christmas in hong kong


My first winter away from my family was spent with G, eating, shopping for presents, and working in coffee shops that overlook the park. Also: picking out five kinds of fish/squid balls from a street stall, watching as they cooked, and eating our curry flavored dinner on a nearby bench; dim sum at City Hall and xiao long bao at three different places; walking around Mong Kok until dark, buying cheap toys from bubble machines and wandering through all of the Golden-Computer-Arcade-type centers, a kind of geek haven/paradise for G. Everywhere we went that last week the crowds were enormous. We got used to shuffling slowly in the direction of the swarm, pressed up against one another on all sides.


For some reason, I become sloth-like in such an environment. There are so many places I could have visited, since I hate going alone.


I love the mountains. Next to my apartment complex the cable cars ascend and descend, from nine to six, over water and across hills. One of these days I am going to take the cable cars during sunset.


Hong Kong loves its malls (possibly even more than Dallas does), and the malls love Christmas. I don’t always understand the logic behind the decorations (ex. a parade of cakes), but for all its gaudiness, it’s pretty stunning.

sipping mulled wine

It was raining at the Happy Valley Racecourse last night. I bet on three races and emerged with a net loss of HK$80. It would have been $100,but on the last race, horse #5 placed, and I won a meager $20. I almost felt sheepish collecting it. The man win front of me was handed multiple $500 bills.

wandering around central

At the top of a gas lamp staircase in Central, there is a special Starbucks that was once an old Hong Kong cha can ting. Square tables, tattered red calendar, an old television box, various relics and trinkets in glass cases. When it was finally night outside, I did not feel like returning home, so I bought some frozen yogurt with mochi and walked around the new star ferry pier.

oct-nov: photos + captions (ii)

11. Walking around Kowloon Park
12. More exploratory walking after Kowloon Park
13. I consistently know when it is 5 o’clock because the light changes
14. Rush hour traffic
15. Sai Kung
16. Thanksgiving potluck feast (I hate cooking, but my creamed corn was positively delicious)
17. It’s my elementary school!
18. Rainbow staircase! Today is Day 4! Helvetica!
19. Rawr! (It is the end of the slideshow)

oct-nov: photos + captions (i)

1. Kadoorie Farms hike
2. Xi mi lu with taro & three kinds of puddings
3. Requisite cuteness (I am in Asia)
4. Daddy’s favorite fast food place (Yi Zhou Mian)
5. Mommy’s favorite dish (yu dan mian)
6. Best mango drink ever
7. Mommy is diabetic
8. We just bought 7 sweet potato pies at McDonald’s
9. Quality xia mi is hard to find in the U.S. (and makes for good gifts)
10. Squid is cute

excerpts from gilead (notes for myself)

“That mention of Feuerbach and joy reminded me of something I saw early one morning a few years ago, as I was walking up to the church. There was a young couple strolling along […] On some impulse, plain exuberance, I suppose, the fellow jumped up and caught hold of a branch, and a storm of luminous water came pouring down on the two of them, and they laughed and took off running, the girl sweeping water off her hair and her dress as if she were a little bit disgusted, but she wasn’t. It was a beautiful thing to see, like something from a myth” [28]

“I have been thinking about existence lately. In fact, I have been so full of admiration for existence that I have hardly been able to enjoy it properly. As I was walking up to the church this morning, I passed that row of big oaks by the war memorial–if you remember them–and I thought of another morning, fall a year or two ago, when they were dropping their acorns thick as hail almost. There was all sorts of thrashing in the leaves and there were acorns hitting the pavement so hard they’d fly past my head. All this in the dark, of course. I remember a slice of moon, no more than that. It was a very clear night, or morning, very still, and then there was such energy in the things transpiring among those trees, like a storm, like travail. I stood there a little out of range, and I thought, It is all still new to me. I have lived my life on the prairie and a line of oak trees can still astonish me.” [56-57]

“I feel sometimes as if I were a child who opens its eyes on the world once and sees amazing things it will never know any names for and then has to close its eyes again. […] And I can’t believe that, when we have all been changed and put on incorruptibility, we will forget our fantastic condition of mortality and impermanence, the great bright dream of procreating and perishing that meant the whole world to us. In eternity this world will be Troy, I believe, and all that has passed here will be the epic of the universe, the ballad they sing in the streets. Because I don’t imagine any reality putting this one in the shade entirely” [57]

“I remember walking out into the dark and feeling as if the dark were a great, cool sea and the houses and the sheds and the woods were all adrift in it, just about to ease off their moorings.” [74]

“[The Ten Commandments] seems to me almost a retelling of Creation–First there is the Lord, then the Word, then the Day, then the Man and Woman–and after that Cain and Abel–Thou shalt not kill–and all the sins recorded in those prohibitions, just as crimes are recorded in the laws against them. So perhaps the tablets differ as addressing the eternal and the temporal.” [138-139]

“[…] an existence beyond this one, by which I mean a reality embracing this one but exceeding it, the way, for example, this world embraces and exceeds Soapy’s [the dog] understanding of it. Soapy might be a victim of ideological conflict right along with the rest of us, if things get out of hand. She would no doubt make some feline appraisal of the situation, which would have nothing to do with the Dictatorship of the Proletariat or the Manhattan Project. The inadequacy of her concepts would have nothing to do with the reality of the situation.” [143]

“I think the attempt to defend belief can unsettle it, in fact, because there is always an inadequacy in argument about ultimate things […] you can assert the existence of something–Being–having not the slightest notion of what it is. Then God is at a greater remove altogether–if God is the Author of Existence, what can it mean to say God exists? There’s a problem in the vocabulary. […] Another term would be needed to describe a state or quality of which we can have no experience whatever, to which existence as we know it can bear only the slightest likeness or affinity. So creating proofs from experience of any sort is like building a ladder to the moon. 

     So my advice is this–don’t look for proofs. […] They are never sufficient to the question, and they’re always a little impertinent, I think, because they claim for God a place within our conceptual grasp.” [178-179]

“In every important way we are such secrets from each other, and I do believe that there is a separate language in each of us, also a separate aesthetics and a separate jurisprudence. Every single one of us is a little civilization built on the ruins of any number of preceding civilizations, but with our own variant notions of what is beautiful and what is acceptable. […] But all that really just allows us to coexist with the inviolable, untraversable, and utterly vast spaces between us.” [197]

(reading as my mother sleeps in the adjacent room)

I love Marilynne Robinson. Her language bewilders me. And I’m amazed at how deep her characters and her little towns go, emotionally, aesthetically, intellectually. I’m sort of glad I never took a workshop with her at Iowa because somehow the magic would have been ruined. 


Right now my apartment smells like a thousand different curry spices. It’s funny how the lives of neighbors can waft in through the window, and I have never met them, or even seen them.


I just spent 2.5 hours trying to push the bolts of an Ikea toilet seat into the holes, sweat literally dripping off my head and soaking through my shirt, only to have the seat get stuck half-way in, lopsided. This was after I got over the grossness of having to unscrew and remove the old toilet seat. Then, finally acquiescing to the fact that there was no way the toilet seat was going in, I tried to pull it out, and of course, it wouldn’t move. Tried pliers, scissors. Finally went to the kitchen and took the middle-sized knife (good thing I bought a packet of three–from Ikea) and cut through the plastic bolts, then used the pliers to push out the fragment of bolt still stuck in the hole. And then I put the old seat back on.

Worst toilet seat ever. Plastic tampon-like bolts with five rubber-stopper-things on each bolt. It was only $34 (~ US$4-5).