Love Never Fails

Being back and living in Hong Kong brought me a sense of nostalgia.  This is the place where I was born and the place of my roots.  Living in the same apartment where my mother grew up, the stories, the history.  Hong Kong has always represented as a place to take refuge but at the same time, a place of troublesome.  A place to visit family…and a place to really visit family. Everyone had always welcomed me with open arms, but then reality hit me.  I don’t belong here.

Visiting and living in a place is completely different.  We take our daily chores for granted as simple, mundane tasks.  In a foreign country, it can become very exciting, if not intimidating.  As those who used to take me around must return to their daily lives, I must venture on my own, dealing with impatient vendors and clueless direction-givers.

Fortunately, I speak the language here and most people understand some English.  However, the level of my Cantonese makes a third grader cringe.  Those who communicate with me try to keep a straight face while seeing a grown man struggle with his speech.  On top of it all, it is quite difficult to meet local women while your vocabulary level is of a grade-schooler (though some did find it endearing, but they are usually not my type).  What hurt me the most was when the police stopped me on the street, treated me like a criminal and searched my pockets because I was wearing a pair of flip-flops and not looking the part of the average Hong Konger.

I never thought that would ever happen here in the city where I was born.  It was natural when I first arrived in New York, when the other children ridicule my English or my sense of style; it felt normal because I was a foreigner.  But after twenty years of calling it home, I don’t know any other place better than New York.  I had my favorite pizza place and my favorite toilet in Grand Central Station.  I have ordered from the same Thai food restaurant so often that the owner told me to try another dish besides the Chicken Pad Thai.  New York is a bit different from any other place.  New York is a revolving door for those looking for a new life or new career.  Your chance of meeting someone who was born and raised there is lower than the chance of getting into an accident while riding a yellow taxi cab.  The city embraced each and everyone.  I felt accepted, but I did not have any problem leaving it behind.

Belonging is more a state of mind.  A place can not accept you.  A language does not limit you.  As we seek a place we belong, we are seeking comfort and familiarity and a place where we feel the most confident at being ourselves.  Such place only exists when we allow it to happen.  We must allow ourselves to laid down our walls and let those around us to enrich us and embrace us.  We can only feel the sense of belonging when we accept others to be part of our lives.  I seek to belong in this familiar but strange place once again.  During my time here, I look forward to highlight some of the idiosyncrasies that had eluded the locals as commonplace.  Maybe some of you will find it as humorous as I have.