When I visited Hong Kong in my youth, I was taken to see the mountains, but they did not seem as majestic as the Five Great Mountains; the water was not as dreamlike as that of the Maldives. At that time, Disneyland had not yet been built, and while playing at Ocean Park, my mind was still on Harbour City and Times Square. Later, I immigrated to Hong Kong and settled down there. With a wealthier purse than in those days, I lost the urge for frantic shopping. After finishing my business, I would often carry a simple small bag, strolling through Kowloon and Tsim Sha Tsui, buying a magazine at a newsstand, and drinking a smooth and rich cup of Yuenyeung milk tea at a somewhat shabby but clearly time-honored tea restaurant on the street corner. I would still visit shopping malls, but I would no longer rush to bring back a pile of discounted goods to add to my burden. Wandering through the promenade of The Peninsula Hotel felt like keeping a special appointment. At other times, I would hold a book by Yi Shu and sit in Repulse Bay for an entire afternoon.
Hong Kong slowly became real in my heart. When I watched "Chungking Express," "City of Glass," and "Comrades: Almost a Love Story" again, I felt more familiarity and emotion. Shanghai is becoming newer and newer, which makes Hong Kong seem older and older. But it is this sense of age that has slowly made me truly like Hong Kong. The new and the old are often gathered in one place; to others, it may seem jarring, but upon closer reflection, it evokes many sentiments. Interestingly, while living in Hong Kong, there is no time to pay attention to her past, because she is accustomed to a fast pace of life and only looking forward. Instead, it is we, the passersby, who sincerely feel her subtle nuances everywhere. The flowers fall and the water flows red, with a myriad of idle sorrows, all falling into our hearts. Hong Kong's background is hazy, and the personalities of Hong Kong people are also hazy. Hong Kong people never waste time looking for answers, as they realize earlier than anyone else that perhaps there are no so-called answers in life.
Having afternoon tea at The Repulse Bay, sitting in a corner away from the sun, I seemed to see the figure of Fan Liuyuan played by Chow Yun-fat, as well as the many men and women in Yi Shu's writings. The air was filled with a mixture of dust and faint fragrance, giving one a sense of sinking that is hard to extricate oneself from. This afternoon was an afternoon completely disconnected from the present world; whether one is a tycoon, a celebrity, or a commoner, the only thing one cannot escape is the various old grievances and new hatreds. Who once broke into your space without a word, only to turn and leave on their own, leaving you to sigh at the various traces left behind? When the noise fades and we face ourselves, we realize the loneliness of being human. Everything goes by too fast; amidst the clinking of glasses, we can no longer keep up with the speed of memory. When the body is too late to remember a feeling, fortunately, there is still space to replace it with endless symbols.
At nightfall, it is Hong Kong's frantic and intoxicating moment. White-collar workers off duty walk arm in arm from one bar to the next. This is the common anxiety of young people in this era: growing older without seeing their inner selves gradually becoming stronger. When the neon lights fade and the plants lose their color, emptiness and vanity take their place. It seems to take only a minute to go from the most prosperous to the most desolate; this city can only provide a moment of anesthesia after all. In a world as prosperous as Hong Kong, it seems easier to see the fleeting nature of things than anywhere else. Walking through it, you finally understand that only that self-sufficient sense of security can lead us to an eternal home.