Water world

My world outside is a shade of very light grey. It's been raining since 4 or 5 am and everything is shrouded in a misty veil. Maybe its a typhoon level 1 warning outside. When it jumps to level 8, everyone takes their potted plants off the balconies and secures all the windows. Me? I just have to stay in from work.

Now even on the weekends I wake up at 6.30am, sharp. I'm so used to it that my body fails to heed the call of sleep deprivation and chooses instead to listen to its crazy internal alarm clock. Something tells me that it's time to start an eye-cream investment fund.

I like it when it rains. I've always liked the rain. It's better than the hot and humid days I have to face in conservative and suffocating office wear. Being Malaysian, I'm configured to deal with 30 degrees weather, however nothing prepared my sensitive Malaysian skin for the humidity. The huge bodies of water surrounding Hong Kong gives the entire island a sauna effect. I can't walk more than 20 minutes to Lan Kwai Fong without my sweat glands starting to work on overdrive, and by the time I arrive all I want to do is jump into a cold shower.

People in Hong Kong tend to ask me strange questions about my background. The almost immediate response to "I'm from Malaysia" is: "But, you look Chinese. I thought you were Chinese"... to which I reel back in disbelief. The better ones even go as far as to say, "But then I can tell you don't look that much Chinese, are you Muslim?". I have to hold the laughter in. If I'm in the right mood I tell them that I'm not really the complete ethnic Chinese I claim to be and that I'm part Malay and Indian and I speak Indonesian. It's almost true. My great grandmother was Thai.

Last week I hopped onto a ferry to cross the great divide that separates Hong Kong island from the heartlands of Kowloon. I prefer to say it in Cantonese - Gao Loong, nine dragons. Gives it that majestic air, which is just about right as it covers a such a great expense of land making tiny little elitist Hong Kong Island appear almost insignificant. Once you arrive at Tsim Sha Tsui, the southern point of Kowloon - Hong Kong has turned upside down and everything has rough edges. Even better when you're caught in the middle of the 1st of July holiday - the handover to China day. Scary, yet thrilling. As I meandered my way through thick crowds, the thought of "Hong Kong feet" crossed my mind more than once. I completely understand how the term got coined now.

The street markets in Mongkok was where I was heading for. I've been told of the legendary Ladies Street, and I just had to see it for myself. I came home with 2 new tops and a new pair of shoes. The street markets aren't so different from Petaling Street, back home. It feels good to be right at home over there.

I'd blog more about the clubbing scene in Hong Kong. But I'll save it for another post. Karaoeke completely overwhelms me. The social stakes are high.

The sun rises in the east

and burns me right in my skin.

But it doesn't stop me from pulling on my sandals and walking the town.

Hong Kong fashion is in a class of its own. Neither classy nor boring, neither funky nor futuristic. It's eclectic and messy, chic and tacky. Several times, when I try to walk away from the brand names and the boutiques - I find myself in retro Japanese-like shops where excitable shop girls press several shapeless body sacks on me. I eventually gave in and bought a baggy, cyan t-shirt. The sales-girl recommended a yellow bra to go with it. I kindly pushed away her suggestions.

Waking up on a swelteringly hot Sunday, I walked down miles of narrow staircases towards the Cathedral, trying to pretend I was in Spain or Greece. But then a grilled iron gate pulls back and someone shouts out in Cantonese. And I'm back in Hong Kong.

On Sundays though, central Hong Kong turns upside down. As I walked towards the HSBC building, a sea stood before me.

HSBC building by weekday
Pinoy town by weekend

In Singapore, we have Orchard Road MRT. In Hong Kong, it's the HSBC void deck.


Trying to navigate your way through a field of Phillipino maids is extremely trying. They didn't just swarm the HSBC building, but all the surrounding roads as well. When I started following them, they led me to several hidden street markets, crouching between the sky scrapers - a gem of a find.

Hong Kong by day gets a little tiring. So I stopped at a Starbucks to catch up with my sanity.
I had Freakonomics to read, but I couldn't help staring mindlessly at the messy world outside. A Chinese identity screaming out between the Western icons that Hong Kong clearly adores. Maybe it felt a little too close for comfort. My thoughts bounced towards my starbucks coffee and my handbag decorated with Chinese coins.


I turned back to my frappucino and caught the looks the Hong Kongers were giving my clearly English book. The girl sitting across me pushed her nose deeper into her Chinese comic. It was alienating.

I looked across the road at the health shop I had walked into the day before. A British guy called Steve had greeted me with "Lei hou mah? (How are you?) Ngor ge chong man ma hai gum ho, lei oy sek mi yeh? (My cantonese isn't very good, what would you like to eat?)", I stared at him for awhile before saying, "Erm, I speak English. Only". I later admitted I was Malaysian and spoke Malay as well. Just like 0.07% of the population here.

Another night has come and it feels like Time Square, New York. Hong Kong style. I think I'll blog another day.

By day... and by night

I usually start my day at this building, right in the heart of the central business district. I don't usually get to enjoy the blue skies outside though.

It's usually by night that I get to see the city... and know it and feel it.

The streets of Lan Kwai Fong and Soho are a yuppies' paradise. Taxis and expats. Vodka and redbull.

And there's no better place to watch the World Cup

They say there's no culture or art in Hong Kong. I'm searching desperately for it.

Star struck

Walking out of Armani bar tonight, we bumped into Keira Knightly. Well, not really. The guys thought it would have been swell to physically bump into her but in all reality we sauntered past with hardly a glance until one bright spark said "Guys, isn't that Keira Knightly?"

Damn!

Celebrities shouldn't blend in with the crowd, but totally in your face. Just like every brand name in Hong Kong. Branding is definitely not subtle over here. Why fly to Milan for Ferragamo and Bvlgari? Hong Kong is screaming out their names! A little too loud and forcefully.

Little girl lost...

Red Riding Hood was precocious. Extremely. I always had a secret sly wish that the wolf would gobble her up in the middle of the deep dark forest. Then he'd have grandma for seconds. Oh, that would have made for a wonderful bedtime story.

But it's hard being in Miss Riding Hood's shoes now. A naive Malaysian girl, lost in the thick of the concrete jungle that is Hong Kong Island. You can't see the city for the skyscrapers. Although between you and me, if you sleep with the curtains drawn, facing the lightshow that is the city's night skyline, you don't feel so alone. But when I wake in the morning, there's a nagging feeling that a red dragon is waiting somewhere along the path between here and grandma's house.

Getting off the plane at Hong Kong airport was clearly more of a culture shock than previous times when my parents dropped me off in Singapore for junior college and London for university. I made my way gingerly amongst Chinese littered signs and the onward moving sea of yellow people. Homogeneity makes me uneasy. Especially when I blend right in. Only on the outside.

Inside me, forgotten Cantonese words were bubbling and bursting before they could reach the surface.

"Would you please write the name of the hotel in Cantonese for me? I'm afraid the taxi driver won't understand me"

Visitor information is always the first stop you make at any new country. Years of travelling around Europe and the US has taught me well. But Asia is a different ball game, and I should be one leg up but my lack of Chinese-ness is a well known handicap.

People here speak fast, move fast, drive fast and eat fast. Char siew fun or BBQ pork with rice is a staple diet. I'm not complaining but I think my health freak mother would. About me, that is. A group of us managed to snag a table at Yong Kee for the famous roast goose. If you close your eyes, it tastes just like duck. Where's all the famous Hong Kong food people keep talking about? And celebrities? They're a dime a dozen. If only I'd spent more of my time watching Hong Kong movies so I could bump into a celebrity in a bar and be able to bore my grandchildren to tears about the time I spilt my drink on Jay Chou or Lau Tuck Wah.

But no. I sip on my cranberry juice and watch the expats run their tabs and drink in the exotic air. The Chinese frenzy is everywhere. No thanks to China's sudden eagerness to join in on the rest of the world's private party. If China's ok, are we going to let Iran and North Korea gate crash?

The roads in Hong Kong are crazy. It's as if it was built on the spine of a dragon. The zig zagged undulating paths and crooked alleys and steps and escalators that run higgedly piggedly up and down Soho are mind boggling and easy to lose yourself in. Red taxi cabs swarm the streets and will run you down for a pick up. They nearly did as I was navigating my way through the crowds at Causeway Bay. Who ever told me that shopping in Hong Kong was great... probably wouldn't bat an eyelid at forking out thousands of HK dollars on a dress.

Not me. I entertain myself by telling the Hongkongers that it's alright to speak Cantonese to me, while I mutter back responses in broken Cantonese. It's much better than listening to them struggle with the Queen's English.

The Bank of China is glistening from where I'm typing. A stark reminder that I have set foot on dragon land... and it'd be a great dishonour to leave the island without letting my Chinese roots grow