This is my birth place.
My family and I left Hong Kong when I was seven. However memories were ever so vivid; the cruel voice of the vice principle still rings as he fire markers like darts at us; the soggy sausage buns my mom bought for my recess snack which I sometimes guiltyly thrown into the garbage can; the white peeling paint in my bedroom, which I would scrap during my nap , and made my nails bleed. Then there was Deng Po Po, a gentle and kind old lady, who was our landlord. She would buy papayas for me and we would eat it together while watching television. My best friend, Anthonia, and I always looked forward to the Saturday swims at the military base, visiting dad, and picking our favourite flower, frangipani.
Today I am a foreigner, a speculator. Using this to my advantage, I am immune to this fast paced island I once called home. Still I yearned to look at this place with fresh, unbiased eyes, trying to unrival the beauty it withholds.
And there it lies....
In the kind words of strangers,
loving acts of friends,
and in the warm embraces of family.
Once again I am home.