Hong Kong Young Writers Anthologies Fiction Group 3 - 2017 | Page 476

Emotions begin to drown me, but I swallow the urge to cry. What is this that I am feeling? Never have I once gotten this
attached to a person I took control of. Never have I seen such sadness take place in ink. Thinking back, Shanghai has always been
a vibrant, airy and cheerful city. As the largest city in China, their imports are plentiful, and everyone in our village of Zhujiajiao
were always eager to meet new people bursting with adventurous tales. Nights were always spent under winking lights of night
markets, and people were always celebrating a new wedding or a birth in embroidered Cheongsam, pearls and jade, and for the
men, there were always conservative Tang Zhuang , and everyone had bright smiles on their faces. The aroma of savoury
Xiaolong baos always brought a smile to children and elders alike. What had changed in the past century I had left the ‘Paris of
the East’? How did despair make the confident angry and the weak weaker? Or had I been too blindsided during the era of the
Shanghai I knew and only knew the good parts?
With a shaky breath the last page is turned and a note is revealed. There is not much written, only that Carlos can be found in
the city park and that it is no one’s fault, he simply cannot stand living in a world where justice isn’t righted upon those who
deserve it.
What does he mean by that? I don’t flip to the next page to find out. Instead I take off flying to the park down the gravel path I
know so well. How do I know this path? I’ve lived here before haven’t I? This apartment complex is standing on where my
government apartment building, the one with the creaky but strong steel lobby door, used to stand. I catch glimpses of large
billboards displaying iPhones occupying the space which would’ve been occupied by a row of food vendors selling smoked
Chuan Shao , roasted chestnuts and Chow Mein . I finally reach the park and find on a bench, an empty sleeping packet of
sleeping pills you can find in local convenience stores stamped with his name. Trading the life I’ve lived in vain in return for a
stranger’s who can actually make use of it. There are so many questions I lack the answers to, but one thing I know is that I must
save Carlos.
I began my day by inhaling deeply to calm down. Cars were revving and banter was distinct in the background. What am I doing
here? Haven’t I downed the expired pills in the park, left a note explaining how I’m done with this life without Mom’s justice? I
turn to my bedside table but am taken aback by a note written in neat, careful handwriting I’ve seldom seen. There is not much
written, only a sketch of Shanghai from the 1700s that I recognise as the infamously ancient Zhujiajiao village and a short
description saying: ‘Carlos, I may not know you well, and I am not one to judge another’s life choices, but one thing I do know
is that change is hard and the world is overwhelming, but you must endure it. Any life is worth living no matter how
unproductive. I thought all this hopping from one destination to another was meaningless, but lead to me changing someone’s
life.’