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.