Umbrella - ella - ella- eh -eh -eh

8th grade. Life Skills class. Probably the most useless class ever. Except the class in Senior Year where they taught us how to iron a shirt and make guacamole for a beer party to order to prepare us for college.

This particular class was about strength in diversity. Good topic since we were in an international school where kids hailed from all corners of the world. In order to get us interacting, our British teacher called out different countries and asked the kids to stand up when their home country was called. 

Turkey.

India.

Korea.

UK.

Pakistan.

The cheap black chairs were screeching from kids standing up in a hasty attempt at patriotism, a brief moment of solidarity with their motherland, which they have long since abandoned for the metropolis of Hong Kong.

China.

Only one chair was pulled back. And one girl shakily stood up. That was me.

Our teacher looked around the room, dumbfounded. He pointed to nearly half of the class. "Aren't you . . .  aren't you all . . .  Chinese?" The group of black eyes stared back at him. 

A tall boy from the track team, my neighbor who I had had a major crush on since forever, shook his head emphatically. "No. No. We're Hong Kongers. We're not like those Mainland Chinese."

After class, I was surrounded and taunted. "Sisi, you have to pick a side. You're one of us. You were born here. You're lucky. So why did you say that you are Chinese?"

Maybe they did not know, or maybe they did know, but my mom was from Mainland China.

------

Around a month and a half ago, the world watched as tens of thousands of people spilled into the busiest main streets of Hong Kong and demanded universal suffrage where they can freely elect their Chief Executive (equivalent to city mayor) without any pre-selection from the Communist Party which runs the PRC government seated in Beijing.

The protest was started by a group of high school and university students, but when the police used tear gas on them, tens of thousands of Hong Kong citizens joined in a rare moment of solidarity and indignation. A movement was born. The propagandistic China Daily newspaper angrily called it a "bad Color Revolution" that the United States conspired to spark. The Hong Kongers proudly labeled it the "Umbrella Revolution" - a nod to the umbrellas that protesters brought to protect themselves from the tear gas. People were chanting "Our Hong Kong. Ours to Save." and wearing pollution face masks in lieu of gas masks.

There's something powerful in that statement. It is not "Our Hong Kong - because we don't want to be  Chinese." But rather, now it is "Our Hong Kong - because we are willing to fight for our democratic rights."

Magic happens when the young are galvanized enough to take action. Now my generation is increasingly well-versed in the Basic Law, our "mini-constitution" that governs Hong Kong after the handover from China. We are no longer apathetic and only concerned about buying the iPhone 6. We are finally awake and aware.

I cried when I first read about the protests on the news. I was in Greece and felt like my childhood home was calling to me to return and take a stand. I followed all the major news thread about Occupy Central and imagined myself on the streets with my rainbow umbrella.

After six weeks, A. and I finally went to Hong Kong this weekend and walked around the Occupy Central zone. The protesters still have the major highways and roads under hostage, stacking makeshift fences to delineate their territory. Whenever the police have tried to storm in and retake control of the road, more crowds will rally to the cause and push the police back. So that's how Hong Kong is stuck in this uneasy impasse, the police always alert to an opportunity to move in and the students and protesters at large carry on life within the bright tents that line the highway.

The protesters do not show signs of letting up. Many have brought their sofas, clothing racks, and juicers. They erected a study hall with wifi access and wooden tables so students will not fall too far behind their studies. Most leave during the week days to go to school or work and return on the weekends to continue the sit in. Parents bring their children to the tents on the weekends and eat McDonald's together while leaning against a road block.

While the society at large respects the patriotism underlying the cause, not everybody appreciates the inconvenience caused by the protests, cutting off a major traffic artery to the heart of Hong Kong. The taxi drivers grumble at the lower demand for taxis because of traffic and the nearby small shopkeepers also feel the pinch in their business. The local mafia (first time I knew that they existed outside of Jackie Chan movies) even incited a group of anti-protesters to go and tear down the barricades because they couldn't operate in their usual under-the-radar zones with all the students camped there.

I am mixed. Sometimes my chest burns with youthful idealism and hope that somehow all the umbrellas will be enough to bring democracy and solidarity to Hong Kong. Other times, I am worried that this will just deepen the fissure between Hong Kong and Mainland China for a pipe dream of true democracy that logically the PRC Chinese government will never relent to. And if universal suffrage will never happen, then maybe we should just let go and try to mend our fences with Mainland China so we can build a unified country?

. . . What was that line I learned in American politics 101? "Give me freedom or give me death" - Americans always made the pursuit of democracy seem so natural.

Occupational Hazards

The thing about being an adult is that you get to take business trips. The thing about being a kid still is that you can gush about your first business trip where you actually fly somewhere (ok Mexico City was a different type of business trip, but still). And nothing is better than flying back to your childhood home.

There are so many more friends I need to see. 

These people know all about the obnoxious seventh grade me. 

And yet, they still like me.

Skyscrapers are so cold and yet so beautiful. 

Somehow eating oysters always make me feel like a King.

And when tapas are involved, just call me Juan Carlos the First.

One of the client factories is in Shen Zhen, a neighboring city linking HK with the Mainland. Despite being so close to HK and known for best fake copies of anything in China, I've only been there once before. I was sufficiently traumatized by my five hours in SZ back in high school. HK-ers have a collective distrust/fear/loathing for SZ. Growing up, whenever I refused to eat my food, the lady taking care of me would threaten to dump me in SZ. A friend was sitting in a cab, when a wild-eyed teenager forcibly opened the door, grabbed her designer purse, and ran off. My mom even heard that someone's secretary, pretty wisp of a girl, disappeared after going into a public bathroom. 

Regardless, I needed to make the sale so I woke up super early, hopped on a train across the border, and started eyeing everybody suspiciously, ready to jab my elbows into anybody's sensitive areas if needed. I locked all my taxi doors. I clutched my ipad tightly. And I texted my boss that it had been a pleasure working with him and that he shouldn't feel too bad in the event that I was never seen alive again. 

I don't have any nice photos of SZ to share. My HK prejudice is alive and well. But I must admit that SZ has changed a lot in the last ten years. I'm almost curious to go back and explore more, which is good because it sounds like I'll be spending a lot of time there in the future. I guess that's what happens when you made the sale. Maybe I should have thought it through before I tried so hard. 

Airport Scenes

One.
I saw them while casually people watching on the second floor balcony.

He's in a pressed grey suit, a little heavy for the early spring heat, Steve Jobs glasses, and well-waxed leather shoes. She's seran wrapped in a spaghetti top and faded denims. His salt and pepper strands were combed to mean business; her dark roots were peeking through the faux blond.

They clung onto each other, leaving his overpriced carry on to stand alone in the midst of a crowded airport. She grabbed him tightly, burying her head in his neck. All of a sudden, she looked up, and watched me watching her. She stepped away, twisted her back to him, and stood apart. He gave her a respectful moment and then went to her again.

She turned around, but this time I glanced away quickly. The amount of mascara that ran down her cheeks testified to a girl waking up extra early to create the perfect look for her man.

They whispered frantically. She kept patting her stomach. He stole glances at his watch behind her back.

Two.

Simba ate his first worm and made a face as Timon and Pumba sang Hakuna Matata.

He laughed so hard that he choked on and spilled his apple juice. He scrambled around for a clean napkin, but not before pausing the inflight entertainment screen. He brushed off the cookie crumbs on his chin and scratched his balding head before pressing play again.

Beside him, his five year old son slept.

Three.

He hung behind the crowds, reading business class notes on the ipad, while keeping a careful eye on the arrival gate. He chose to wear his new tailored shirt and tan slacks that day, probably because she had mentioned that the pants look nice, and even bought an iron for the occasion. She came out later than the others, strolling by without seeing him. He hurried over to her and offered to push her lugguage trolley.

She was startled and then smiled because of him and the pants.

It's been a week and he was picking me up.

Black Cab Friday

My boss and I always debate over the issue of whether Chinese drivers are just really good or really bad. On one hand, there are probably way too many near-death collisions to count, and on the other, the average traffic accident casualty rate is actually surprisingly low.

I think I finally have an answer.

This morning, I broke most of my rules and hopped onto a black cab, an unregistered and illegal taxi service,  because my train was delayed and I needed to catch a flight in Shanghai. He absolutely gutted me on the price, but Hong Kong was calling.

The usual car ride to Shanghai takes two hours. I needed to be there in one and half hours. So I didn't say anything when he started driving 160 km/hr. But I clutched my seatbelt tightly, even though I wasn't strapped in because there weren't any buckles.

He played chicken with most of the cars on the highway. Often he would straddle two lanes, trying to edge out a car in front, while blaring his horn in the morning light. When there were no cars around us, he would pull out the wad of cash in his pocket and start counting it with both hands. He also liked to talk and kept turning around to look at me for the obligatory confirmation nods.

I think he sensed my nervousness. So he made a big show of unbuckling his own seat belt, probably hoping to get a vote of confidence from me. Or maybe it was just pure bravado, a sort of callousness in the face of danger, to make his dinner invitations to me seem more appealing.

Either way, I made it to the airport in an hour. Now that was pure talent.

So I booked him again for my way home from the airport since my late night flight gets in after the last train to Suzhou. And also because that's how I roll, always living on the edge . . .  of my seat.