I had to get out of Hong Kong. While I have a girlfriend there (and no one was more shocked with that development than I), and a ready-made social scene because of her, and a place to stay more homely than a monk’s cell in Chungking Mansions, Hong Kong was sending me broke.
I either had to leave or get a shitty job waiting tables or running a petrol station. Hong Kong is not a kind city to those on a budget, and having done everything I set out to do, if I stayed longer I felt I would end up resenting Arum as I killed time waiting for her to finish work and her other aspects of her life. This would not be fair for either of us. In addition, Hong Kong seems to induce a constant anxiety that while I could push through in the short term, was not something I was wanting to deal with in the long term, even with my supply of anti-depressants.
So I left Arum’s North Point apartment in the early hours, so early the trains had not started yet, but the bus got me to Terminal 1 just as the train would have started. I can’t say it was a tearful farewell, but it was sad, and tentative promises were made. Next stop; Hanoi.
Hong Kong is justifiably famous for its high class shopping, hotels and dining, all with equally high price tags, none of which is much good to me as a backpacker, and who the hell wants a $30 USD glass of wine in the middle of a shopping mall?
My Hong Kong is different. It’s the Philippine domestic helpers making room for me so I can shelter during a sudden downpour. It’s the smile on the Pakistani shopkeeper when I give him the exact change for my mango lassi. It’s the elderly Chinese lady on the train too proud to accept my seat when I offered it. It’s the local staff member walking out to talk to me when I window shop Rolexes, knowing my broke arse is never going to buy one because she’s bored and wants to know about me. It’s the mutual nod with a cigarette-smoking man waiting outside the B4 exit of TST East, because we are both waiting for someone we love.
Adrian's Got The Moose 