Made in Hong Kong

I haven’t blogged for the past few days. I’ve been too focused on a topic that I later on realized has not really matured enough for me to write about and comfortably air to the blogging public. That one underwent more revisions than all Philippine laws combined before I decided to let it simmer for a while.

A friend suggested that I blog about Hong Kong instead. My immediate reaction was “should I blog about how I hate it?”

Fine, hate is such a strong word unless I direct it to GMA, George Bush, and all the other persons and topics that make my caffeine-nicotine combo addiction rise in direct proportion to my work.

Nine years and I haven’t really defined how I feel about this place.

Hong Kong. This small former British colony whose name means “fragrant harbor”. Looking at and smelling its harbors now makes me think that history does creates ironies.

For many people, Hong Kong is Giordano, Bossini, U2, and Baleno. It is Gucci, Armani, DKNY, YSL, LV and the whole alphabet soup. It is Li Ka Shing, Stanley Ho, the Kuoks and other filthy rich names. It is Jackie Chan, Aaron Kwok, Andy Lau, Tony Leung and recently, Edison Chen (sorry, can’t post his winning photos).

It is Disneyland, Ocean Park, Victoria Peak, Ngong Ping, Giant Buddha, Lan Kwai Fong and Night Market. It is the MTR, the Star Ferry, high-rises, Chek Lap Kok, double-decker buses, trams, and the IFC 2 that is considered to be one of the tallest in the world but for me just looks like a giant … sandworm from Dune. (see pic)

Maybe Hong Kong are all of these. Some of these I’ve seen, many I’ve only read about.

But the Hong Kong I’ve really known are the migrant workers I’ve been with for the past years. The “manangs”, “nanays” and “titas” who surprise you with free pancit, halayang ube, or a steaming cup of coffee every now and then. Those women who are more giving than any charity foundation and more courageous than a million GMAs combined.

My Hong Kong are the housemates and colleagues I’ve been with since the start. We have are own pet peeves, eccentricities and orientation but we do manage to live together quite well without scratching each other’s eyes out. Ok, so there was a hair-pulling incidence once.

My Hong Kong is my coming out. No more peeking out of the closet for relief. It’s a life I now fully embrace though still trying to understand.

Then there are the ‘beckies’ that are becoming part of my Hong Kong. They are the newfound friends I am still getting to really know and tremendously enjoy doing so.

My Hong Kong are the people I’ve met and known. My Hong Kong are the experiences – joyful and sad, painful and liberating – I’ve had. The yam chaa in the mornings and evening hot pots with guests. Movies from time to time, eating out, gay nights. The gimiks we had, the rallies we organized, the blunders we committed, and the victories we won.

My Hong Kong is the life I made and now living.

So no, I do not really hate Hong Kong. Maybe just its freakin’ weather.