Hong Kong Young Writers Anthologies Fiction 2020 | Page 38

Fiction – Group 3
An Excerpt from the Memoir
of the Developer of the Greater
Bay Terrace
Harrow International School Hong Kong, Tam, Aston – 14
Gansu - one of the poorest provinces in China - is where I come from.
Thirty years ago, I was born in Gushan Village. It was a small, rural village to the south
of Jiuquan City, next to a range of mountains - arid, barren and uninhabitable - towering
over the nearby clusters of suburbs like a formidable giant from ancient myths. In summer,
my younger brother and I would wander close to the foot of the mountains, after hitching a
ride on the back of our neighbour’s cart. It was drawn by his old ox, “Old Huang”. Secretly,
we thought our neighbour, Mr. Huang, was more deserving of the prefix “Old”. For hours
and hours, we would pick at dry shrubs, chew on seedlings and hide under the occasional
sapling from the scorching midday sun, along the broken trails left behind by adventurous
traders in eras past.
Living conditions were austere at best but we took pleasure in the simple life we led.
My older sister was already married by the time my younger brother was born. Her husband
was from the village next to ours and they sent us gifts from time to time: fruit, chickens,
home-made rice wine… We had been satisfied with the limited resources we had, until
the arrival of televisions, mobile phones, even computers. When these gadgets first became
affordable, it was the most wildly exciting time for our family. I still remember how I felt when
I watched the delivery man drive up to our house. My brother and I ran outside to greet him.
He was the hero, a messenger from the future, the ambassador for a new age of discovery.
It was fascinating. The world was larger than we could ever imagine - so many people
from so many different places. It was a whirlwind of vivid, pixelated colours painting lives
of passion and drama. It seemed so different - so far - from the world we lived in. We were
inspired at first but tiny seeds of envy were sown in our hearts, which steadily grew until
the branches crawled out of our windows and the tree trunks threatened to burst through
our roof. It had dawned on us that we could never live the kind of life we saw on television.
A luxurious dream of beautiful people with their countless comforts and riches, once dreamt
of, would return to haunt those who had dared to dream it, again and again. It consumed me.
Fortune had the courtesy to drop by to visit us, every now and then, perhaps owing to
those upside-down squares of red paper we used to stick on our front door every Chinese
New Year. They were meant to bring good fortune and prosperity. We had a visitor.
Uncle Hui was the best of us. He had made his way to the city in his youth during his
own encounter with that erratic architect of fate. It was almost summer when he visited.
The heat was unbearable for the city folk, who seemed to require air conditioning wherever
they went. He took pity on us, perhaps, having lived in those places we saw on television.
My younger brother was too young in his opinion but he was keen to take me with him
- teach me, lead me, show me the world. We left for Guangzhou almost immediately.
My parents were sad to see me leave, but more excited for the opportunity. It was like the
Journey to the West that we used to watch on television and I was the Monkey King.
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