6,000 Miles

A love letter to Hong Kong.

Sundaze Book Café is the home of everyday magic, joyful living and conversations likely to be had over a hot drink with a friend in your favourite café, capturing the syrup-slow feel and glow of a Sunday. I’m Michelle, and I’ll be your host this Sunday.

Once a year, which is quite the cadence, I drift bleary-eyed and jet-lagged between days, fingertips desperately grasping for the final hazy memories of a trip to Hong Kong. That time is right now, as I fight an eight-hour time difference, 16-hour flight and the need to stay awake. In these precious, syrupy hours and days, as I acclimatise to the 6,000-mile gap. I revel in the final flaky, golden egg tart that I ate before heading back to the apartment for our suitcases. I imagine waking up and eating street-side siu mai and congee for breakfast, instead of a Tesco bagel with a fried egg that I let get a touch too crispy while rushing around, lest I run late for my Western 9-5 job and lifestyle.

Hong Kong has always been my second hometown; it’s where my mother was born and raised before moving with my grandparents to England as a pre-teen. Gratefully, I’ve visited Hong Kong countless times and even moved there myself for a two-year stint, in my mid-twenties. Without a doubt, Hong Kong is a city that has boundlessly shaped me.

As a kid, I’d tackle my jet lag by scribbling away in whichever new Sanrio character-adorned notebook I’d convinced Dad to buy me from the stationery shop downstairs of our apartment in Tsuen Wan. I remember – and I often read – the list I’d pen of my favourite desserts from the trip, the small moments with my aunties and cousins that I wanted to remember, so different they were from our suburban life here in England. I wrote about how hot and sticky it was, and how my feet ached but it was so fun that Mum and Dad took us to Ocean Park to see the pandas.

Twenty years later, who would’ve known I’d do exactly the same? This time, sat inside our apartment, living in Hong Kong on my own. I wrote list upon list of my small joys (that notebook list became my ‘Open-hearted joys’ series of today), documenting the ramen burger that my friend and I tried in Sheung Wan, the guy that asked for my number as we both looked for the same manga edition, how I’d started to love running by the bay at midnight, and how I’d finally come to love the wild humidity in the city, all-encompassing.

A decade later, I am infinitely glad that I still come home with a running list of things I wholeheartedly adore about Hong Kong. Political change and unrest aside (I am always firmly pro-democracy after all), I remain besotted by the traffic light sounds that feel like a warm embrace home, the efficiency of the MTR and mini buses and trams, the quiet community spirit that Hong Kongers all have – unwavering especially amidst the Tai Po fire tragedy. The aroma and endless din of a dim sum restaurant in the morning, and the ecstasy of snagging the last bamboo steamer of har gow. That one day in November when the temperature and humidity dips and you can finally wear a jacket. Eating donuts in Tai O as the sun sets.

Dear Hong Kong, I wonder when I’ll ever stop missing you.