melancholy, black pen

Tonight I had some late dinner. I read through the pages of a basketball magazine. It's late night now and here I am, hoping to find traces of you.

I liked Kowloon Park and my position on the bench and that field day I had taking snapshots of passers-by. I liked it better when it was night when we were talking and opening gifts together.

The desklamp is the only spot of light in my room. Like a tiny flame dancing atop the candle it's pulling shadows out of me.

a field day

It happened like this: I was feeling a little wobbly... was hardly able to walk in a straight line after the flu medicine kicked in. Then I found a bench in the park.

It occurred to me there was an orange tint in the skies of Tsimshatsui. From my spot I saw plenty of sky, just by looking ahead.



Then a boy in orange walked by.



A few taller kids walked by.



The baby in the stroller tried to catch a view while the wheels were rolling fast.



Then there's the joy of being able to walk and run and bounce on your own feet.



Then there's the old man doing some funny march and a blurry blue kid behind him.



Then the trees said hi.



Then God said hi.

haunted by all the things we say and do

There's never a time to say... cus it seems to me we've lost our way... haunted by all the things we say and do... keep on missing when I'm alone with you... how so? how so? and I wonder... no there's never a time to change... never... no chance to rearrange and we fall just to find out something we both know. Can't you see what's going on? It's so sad that a love so strong has gone (I'm typing ahead of the song now...) All I know is... what is true (guitar...) All I want is for you to look around and see!!! Oh Mr. Adam, you live your life, locked in a dream where nothing is real and not what it seems. We can go on another day just afraid to say... Oh I hope you would be... oh so understanding... so sad oh so sad... that's the way that it goes, I know. I'm gonna tell you right now.

This song I loved when I was twelve, and I bought the Genesis cassette tape. Just now I found myself itching for a song, and I was clicking around, and this song came to me. I haven't heard it in many years. The lyrics resonated with me then, as a twelve year-old, though I didn't know the reason. They resonate with me even more today as I'm in the office, packing up, getting ready to go home in the rain.

That first paragraph is me doodling as I was listening to the song.

Song: "Never a Time" by Genesis

moon river, luna sea, same ocean

At the moment my mind is bobbing on the surface of these oceans that would, ultimately, render themselves into three conceptual stories: a man with a girl with attractive goggles swimming together in a pool that has no end; a girl who literally swims in her own tears; a boy who possesses a ball that clashes with the stars.

perfect day for bananafish

Because I wasn’t allowed to smoke in the MTR Station, I bought a can of UCC Coffee, and I leaned my back against the wall next to the 7-Eleven in the underground concourse of Central/HK Station.

And I started to fish.





Not that I was seeking any particular fish. Not that I had a hook or anything. But it feels awfully like fishing. See how they are all swimming along…

I suppose if one, standing there like me, holds up a sign saying, “looking for someone to have a coffee with,” one could fish a girlfriend out of this wide wide ocean.

Correction. This is merely the underground concourse of Central/HK Station. And in the photo, the people look more like marching robots. They are the programmed parts of a machine called ‘The Everybody’.

Idiots. Idiots. Idiots. Robots. Robots. Robots.

Am I too arrogant, stealing time to watch people like this, doing nothing, sipping coffee as though it’s the cool thing to do, being fashionably late for a rah-rah company party? How do I reconcile with the position of wanting to be a part of it while craving for the moments in which I can withdraw?



Man looks lonely when the other guy who had been next to him found his other half. Standing in that kind of posture, plastic bag in one hand, surely makes one look dejected. I assure you I was standing with a straight back and a balloon of confidence in my chest. Mind you, I was wearing my best suit. After all, I was dressed for my company’s rah-rah party.



That spot with the red sticker is where I was standing. One sole on the wall, one knee pointing out, a can of coffee in one hand. Not that I would smoke, even if the station allowed it.

The city is my amusement park. Admission is free. But behind this confidence, I am breathing thanks to all that I have been given. I don’t take any one moment for granted.

if i were ovechkin

I love this picture.

Let kids play hockey.

distractions

If I sit on the bench, people would go up to the glass, standing in front of me to block my view. In HK, sadly, most people have no awareness of the presence of other people. They force me to look at their buttocks instead of the hockey match.

Any conscious designer would have taken this into consideration when deciding how to place the bench.



Even after buttocks remove themselves, there is still a wooden rail parallel to your eye-level, covering the goal mouth.

It doesn't matter how grand a building looks when the designer cannot even get the little things right.

if ever i were captured by a terrorist

Revisited “Piano Man” as I took the mini-bus home from Mongkok. Sitting by the window, I let the sounds of the piano and the harmonica take me for an evening strode along busy Nathan Road. It is a perfect song. An artist, in a time of crystal clarity, can produce perfect art. It is a rare feat, and I think the production of such a piece happens rather quickly.

“They are sharing a drink they call loneliness, but it’s better than drinking alone...”

And I thought of all the people in this city. They say this is a complicated place, but really, nothing surprises me anymore about the lives in this city. Sometimes they talk fast and they talk in numbers and facts that exhaust the poetic mind to the extent that their utterances become incomprehensible. But still, I love them.

Sometimes, I think, if I were ever captured by a terrorist, and I had my arms and legs tied and a rifle pointed to my head, I would not be scared. In fact, it is in that situation I conduct my most compelling interview. He was a child once. He has a reason, a story of how he has chosen to do what he does.

That’s the kind of heart I carry as I pass through the streetlights in this city. That’s the kind of heart I arrive at whenever I revisit “Piano Man.” It just makes me cry. I won’t sacrifice my writing time to talk to any lonely person. I won’t stop by a person approaching me for donation. I may not even have the moment to pause to grab change for the beggar. But I’d like to think I’m trying to do something for them because they are me, and I am them.

of loud pipes and mini skirts

Cars with loud engines are like women in short skimpy skirts on a winter day. The harder they try to grab attention, the less compelling.

on finding a boyfriend in the city

Woman says: "The good men in this city have all been taken. I cannot see any of them."

Me thinks: "A good man is not to be seen with one's eyes."