Hong Kong Young Writers Anthologies Fiction 2020complete | Page 629

fatigued than furious this time round, she took it as a sign that it was safe to prod further. ‘You can tell us,
you know. What’s the point of family if you force yourself to shoulder your burdens alone?’
His reluctance crumbled in the face of her firm yet gentle insistence, unearthing a man battered by
society’s ruthless demands, a shadow of once youthful vigour. ‘I’m just… so tired, Ed.’ The silence was
heavy as he contemplated his next words. ‘Tired of always working overtime but never working ‘enough’.
Tired of outdoing everyone only to miss out on another promotion opportunity. Tired of doing the same
stupid things every single day but not being a penny richer than the day before.’ There was a dull ‘thud’ as
he slumped against the back of his chair, and he squinted at the bright ceiling lights.
‘I grew up listening to people complain about the impossibility of upward mobility in Hong Kong, and I
used to think that they were just whiny or undedicated. Only now when I’m actually living the nightmare
of white-collar workers do I realize that they were correct. Those who come from privileged and
connected families have it fine and dandy, but the others? It’s not a matter of ability - it’s a matter of your
social class, which is ironic because the only reason we work is for there to be a change in our social
standing! But guess what? Since I don’t have a great-uncle on the board of directors, I’m automatically
deemed incompetent!’
By the end of his rant, Calum was panting. Noting the scared looks that his children were shooting him,
he at least still had enough sense to stand, before spinning on his heel and stalking towards the ‘master
bedroom’, which was really the only bedroom in the house. He shut the door behind him and allowed
himself to simmer in his anger for a few more seconds, until - Calum, you promised, after last time. You
just had to lose your again, didn’t you?
Shame was red-hot in his belly, and his stomach churned at the realization that he’d again come close to
doing the one thing he swore not to repeat. The thing is, he wasn’t doing this on purpose. Time and time
again he’d reminded himself to keep his anger issues out of the house. But… he couldn’t.
Slaving away 15 hours a day at an unfulfilling job, and all he could afford for his family was this rundown
300 square-feet apartment. The few personal touches that Eden had hung on the walls - a few of
Ebony’s paintings, a handful of family photographs - only served to accentuate the various states of chipping
and peeling. The small cot that the children shared was pushed parallel against their parents’ bunk bed, and
sometimes, Calum wondered - how was it possible to step foot inside and not feel suffocated?
Lost in his thoughts, he only came to as the door creaked open to let Eden slip through. Taking a seat
next to him, she asked, ‘What was that about?’ At his hesitant look, she huffed and said simply, ‘Everyone
cracks once in a while. And I know you’ve been trying to control your temper since… then, but that
doesn’t mean you can’t confide in me.’
Any more time spent with his frustrations stirring in his chest, and he’d actually break. ‘I’m not sure of
the future that awaits us in Hong Kong,’ he murmured, finally voicing his doubts.
‘All I see myself doing in the foreseeable future is sorting through emails for my boss, when what I really
want is to head my own projects. I know that I have the vision and the skills to accomplish it, but chances
are only given to those who have the money and the background to get fancy diplomas.’
A pause, as Eden let her husband’s words sink in. Then, contemplatively - ‘This city offers no way out
for those who weren’t born wealthy. The rich get richer, and the poor get poorer. Perhaps… Perhaps we’ve
been looking in the wrong places.’
The idea that they could leave as they please was so outrageous that it startled a laugh out of Calum.
‘Where can we go?’ He asked incredulously. ‘No country will accept us as immigrants!’
Eden smirked. ‘The Greater Bay Area.’
. . .