Hong Kong Young Writers Anthologies Winners 2020 | Page 10

Winning Entries
The train eventually pulled into a stop at a station. Clad in iron armour, the train station
resembled a prison more than a place of transit. Everyone around me stood up: the young
businessman in his spotless suit twisted at this wristwatch officiously before he and his
briefcase stepped out the door, the mother and her child that had wailed dreadfully through
the tunnels too stepped out the door, even the hobbling elderly who had struggled to open
her bottle of water mid-journey left. Before I knew it, I was the only one left.
I finally worked up the courage to leave the train, heart-pounding a little with
anticipation and fear, I set foot in ‘The Pearl of the Orient’- that’s what the elders called
Hong Kong. A flurry of people, some Chinese, some Western, some from places of my
wildest dreams pushed past me, fighting and clamouring their way to the lift. Hastily,
I  followed them, squeezing myself into the moving box just as the doors slid to a close.
Despite the waves of travellers that flooded in with each train, immigration was but
a breeze. The officers were like robots: hands moving at the speed of light with pristine
accuracy; voice a clear monotone, simple and precise; yet face a mask of stoic boredom.
Most of my friends back home would hate it, the lack of the communal feeling of individual
care and attention. They would complain that this city dehumanized them, diminishing them
into nothing but a number on a flashing screen. Normally I would have agreed with them,
but today, today I was a little thankful to be overlooked. Was I to nod at the man behind the
counter? Or smile? Or simply wait like an obedient little lamb for his instruction? In this land
where everyday clothes resembled my celebration gowns, where language became music,
where train station bathrooms were cleaner than my dining room, I had no idea what to do,
who to be, and how to behave- absolutely no idea.
Eventually, I did manage to find my way to the little box of an apartment that my Uncle
offered to lend my Mother and I. It was by tradition for the ‘Scholar’ of the village, the
student who achieved the highest scores at the end of the year, to leave the village and face
the terrors of the city outside. It was our responsibility, or so that’s what they glorified it to
be, to learn the mechanisms of society beyond the village walls and bring back knowledge
and revenue- the latter being more important. So here I was, peering out the dusty uncleaned
window of my new home into the gaping jaws of society beneath. It was too late to turn back,
I had spent every last penny on my train ticket.
I was reluctant to come in the beginning. I convinced myself it was the filial piety made
me despise leaving my widowed elderly mother at home alone in the irresponsible hands of
my brother, but in truth, I was scared. I feared that my stuttery Cantonese that I spent hours
upon hours trying to perfect wouldn’t be sufficient, I feared that my work would be sub par
and unappreciated at the firm, I feared that I would not belong in the Greater Bay Area.
Macau had its rich culture and booming tourism industry; Guangdong had its prosperous
technology firms and manufacturing; Hong Kong had one of the world’s greatest economic
markets; while, my little humble home of Hemu, what did it have? Hemu was famous for
making milk tea.
A burst of sudden laughter shot out from behind me, as chitter and chatter bubbled from
the mouths of my colleagues. Aside from not wanting to face the wrath of my elders, this
job was the only reason I agreed to come. Ever since I was able to walk, I had always dreamt
of being an architect. I yearned to see my rough sketches on paper materialise into a three-
dimensional work of art, to see people walking in and out of my models turned real, to know
that something, something beautiful yet practical, was a product of my hands. Perhaps I
was over-optimistic, but the buildings were what I came for, not the wave of loneliness that
suddenly overwhelmed me as I stood in the crowded office.
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