03.06.09

Hong Kong.

It is 7.42pm, I am siting at my favourite haunt. Outside the IFC mall, on the only public tables i can find in this abysmally seatless city. Where everyone is constantly walking. The temperature is perfect, humid and warm enough to coat my bare arms and legs- as i am wearing a dress. I'm afraid this has been, and may be, my only update from Asia's 'world city'. As it's been slightly too intense for me to write anything, which may have contributed to my exhaustion. I still dont know what to say. Here it is, the place of my childhood, the missing eight years of my life, where i was born, a country i no longer know but definately recognise. I think ive finally uncovered the realisation I came for, which is why i can stand to leave fifteen days earlier (that and my terribly light wallet) on the tenth (hopefully). Northern Ireland wasn't a deviation from destiny, it wasnt outside of where i was supposed to be, or what wassupposed to be happening. it isn't where im that american sounding, tanned, mixed alien, where i started reading from despair and lonelieness and the cold, where i'm 'wierd' and 'deep'. Its home. its got the most beautiful beach in the world,with such bleak dramatic character and a howling wind, that is alive at least. alive with more then the pleasant warmth full of good-time potential. But with a biting, barking cold that penetrates your very bones, and leaks through yourdamp blazar. as you can maybe tell, i miss home. and what for? there is everything here, there is the perfect mix of east meets west, of beachside meets city, of green meets steel. There's delicious cheap food, faces from all over the world,a convenient and accessible social life; club parties, beach parties, boat parties, roof parties! But theres no public seats. Theres no time to sit, and be less. Everyone is beautiful, everything is successful.

ive read Dostoevsky's Crime & Punishment (which is a book so alive it must transcends simple literature; it is breathing, and exhaling, and excreting and freaking consumed me! I literally walked around convicted of futility, and then inspired by hope and resurrection depending on the plot) and Turgenev's Fathers and Sons recently, so ive been pondering nilhism. I was slightly obsessed with it a year ago, but because i misunderstood it. I thought it was about destruction in the face of emptiness, something akin to the 'tragic hero' for whom indignation and degradation is not acceptable, for whom even death is a fulfillment of identity more noble then wretched conformity and mediocrity, for whom a life of materialism is an abomination. I suppose they are a similiar discussion of meaning, but nilhism is enlightened materialism. It's got nothing to do with gripping worth, with a desperation so intent it makes your nails curl back and your fingersbleed. It basically has something to do with Russia back in the day, during a cultural and scientific revolution that refuted the sacradness of traditional institutions such as monarchy, religion etc. (leading eventually to the usurpment of the Tsar) that produced a stagnating society of immobile lower and middle classes. Something similar to the philosophes of the Enlightenment and French Revolution- which were all good, are all good. But have culminated in such a soulless idea of existence. that have replacedthe mysticism of heaven, with the mysticism of romance; but either way, worship nothing except the flesh. Because they have finally concluded, there is nothing esteemable, except the tangible. Nilhism is something like a parent of communism- and if you would like to know my thoughts on communism, scroll down to my ramblings during my stay in Russia- or do something better, and read Dostoevsky. I mean, communist China is having the largest christian conversionin something like forever, and certainly because in the vacumn of anything spiritual, your 'deep heart' cannot help but to protest and thirst for something which can lift your head. Weeping from the affliction of an ideology that preaches death to God, of course you would hold fast to Him. Its a reactionary revival that articulates the deepest instinct of humanity, that cannot be fulfilled in materialism. Among my generation; (im referring to my social group; consisting of me to 40 year olds lol), there seems to be two major preoccupations, to get rich and/or to party. Of course, there is the odd bohemian 'traveller', but really, Hong Kong is so freaking materialistic it galls me. and being here, among that, i cant help but to feel that i am wallowing in utter mediocrity. in a pursuit so absolutely devoid of orginality, never mind abstract 'truth' or 'dignity', it is for ghosts.Sheep isnt even the word for it, because sheep flock from instinct, whereas ghosts are transparent creatures that live in the wake of everything in them, which has died.

So what of mediocrity? what of finding your match? they both begin with m. they seem so inexplicably linked. the latter a writhing, panting struggle against the first. A convulsion of body fluid and sweat and desperation. To find your ennobling piece of paradise. The promise that lifts your wretchedly mediocre head. To stake your soul on something and not be found wanting; but needed and embraced and covered in saliva and intimacy. What a mediocre, unoriginal remedy. a pursuit so ultimately crude it is utterly unremarkable. And man, boring! The loaded 'international buisness' owners i have met, that flirt shamelessly with a humble english teacher, wearing converse and jeans- and only nineteen! Pronouncing, in drunken slurs and with that fashionable vocabulary, 'you are aboslutely fabulous'. The stunning women i have seen, flaunting their worth, for nothing more then the acknowledgement of dead men. I wish they would take off their pretty clothes, and those knowing smiles, and show me some friking humanity. Of course i can say all this, as i am young, naive, melodramatic, zealous, and dont really mean any of it, and therefore, simply from youthful brashness, may condemn everything and everyone around me. I am sick, or disgusted, or emotionally exhausted, or thirsty for something, someone, i can respect. But of course, that isnt all to say i havent had a good time, or made great memories, or met wonderful people, i have; people i like and will remember, and for whom this doesnt apply in reality, just in my quiet pensive moments, of something almost despondant, such as right now. when its dark, and the city is hushed. But in total, i dont feel any particular burning love of Hong Kong. I dont know if its worse then anywhere else, and if that im just being oversensitive. (please remember that my blogs are very exaggerated)

Of the three most outstanding things that have happened to me, one involved a crazy russian woman who randomly struck up a conversation with me, and then proceeded to give me a skirt, because she was a designer and her bag was too heavy from 'samples', and the other two- weren't particularly pleasant. I met a friend for the first time at Hong Kong peak, and stupidly suggested that we walk down- which became a four hour hike through winding downhill paths, strange monkey calls, and pitch black. We were chased by wild dogs and ended up on the other side of Hong Kong; in a cemetary. Thank the Lord he wasn't a grouch. Lastly, I was literally chased- as in running- through Tsim Sha Tsui by a crazy pakistani whose 'love' for me means he would let me poke out one of his eyes, or supposedly hurl himself into moving traffic, rather then leave me alone.

But I do enjoy partying, i love dancing, i like smelling good and attempting to look good, and i do have great friends from all over the world, including one fascinating young man, whose rigid German vs flamboyant Jamacian heritage seem to be at odds inside of him lol. I've met a few other mixed chinese people, and one half irish/half chinese girl, who looks absolutely nothing like me, that its almost laughable. She has brown hair and light eye, and freckles.

Meeting my family has been great. Walking down the highest hall in my grandmother's apartment building, almost exactly as it was eleven years ago, in the dusky light and dustiness. My grandmotheris a Cool, with a capital C, she is continually buying my clothes, and making me eat the best tasting food in Hong Kong, or showing me photographs; in her time she has travelled almost all of Europe, and was/is as exceptionally beautifulas most of the chinese women in my family. And the eight cousins that have appeared from nowhere, and are fascinated with me, and my height, and hairy arms lol. Im living with 'aunty Bunny', and her family; which means that i share a room with her daughter Ellis and Ellis' grandmother- who suffers from some mental illness, 'speaking with spirits' as the indonesian maid describes it; shehas a tendancy to look through me, except for offering chocolate every now and then, she seems like a kind lady but tends to talk through the night, or get up and spell out words in english. Also there is one and a half year old Ronnie,who has recently learned to walk, and smiles in bashful delight whenever he looks at me, before trying to hide, Im not sure if its sweet or slightly incestuous and premature, for him to have a crush on me! I tend to spend most time withthe maid, in that usually Ellis, Freddy and Bunny have left by the time i wake up, and are asleep by the time i get home. Maid isnt really the politically correct word for it, the phillipinos prefer to be called 'domestic helpers' and they are absolutely swarming the city- it is very common for chinese families to employ a philipino or indonesian woman to do house work and pretty much raise the children. I had one. It's odd to find something, once so natural, making me uncomfortable- it appalls my liberal british sentiments lol. These women literally give away years of their life to a family that isnt their own, they have one day off a week- on Sunday, when they gather on mats in public places, in thousands it can seem, to crack open chicken bones, paint nails, and chatter incessantly. Some phillipino/indonesian women are absolutely stunning; they look like they belong in music videos, with long black hair wafting to their bums, andso petit yet shapely. I accompanied my Scottish friend Kenny, to a phillipino family barbeque- we were welcomed with heart melting hospitality and fed until we were fit to burst. And Annis is absolutely endearing, she tends to wake me up with her squealing, or singing. And always worries that Im not sleeping enough.

At the minute however, I'm staying with Ying Ying- who has arrived from Dublin for three weeks. She has a free apartment, as her dad works in China, and has kindly offered me my own room for five days at least. Ying Ying is my cousin, and it almost seems like some feat of serendipity that we are both here, together again, after so long, and after our lives have taken such a similiar turn. The last time we spent any substantial amount of time together was when we lived in Hong Kong, when she was something like Rebecca and I's only cousin of a similar age. She is 23 now, and working as an employee trainer for McDonalds, but has reached a sort of crossroads,where she is unsure what direction to pursue. To remain in Hong Kong and attempt to find a job, or return to Dublin- as her mother bids her. To be standing outside Paw Paw's (granny's) house, hearing her tell us how proud she is thather grandchildren have grown up, is too surreal to even register, or know how to digest. And even to be sleeping on a top bunk again, of which i have so many fond memories from my childhood- listening to my dad read from the illustrated "Greek Myths and Legends" hardback, going to sleep wearing my trainers, being sent to bed with a sock around my hand to cure my thumb sucking- is such a strange irony. Sometimes i dare to wonder if perhaps i could, one unsuspecting afternoon, cross paths with an old friend; Armilyn or Mary, or Aunty Evelyn- who used to call me Racket, or Jessica, and I wonder if they would recognise me- and then hope deludely that if they didnt, perhaps they would notice the birthmark on my forehead- and remember that. I approach these thoughts with a shy sort of terrified reverence, and i dont know if i have detached myself from apathy, fear or self-preservation. And then there is that floating, fragile idea, of perhaps, visiting Lok Fu Path- where i used to live.

I'm tutoring english to three chinese girls, who like to photocopy everything i draw and share it amongst themselves. Sparking memories of the american boy I had my own english lessons with; because i couldn't pronounce'squirrel' or 'th'- i still remember the moment i discovered the world was round, exclaiming in a sort of mock interest as he explained gravity. It's good to be back. And i wouldnt change any of it, not the eight years here, and not the eleventhere.

I will be back before July, leaving on either the tenth or twenty fifth, depending on if i can my return flight changed. At the beginning of July, i'm flying back to Cesme, Turkey, with a friend for three weeks. And then wheni get home already have a job offer working as a fundraiser i.e. those kids that stand in the street with clipboards, harassing people. I will be 'roaming' so will be moving from obscure corner to obscure corner of the UK every week. Once i have earned enough, and if i can be bothered with the visa complications i will maybe go back to Moscow for a week, and also have an invitation to Stockholm. And then... university, i'm really quite relishing the prospect.

p.s. I went to the Global Day of Prayar at the Hong Kong stadium; some recently deceased and hugely significant missionary(Taylor the 3rd...)'s wife was brought on stage. The stadium, well over two thousand christians, from all overthe world, stood up in respect for what her family had done for China... imagine that?

so.. thats all folks!