Celebrating three years in Hong Kong today
You can speak of a frame of mind, or about a land or a city when you are far away from it, when distance and time have settled down senses and lacks, when everything has been filtered like coffee through an old long sock. I could tell now about an opaque Milan, withered, dirtied by vulgar crowds ready to the next cocaine, sad retired people, Chinese and Russian businessmen who buy shops and streets and lives, and elves of the ex big finance who insist on a dream already over.
Or I could tell about Berlin, Prague, Singapore…
Of Hong Kong, this milky and humid vastness where I landed three years ago, I don’t know anything. The panoramas are catching and at the same time shifty; the tastes deprived of power as well as the medicines and the shampoos and the seasons; my job without roots, without any drama.
Hong Kong for me is only faces, those people who step by step reveal what there is in common: a few Italians; some Expats from other struggles around the world; my Chinese group of volunteers.
To me, Hong Kong is not an easy dream with idle walks along the Harbour City marbles, a photo from the Peak, and a small cappuccino at Simply Life. I’m a son of a removed history, and my roots belong to a torn culture that is not light, fashionable. I still have to reach an agreement with my exile – Hong Kong makes me conscious of that.
So, today, I can speak of Hong Kong only because it witnesses my total estrangement.
I arrived in Hong Kong on May 22, 2010.