability to feel grateful for New York again, to notice all its amazing details through refreshed eyes. Because, after a while, you walk the same path every day. Routine sets in, the details of everyday life mute your surroundings and life takes hold.
There is so much of Hong Kong I don’t know at all. There are swaths of Kowloon and the New Territories I know nothing of. People here go camping (although the timing of my little reawakening is not ideal with another baby coming in 7 weeks…). We have never even been to the bird market or the walled city. The other day I heard about a nunnery in Diamond Hill that was recently reconstructed in authentic Tang dynasty style and is supposed to be amazing. These are places we will go and I will report back.
The challenge lies in keeping a fresh perspective and finding a new voice with which to document this place because one day we will look back and it will all feel very different again. It will no longer be familiar. This time will feel like a dream and I will want these words to take me back there.
Franner on the ferry to Peng Chau
what a lovely dream.