Hong Kong Food Diary: Week 2

Soft shelled crab

Thumbnail: Banana cream pie
Thumbnail: Fried white Chinese carrot cake
Thumbnail: Banana pancake
Thumbnail: Barbecue spare ribs
Thumbnail: Stewed Chinese cabbage and spare ribs
Thumbnail: Cauliflower with pork
Thumbnail: Stir fried Chinese broccoli with garlic
Thumbnail: Chiu Chow Congee
Thumbnail: cloud ears, tofu, Chinese mushrooms, and glass noodles
Thumbnail: Canoe congee with calamari
Thumbnail: Deep fried banana
Thumbnail: Deep fried fish
Thumbnail: Fish balls and pork rice noodles
Thumbnail: Iced Horlicks
Thumbnail: steamed fish with black bean sauce and minced pork
Thumbnail: French toast
Thumbnail: Fried eggs with preserved pickles
Thumbnail: fried noodles with bean sprouts and bbq pork
Thumbnail: Fruit bowl
Thumbnail: Green tea tiramisu
Thumbnail: Ham and mozzarella sandwich
Thumbnail: Honey and lemon tea
Thumbnail: King fried noodles
Thumbnail: Minced beef roast congee
Thumbnail: Mixed Chinese vegetables
Thumbnail: Fried noodles with bean sprouts
Thumbnail: Noodles with shrimp
Thumbnail: Oil fried ghosts
Thumbnail: Oil ghosts in flat noodles
Thumbnail: omelette with Chinese onion and bean sprouts
Thumbnail: Paninin
Thumbnail: Pho
Thumbnail: Pho garnish
Thumbnail: Pigs blood congee
Thumbnail: Plain big flat noodles with peanut and sweet sauce
Thumbnail: Pork chop, wings, and fries
Thumbnail: Pork and preserved egg congee
Thumbnail: Pork jerky
Thumbnail: pork knuckles, ginger and eggs in black Chinese vinegar
Thumbnail: Stewed preserved Chinese cabbage with spare ribs
Thumbnail: Sea salted chicken
Thumbnail: Bean sprout shrimp omelette
Thumbnail: Small pizza
Thumbnail: Smoked fish patty
Thumbnail: Soups and noodles
Thumbnail: spare ribs with black bean and red pepper
Thumbnail: Steamed fish
Thumbnail: Stir fried chicken with string beans
Thumbnail: Stir fried glass noodles with shrimp
Thumbnail: Fried tofu with Chinese onions
Thumbnail: Chinese vegetables with fatty pork
Thumbnail: Vietnamese coffee
Thumbnail: Vietnamese sandwich
Thumbnail: Vietnamese spring rolls
Thumbnail: Winter melon and pork bone soup
 

My cousin brought over some Japanese apples that cost $90 HKD ($15 CAD) for a pair. They were light green and quite large, but they didn’t taste that unique. My uncle believes the cost comes from the way the apples are grown: all the branches but one are cut from the apple tree, so all the nutri­ents go into one apple.

I’m so glad my fam­ily knows how to eat; I get to par­take in all the amaz­ing food they buy or cook. Even snacks — cook­ies, candy, ice cream, and drinks — are of a par­tic­u­lar qual­ity. I’m won­der­ing how much weight I’ve gained so far.

Other weeks in my Hong Kong Food Diary

Sum Sum eating dessert

Finding Love For Two Bachelors

The fact that my dad and I are the eli­gi­ble bach­e­lors in the fam­ily means we get a lot of advice around the din­ner table. They bring up avail­able women. Friends of friends, daugh­ters of dance part­ners, or this-person-I-know.

It’s strange to come upon the sud­den real­iza­tion that my dad and I are at the same point in life. Does that make me old, or him young?

They ask us our tastes: Looks? Personality? Older or younger? I say, “Money”, but they know me well enough to know I’m jok­ing. A joke to hide my answer, for to reveal myself in this way is to expose a cer­tain vul­ner­a­bil­ity. So they side­step the ques­tion and ask me if I’m after any­one, think­ing that if I describe a per­son I’m inter­ested in, they’ll be able to fig­ure out what I’m look­ing for. It’s com­pli­cated, I think to myself, so only reply with a “No”. They ask me if there’s any­one after me. “No”. That’s even more complicated.

Last week, my grand­mother asked me how old I was. “28”, I told her. “Already! You’re almost 30. It’s time for you to get mar­ried.” She says if I stay in Hong Kong all the girls will be after me because I have some kind of gen­tle­man scholar look. My dad too; he’s the man’s man, who’s always been fun and pop­u­lar. And we have Canadian pass­ports. Apparently, we’re in demand.

But they also want to make sure we’re not get­ting involved with the wrong type of women. Someone who will take our money once we’re mar­ried, or force alimony once they trap us with chil­dren. They tell us to keep an eye on each other. I say that my dad doesn’t need my approval if he wants to get mar­ried, but I don’t need his approval either. So they tell us to bring our girls to meet them, to be sure they’re okay.

I won­der; is love this easy for other peo­ple? Something oth­ers can con­trol, when I can’t con­trol it myself?

Nan Lian Garden and Chi Lin Nunnery

Nan Lian Garden

Perfection Pavilion

Thumbnail: Banyan Grove
Thumbnail: Coy
Thumbnail: Garden grass
Thumbnail: Garden overview
Thumbnail: Lotus pond
Thumbnail: Lotus pond
Thumbnail: Nan Lian rocks
Thumbnail: Trees
Thumbnail: Pavilion bridge
Thumbnail: Petrified wood
Thumbnail: Silver strand
Thumbnail: Small trees
Thumbnail: Small tree leaves
Thumbnail: Small tree roots
Thumbnail: Tree weave
Thumbnail: Unique tree
Thumbnail: Gift shop
 

Nestled in the con­crete jun­gle that is Hong Kong is Nan Lian Garden, a newly-built park that fea­tures dis­tinct green­ery and build­ings. The archi­tec­ture was mod­eled after clas­si­cal Chinese build­ings, and con­structed using wood that is inter­locked in a way that no nails or glue are needed. One thing that I noticed was that it was very quiet inside the gar­den grounds, when most of Hong Kong has the con­stant sound of traf­fic (unless you’re on a moun­tain). It turns out that sound-dampening bar­ri­ers around the perime­ter have been erected to cre­ate the peace­ful atmos­phere. It’s quite amaz­ing to see sky­scrap­ers so close and all around, when there is such a calm place here. There must be a tremen­dous amount of labour involved in keep such a place, as guards, gar­den­ers, and grounds keep­ers were always around. I wish Julie was there; she would appre­ci­ate the hor­ti­cul­ture so much more than I could.

There’s a dress code, des­ig­nated eat­ing areas, and vis­i­tors aren’t allowed to take group pho­tos, so as to not dis­turb oth­ers try­ing to enjoy the sur­round­ings. More places need to imple­ment rules like this.

Unfortunately, the areas of scale mod­els and exam­ples of inter­lock­ing wood were not allowed to be pho­tographed. I tried to do so sur­rep­ti­tiously and shoot from the hip when the guard wasn’t look­ing, but the pho­tos didn’t turn out.

Chi Lin Nunnery

Lotus garden entrance

Thumbnail: Lotus pond
Thumbnail: Shrine
Thumbnail: Bronze piece
Thumbnail: Incense holders
 

The Chi Lin Nunnery is a Buddhist tem­ple directly attached to the Nan Lian Garden. Most of the areas were off-limits for pho­tog­ra­phy, and unfor­tu­nately, a pic­ture is the only way I could describe the many colours and stat­ues in each of the shrines. One thing to note were the many bowls of fruit at each shrine, unlike Taoists or other non-Buddhists, who also offer meat because they’re not vegetarians.

It’s inter­est­ing to see peo­ple kneel­ing by each shrine and bow­ing their heads three times, even when they’re not Buddhist. Sort of like mak­ing the sign of the cross when enter­ing a church, I suppose.

Comfort In Each Other

I’ve been get­ting to know one of my aunts.

Aside from annual hol­i­day par­ties where the fam­i­lies would gather, we never spoke. But then again, I never spoke with any of the “grown-ups“1, as they offered lit­tle of inter­est to some­one my age.

We’ve become sound­ing boards for each other. She tells me about how she’s approach­ing my grandmother’s treat­ments — the types of ther­apy, the med­ica­tions, deci­sions on when to go to see the doc­tor — and I tell her about my rela­tion­ships with my mom and dad.

I find it quite amaz­ing that she’s so aware of the influ­ence of Chinese cul­ture in her life. She seems to be adapt­ing to the gen­er­a­tion gap and cul­ture dif­fer­ences, or per­haps keep­ing them in mind, when it comes to treat­ing her own Canadian-born daugh­ter, which is far beyond what my par­ents were capa­ble of. Until I really started talk­ing with her, I believed that all Chinese par­ents were the same; too blind or too stub­born to under­stand how to raise first-generation Canadian children.

It amazes me how strong she is. She’s the one who makes sure my grand­mother eats, drinks, takes her pills, sleeps, and walks. The one who cleans up after grandma when she has to go, but can’t make it to the bath­room in time. She dropped every­thing — her hus­band, her daugh­ter, her real estate prac­tice — to be here indef­i­nitely, and has taken charge of all my grandmother’s care.

I tried to tell her that I admired her for every­thing she’s doing, but she wouldn’t let me con­tinue. She’s hav­ing a hard time keep­ing it together, and is afraid that grandma may see her cry­ing and real­ize how seri­ous her sick­ness is. I wish I could give her some relief, a hug even, or just 15 min­utes to let it all out. I guess there will be plenty of time for that soon enough.

For now, we have each other.

  1. The par­ties were a chance for adults to sing and talk, so the kids did their own thing. []

Model Cat

Model cat

My Uncle Joe and Aunt Vivien bought me this model cat from Taiwan. It looks so real that I thought it was stuffed at first glance. It’s life-sized, though on the small side, so appear­ing to be a kit­ten. You can only tell that it’s fake when you look closer at it’s nose (plas­tic, with­out the same tex­ture as a real cat’s nose) and ears (too much hair — I’m guess­ing mem­branes are too dif­fi­cult to fake). If I wasn’t a cat lover, I’d def­i­nitely be fooled.

I’m going to put it in the back win­dow of my car; I’ve been look­ing for a dec­o­ra­tion ever since I got my car a year ago, and this is per­fect. Hopefully no one will smash my win­dows in an attempt to save it.

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A Different Kind of Understanding

The doc­tor told us she has another 5–6 months. Her colon is so enlarged from the tumor that it’s thicker than her spine, and the pro­ce­dure was just a tem­po­rary solu­tion to pre­vent fur­ther blockages.

How strange it is to “know” how much time there is left. I guess that’s why they call it a dead­line. I had already assumed that this would going to be the last time I could see her, but that won’t make it any eas­ier when I have to leave.

I’m grate­ful to the peo­ple who have been send­ing me their regards. It’s a nice com­fort. One of the best pieces of advice came from Charlotte, who told me to “not leave any­thing at all unsaid to her…leave no ques­tions unan­swered, and to not with­hold any affec­tion you feel for her”.

I had come to Hong Kong with the inten­tion of telling my grandma how impor­tant she was to me. Finding the right words in Chinese to express exactly what I wanted to say.

But try­ing to speak with her has made me real­ize that she doesn’t care about any of that. She’s a very prac­ti­cal woman, almost to the point of tact­less­ness. For almost her entire life, mar­ried at 14 and as a sin­gle par­ent of seven kids, she’s had no time for words or feelings.

I’m here, and that’s how she under­stands how I feel.

Government House

Going up the stairs to the Government House

Thumbnail: Garden path
Thumbnail: Side of garden
Thumbnail: People sitting by the fountain
Thumbnail: Chinese scouts
Thumbnail: Different levels in Government House
Thumbnail: People and flowers
Thumbnail: Photographing flowers
Thumbnail: Trees and buildings
Thumbnail: Sidewalk view
 

I went to visit Government House, which is the offi­cial res­i­dence of the Governor of Hong Kong1. The gov­er­nors were all Caucasian, aside from when the Japanese invaded, since they were appointed by the British gov­ern­ment. Now they’re all Chinese, and they don’t live here any­more, as a sym­bol of China’s new pres­ence and to lessen the impact of old British legacy.

It was a chance oppor­tu­nity, because it’s only open to the pub­lic twice a year. Which pretty much means that it’s packed, even by Hong Kong stan­dards. People seemed to really enjoy see­ing the expan­sive gar­den and the din­ing rooms where offi­cial func­tions are held. For me, it was a good chance to pho­to­graph locals, and an impor­tant piece of Chinese history.

  1. Now renamed the “Chief Official” after the China takeover in 1997. []

Five Year Timestamp

People here say I’ve changed.

Me and grandma

It’s been five years, and my grandma used to describe me all the time as “seun”, a Cantonese word for “pure, clean, unmixed”. But when I arrived last week, she said she wouldn’t rec­og­nize me if she saw me on the street.

They used to say I looked like Leon Lai.

Leon Lai

Yeah, this guy. Now they’ll con­cede that I’m bet­ter look­ing than my dad.

People notice the white hair and say I used to have a baby face. That I’m older. Or more mature.

It’s true that I feel com­pletely dif­fer­ent than the per­son I was five years ago. I tend to reflect and eval­u­ate on a daily basis (which is far too often) so I never get a sense of any long term changes.

But now that I’m in Hong Kong again, and I look back on the per­son I was the last time I was here, I see the changes much more drastically.

It’s reflected in ways that I’m not accus­tomed to notic­ing. Not just in the way I see the world, but from the way I han­dle things. The way I speak with those older than me. My inter­ests in what they have to say. I didn’t even start work­ing yet the last time I visited.

But at the core, I’m still the same per­son. The same morals, the same logic, the same intel­lect. It seems like it’s only the way these core traits man­i­fest them­selves that has changed, most likely from the things I’ve been through.

Five years is a long time to be so blind to these changes.

It’s quite surprising.

Here, Scared

Grandma’s at the hos­pi­tal. She woke up this morn­ing with pain all over her body, but more severely in her lower abdomen. They quickly drove her to the doc­tor, and it turns out there’s been a block­age in her colon. This after­noon they per­formed a pro­ce­dure to expand the colon, and it went through with­out any com­pli­ca­tions. She’s rest­ing at the hos­pi­tal for the night, and my fam­ily is tak­ing shifts to stay with her.

I’ve been stuck at home all day. Everyone else has been at the hos­pi­tal and they decided to leave me behind. I’m on immune sup­press­ing med­ica­tions and the hos­pi­tal is full of germs; get­ting sick myself is the last thing I need, espe­cially when it means that I wouldn’t be able to see my grandma, as her immune sys­tem is even lower than mine right now. I would only be in the way if I was there anyway.

I’m scared. I’ve never dealt with any kind of sick­ness like this before. The only peo­ple in my fam­ily who have passed away were always far away in Hong Kong.

And now I’m here.

A Day in the Hong Kong Life

Crossing the street

Thumbnail: Dad with sum sum
Thumbnail: Chinese entranceway shrine
Thumbnail: Grandma at tea
Thumbnail: Indoor skating rink
Thumbnail: Skater
Thumbnail: Kid on motorcycle
Thumbnail: Hong Kong mall
Thumbnail: Row of Mercedes
Thumbnail: Open kitchen
Thumbnail: Grandma with aunt
 

Grandma has been han­dling the chemo well. We’re try­ing to slow the growth of the major tumor so that there are no block­ages. She’s not sup­posed to eat meat, but we want her to enjoy life (along with the fact that we’re glad she’s eat­ing at all because she has no appetite) so we let her.

Most days are unplanned, just see­ing how she’s feel­ing before we decide to do anything.

I’m begin­ning to sleep a lit­tle bet­ter now. For the first week and a half, I’d still wake up in the mid­dle of the night, unable to fall asleep again even though I’d be com­pletely exhausted from jet lag and walk­ing around all day. I’m not sure if I’m just get­ting used to the day/night pat­tern, or the fact that I’m taper­ing off one of my col­i­tis med­ica­tions which has sleep­less­ness as one of the side effects.

So the cur­rent sched­ule is:

  • Wake up around 7:30
  • Eat break­fast
  • Watch TV with grandma
  • Fall asleep on the couch — The win­dows are left open all the time and the air is rel­a­tively cool in the morn­ing, so i’ll just let myself suc­cumb to the breeze and drowsi­ness. Normally I need to be lying down, wear­ing a sleep mask, but not in this case. These naps are awe­some.
  • Eat lunch
  • An activ­ity with grandma if she’s feel­ing up to it — this can be a walk to the park, get­ting her hair done and her feet mas­saged, or a walk to a restaurant
  • Afternoon tea — Snacks can be sweet, salty, or both
  • A chance to write, work on pic­tures, or edit videos because grandma takes a nap
  • Have din­ner
  • Hang out with guests/family
  • Watch TV — There are two shows that seem to be big right now that my fam­ily enjoys watch­ing; an under­cover cop tele­vi­sion drama, and a Chinese fan­tasy called “Big Winter Melon”. I’m really get­ting into the for­mer because it’s well writ­ten with lots of inten­sity (although the direct­ing style is so out-dated by Hollywood stan­dards). The lat­ter is another story…I’ve tried watch­ing a few episodes and still can’t fig­ure out what’s going on, or even if it’s a com­edy or drama.
  • Shower (a nice way to cool off before going to bed)
  • Some more writ­ing while every­one is asleep.

It’s been an end­less cycle of peo­ple com­ing through the house, whether it’s fam­ily or friends, din­ner or tea, a chat or a visit. Spending time with them leaves me some­what lack­adaisi­cal. I don’t want to be anti-social and get up to do some­thing else, but I’m rarely involved in any of the con­ver­sa­tions, and the top­ics are often vapid.

Unfortunately, I haven’t had a chance to hang out with my Uncle Joe much because I’m try­ing spend as much time with grandma as pos­si­ble, but next week should offer a bet­ter oppor­tu­nity. I hope to do more explor­ing then.

It’s cer­tainly a bit­ter­sweet exis­tence here. Being in Hong Kong again fills me with won­der, but see­ing my poor grand­mother going through so much breaks my heart.

Wong Tai Sin Temple

As a Taoist, I felt it was only nat­ural that I visit the most famous Taoist tem­ple in Hong Kong while here.

Maybe I was being naïve, but I was pic­tur­ing some­thing like Washington Square Park, except instead of chess board tables, there would be peo­ple sit­ting around, dis­cussing Chuang Tzu’s para­bles, or sprightly con­ver­sa­tions about the hap­pi­ness of fish. Instead, it was more like a gigan­tic fortune-telling, wish­ing well extrav­a­ganza. People go there to wor­ship Taoist deities by burn­ing incense, pray­ing to them for their wishes to come true, and have their for­tunes told through the prac­tice of kau cim, which is when they shake a con­tainer full of bam­boo sticks until one falls out, and the char­ac­ter on the stick is inter­preted by a sooth­sayer1.

It amazes me how vastly dif­fer­ent the Taoist phi­los­o­phy is from the reli­gion. I couldn’t relate to any of this at all. The Taoists here are try­ing to get a hol­i­day — on Lau Tzu’s birth­day, if I under­stand cor­rectly — because other reli­gions get a day off. This strikes me as some­what strange, since Lao Tzu is still dis­puted to be a myth­i­cal fig­ure, with an unknown date of birth. I also have to won­der if Lao Tzu would approve of such a ritual.

At one point, there was an old lady wor­ship­ing at the entrance of a build­ing, and a woman came out and said, “Ma’am, this is the infor­ma­tion booth. You don’t need to wor­ship us.” My uncle and I couldn’t stop laughing.

(This was a quiet day in the mid­dle of the after­noon. Apparently, on spe­cial days of the Chinese lunar cal­en­dar, it’s packed, and the incense smoke too thick to breathe. Superstition has always been a part of the Chinese culture.)

  1. That’s the part of the video where the peo­ple are kneel­ing, and you can hear the bam­boo shak­ers. It’s a short clip because I wasn’t allowed to film there. []

The Usual Comments And Questions

Pretty much every­one I’ve met so far has said one or more of the fol­low­ing things to me:

You have a lot of white hair. They see it mainly in the sides of my head, where it’s shorter and more obvi­ous. It seems like most peo­ple in my fam­ily dye their hair black, so my grey stands out, even though I’m youngest.

Are you dat­ing any­one? This is usu­ally fol­lowed by, “Are there any girls are after you?”, which is a sort of way of fig­ur­ing out if you want to date, or just don’t have the option.

Is your Tai Chi teacher white? Except instead of white, it’s “guai” or “ghost”. This is the only ques­tion I resent, because I feel like I have to defend the fact that he’s a com­pe­tent teacher, even though he’s a “foreigner”.

You’re a hand­some boy. The word for hand­some in Chinese — “leng” — is the same word for pretty when applied to girls. This one is good. I like this one. More peo­ple need to say this to me.

Aren’t you cold? It’s get­ting very hot and some­what muggy, so I’m wear­ing as lit­tle cloth­ing as pos­si­ble. This is in con­trast to every­one else, who are still wear­ing scarves and coats.

Do your tat­toos come off? Although the lit­eral trans­la­tion is more like “Do your tat­toos wipe off?”. Many peo­ple here don’t know how tat­toos work, which is under­stand­able, since they’re so uncom­mon. Related to this is, “Did you draw it your­self?”. This ques­tion sur­prises me, because the char­ac­ter was drawn by arguably the most famous Chinese cal­lig­ra­pher, Yan Zhenqing, and is so beau­ti­ful and per­fect and far beyond some­thing that I could have done myself.

Hong Kong Food Diary: Week 1

Chocolate mousse

Thumbnail: Stir fried abalone mushrooms with pork
Thumbnail: Stir fried Chinese broccoli
Thumbnail: Coconut mousse
Thumbnail: Coffee, citrus, and sago taro root jellies
Thumbnail: Stir fried crabs in black bean sauce
Thumbnail: Chinese dinner platter
Thumbnail: Chinese duck and chicken
Thumbnail: Egg chicken in soya sauce
Thumbnail: Fresh bread
Thumbnail: Chrysanthemum honey and aloe jelly
Thumbnail: latte
Thumbnail: Mango mousse
Thumbnail: Mango pudding
Thumbnail: Strawberry and chocolate mousse
Thumbnail: Oysters in the half shell
Thumbnail: Phoenix talons (chicken feet) and spare ribs in oyster sauce
Thumbnail: Fried black pepper pork chops with onions and potatoes
Thumbnail: Pork knuckles, eggs, and ginger in Chinese black vinegar.
Thumbnail: Pork neck fried noodles
Thumbnail: Salad bar
Thumbnail: Steamed scallops with black bean paste
Thumbnail: Seafood
Thumbnail: Seafood fried noodles
Thumbnail: Seafood fried rice with egg
Thumbnail: Seafood linguine
Thumbnail: Steamed shrimp in garlic sauce
Thumbnail: Soba noodles
Thumbnail: Chinese soup
Thumbnail: Steak pizza
Thumbnail: Steamed fish
Thumbnail: Black steamed fish in sea salt.
Thumbnail: Sushi platter
Thumbnail: Tofu and crab ball
Thumbnail: Tofu flower
Thumbnail: Yin yang shrimp
 

I’ve decided to break up my food pho­tos by week, since there’s so much to write about. I’m an extremely picky eater, but I’ve rav­en­ously con­sumed every­thing that’s come across my plate (aside from one type of fish, and a dish involv­ing bit­ter melon). I’m not sure if it’s because the food is fresh, cooked well, or because I can’t cook Chinese food myself and have been with­out for a long time, but every­thing tastes so good. And these aren’t pho­tos of all the food I’ve eaten so far; there have been a few times I didn’t have my still cam­era with me.

Fish is bought fresh every day since the mar­kets are so close. I don’t get a chance to eat fish very often, but now it seems to be in every meal. I don’t think I’ve had the same dish more than twice. This is the rea­son why I was going to come with Pat and Jen last year, who are gour­mands beyond me. And Bronwen, because she loves try­ing new things, espe­cially food related.

If you want descrip­tions and expla­na­tions on each dish, you’re going to have to break out of your feed read­ers and use light­box to see the cap­tions. They look so much bet­ter on black anyway.

Other weeks in my Hong Kong Food Diary

Mama eats jelly

Typical Of My Dad

(This hap­pened in Chinese.)

Around the din­ner table, my aunt men­tioned that it was her daughter’s birth­day, and that it hap­pened to be Friday the 13th. My dad said to me, “Isn’t your birth­day on the 13th too?”

“I don’t know”, I said rather loud and sarcastically.

My dad was in trou­ble. All the fam­ily around us real­ized that he doesn’t know my birth­day. So he said a date (and year, as if recit­ing a his­tor­i­cal event) with a hint of uncer­tainty in his voice.

I don’t think he was ever more relieved than when I told him he was right. Not because he got the right date, but because he didn’t seem like such a bad father to every­one else.