J.Panicker

This essay had me hotfooting it to the library to get my hands on an Eileen Chang short story collection! Returning to a writer I once loved feels like reconnecting with a lovely friend I hadn’t met in ages, taking in the sweetness of her words, still beguiled by her storytelling.

I can’t think of Chang without thinking of Hong Kong and of Ang Lee’s adaptation of her Lust, Caution, with the luminous Tang Wei and Tony Leung. I have always felt moved by Hong Kong. I remember the 2019 Hong Kong protests, unfolding at the same time, the local government here passed POFMA. I remember how little resistance there seemed to be at home, just a single file of independent journalists seeking clarity from government officials, compared to what was unfolding in Hong Kong. It was extremely heartbreaking to watch the tragedy of the Wang Fuk Court fire last year.

I remember my first visit to Hong Kong also felt like meeting an old friend from another time. It felt like a kind of vintage Singapore. A cityscape on steroids: guerrilla architecture everywhere, a mishmash of old and new, buildings pressing into sidewalks (or the other way around), streets that feel almost Escher-esque. So many curious shops, that constant hum of movement, a city in transit, or maybe a city of transience.

There was something freeing about being there. The feral edges of it.

My favourite memories of Hong Kong:

The hills and hikes, the mist, the teahouses. Big Buddha in the mist. Vintage letterboxes. The macaroni soup. The condensed milk bun. The pineapple bun. The char siew bun. Iced milk tea. A tipsy, giggly night taking in 90s classic pop songs at Petticoat Lane, which has since closed. Catching a Teresa Teng refrain on the radio in a taxi. That afternoon at Rajasthan Rifles at the Peak, where a friend and I shared a chicken tikka club sandwich and a heap of wedges, and sat chatting, reading and writing for hours. The handsome Moroccan bartender, Moe, offered us shots of Old Monk rum, which we “Mr Beaned” into our cups of chai because we were so full. The small ferry ride to Tsim Sha Tsui, where we wandered into crystal shops and flea markets, and a queer-coded café serving drinks and cakes.

I miss you very much, Hong Kong…