Hong Kong Young Writers Anthologies Fiction 2020complete | Page 490

Cantonesia; a new home?
St. Paul's Convent School, Kiani, Aleena – 13
I stepped out of my house one winter morning when the sun was shyly peeking at us from behind the clouds.
The sky was streaked with blue and pink and I felt the wind ruffle my hair. A typical Cantonesian winter.
Though Cantonesia itself was only declared an official state a few months ago on. Some countries have refused to
accept our existence, most notably the US. Our newly formed government has shrugged this off publicly but
inside they’re seething with rage at this egregious affront. But that was to be expected. A newborn nation is
bound to be opposed by older ones. They say Cantonesia’s existence makes no logistical sense and that China
should’ve stayed together. To them, I say it’s none of their business what we do. Cantonesia’s formation was a
business opportunity. The project called the Belt and Road involved the Southern regions of what had once been
China. Seeing the investment opportunity, the heads of these states banded together and formed a coalition. The
name they chose was poetic and sweet to the ears. Cantonesia. Sounds like a fantasy land you’d read about in
some fiction novel. That’s what I thought too when I first heard it.
I made my way on the path, careful not to step on some frost and wake the neighbour’s children. This
winter was unusually cold, having frost all over Hong Kong would’ve been impossible but we’ve come to accept
this anomaly. They say global warming’s grip on the Earth is tightening but we barely feel it over here. Our
summers are more or less than they were a decade ago and the only difference in our climate is the chillier
winters. But then again, this could be the calm before the storm. The storm that would wipe Cantonesia from
the map. Our entire territory was coastal and sea levels rising would spell the end for us. No sense in worrying
ourselves with ominous predictions, though. I strode into the Hakka cafe. The government had been trying to
promote nationalism and patriotism so they ordered the closing down of some foreign food chains and opened up
some local ones to instil a sense of national pride in the citizens. Nobody really minded the shutdowns since they
were mostly just obscure branches of some food chains no one cared about.
The woman at the counter smiled gently at me and I ordered some soy milk and fried rice in Cantonese. As
the name might imply, Cantonesia is a place where, surprise surprise, people speak Cantonese. English is still
taught in schools and is used if someone’s Cantonese isn’t too sound but the use of Putonghua has gradually been
discontinued, being deemed ineffectual and pointless for Cantonesian students to learn. I sat on a vacant seat,
drumming my fingers absentmindedly on the hard wooden table. I seemed to be her only client this early and she
was chatting to me animatedly about her nephew’s wedding a week ago. She chastised me for not attending
before reverting to her normal motherly tone. My food was prepared in seemingly an instant and I devoured my
breakfast, licking my lips in admiration. The cuisine was admirable and the flavours were undeniably well
blended to form this masterpiece of a dish. I offered my profuse thanks to the owner of the cafe and she smiled,
saying she was glad to be of service. Her eyes were practically sparkling with delight.
I exited the cafe. The air wasn’t as cold and I walked to the newly constructed fountain. It was
magnificent, really, made of marble, intricately carved with beautiful angels adorning the fountain. I sat on a
bench and munched on some bread I had brought from home. Why didn’t I eat that for breakfast instead of
taking the trouble to go to Hakka Cade, you may ask? It’s very simple, really. Hakka Cafe’s cuisine is on a whole
new level of delicious food and after knowing the delights of eating that, my stomach wouldn’t have accepted
some plain old bread. After I ate, I got up and went to the MTR. They kept the old name, to not confuse
people. But the new one is ten times better. There are clean bathrooms at every station, it’s always clean and
brightly lit and that’s what I like. There are small television screens attached to the ceiling that used to play
generic train announcements but now showcase some televisions shows. Of course, the bigger screens are used to
broadcast the train schedule. We can’t let fun get in the way of work, after all.
I entered the train. It was rush hour but I was able to find a seat. After Cantonesia formed, they ordered
more seats to be built in trains and more space be given so people weren’t crammed into train cars like sardines in
tins. A low hum of chatter could be heard over the quiet engine of the train. I hadn’t really planned where I was
going but I felt the urge to go to the new administration building. I hadn’t been there before but my friends who
had actually seen the edifice remarked on it’s symmetry and harmony. Now, I’m no architect but I had a longing
to see the structure with my own eyes. If you had asked me then why I even wanted to go there, I couldn’t have
given you an answer. Perhaps I wanted to see Hong Kong as a city in Cantonesia, to remove any shadow of a
doubt that this was indeed my new home. The geography hadn’t changed but it felt like a different city. I needed
to assert myself and convince myself that I was now a Cantonesian and that this was my home.
I got off at my station; Pearl’s Peak. When I first heard it, I thought it was an ostentatious name for a
station, albeit the station where the administration headquarters are located. I left the station and made my way