I’ve been watching a lot of Chinese movies lately. I always find the scenery to be subtly poignant, from the density of the houses, to the confinement of the living arrangements, to the homliness of the shops. It makes me miss Hong Kong. It makes me miss seeing my grandparents. It makes me miss the quaint lifestyle, the diversity of food, the entire culture.
If I end up going to Hong Kong this year, I hope to be able to tell my grandmother how strong a person I see her to be, but I detest my limited knowledge of the Chinese language. I wish that I could express to her in English how much I look up to her. If I had a chance with English, I would feel like I could do the feeling justice. I hope she doesn’t hurt my feelings. I hope she doesn’t die before I see her next. I wonder who would cry.
I still remember living with Kenny, having a great time at his place, playing with all sorts of interesting gadgets. His parents were always good people, one of the few sets of relatives I care about.
The feeling is almost tangeable. I can close my eyes, and see myself there again, a lost, emotionless, ignorant boy. I miss the street vendors. I miss the smell of my grandmothers house. I miss the bliss.
I realize that my feelings are probably a result of my absolute contentment whenever I was in Hong Kong. I’ve had some of the best times of my life there, and I remember nothing but happiness. It seems like I’ve been tainted with maturity, and I’m trying to regain a lost part of my childhood, the carefree being that is so characteristic of young people.
I like that.