Station 3: Hong Kong

When I woke up from my slumber, I could barely remember anything from last night. There were protests across the street as I hastened back to the hotel. I remember that. My mind is so foggy, my vision still blurry from sleeping face down on the mattress.I try shutting my eyes as tightly as possible in the hope it will compensate for one final rest proper, cocooning them beneath the sheets of my eyelids. Most people use a pillow as a support, but whenever I try to lie down, the pillow bites back on my neck. The discomfort from having to arch my neck made it impossible to ease. The mattress is soft but I didn’t turn the air conditioner down enough as I feel a cape of my sweat drenched over me. The only typing that mattered was the stiffness of the pillows. Admittedly though, I’m already fortunate enough to free-ride here. 

My company sent me here from the States to Hong Kong to assist business negotiations with a research firm specializing in human psychology and cognitive behavior. My other colleagues like twenty-three were just as qualified(which wasn’t that difficult to find). We call her that because she is the youngest in the company by far. In the short time she’s been here, her ranking and mine have already matched. But amidst the rising tensions between the special autonomous region and mainland China, which have been steadily gaining momentum in the past few months, my colleagues chose elsewhere which were still part of the expansion plan across APAC. It was a hot potato where each person kept saying no to coming until finally I raised my hand and said I liked french fries. 

It always begins with online quarrels over who the country belongs to, as though it is an expendable good that we paid to own. Soon after, Chinese officials became worried and decided to stamp their digital authority by wrapping the country within what people now call “the Great Firewall of Hong Kong.” I managed to get a VPN the day before my trip so I’m safe. For the rest, cyber guard dogs hound the internet, barking at ‘undesirable’ websites to be taken down. There are even rumors of the return of radio. Left without a choice but to voice themselves on the streets, the unimaginable scenario of the left wing and right wing are now unified by their common hatred of the government. 

And like all political movements, it began with university students. We love trying to find meaning in a meaningless world. Across the billions of years and trillions of species, no animal should be sitting by a painting and pondering about its aesthetics and movement. Physically, art is mouthless. It is unable to speak in words or tap our emotions, it only shows. Yet somehow, it finds a way to speak to the porcelain human heart in a manner that only we can understand. This self-awareness whenever I go to an art exhibition never fails to leave me feeling ashamed when looking at people’s works. 

Besides looking for meaning, youthfulness holds with it the belief that anything is possible as long as you don’t have fear. That’s how I felt when I was twenty years old as well. It is the perfect recipe where social justice warriors are baked. The ingredients change but the final dish is always the same - statues are toppled, flags are set on fire, and citizens infect the streets mishmash-ing with one another. 

Perhaps I am at the stage where it is easier to go about life in automatic mode. It is simpler to ride a boat than to learn to steer it. I’ll never be seen down below in the line of fire of the tear gas and smoke bombs. But I’m not afraid either. If anything, the eccentricities of people are a welcoming gift. 

I don't have a motto. My boss and others at work at one but who cares? If I had to make one on the spot, “diamonds are made under pressure” is not a bad one. If she was brutally honest with herself, most of what life had laid out for her had been too easy. School and job interviews had their own challenges like case studies and questions, but they are one-dimensional. Just study until she got it right. What would happen if she never had a loving and stable family? Or a socially active upbringing surrounded by talented and genuine peers? The dominoes of her path always tumbled down the right way. Even if one piece fell out of line, the one behind always continued the sequence. It’s nice to have a little spice of life. 

The other motto I would keep is to listen and observe everything that follish people tell me, but never do what they do. She’s seen enough in America to learn that. That said, what she needs is another variety of insanity that broadens my perspective,  providing a balanced meal of food for thought.  It would look good to her boss as well. 

Do genes enjoy these deformed episodes of life as colorful entertainment? It is not clear how I gravitated to this final decision. When a firefly looks at a lamp, does it too look at guiding light because it leads to a path of self discovery? My parents obviously wouldn’t have approved of this business venture, and indeed they disapproved of it. But by the time she informed them of her business venture, she was already boarding the plane at LAX. Pretending there wasn’t any in-plane Wi-Fi connection, there was nothing that could stop her. Of course, she couldn’t have told them she was going to watch Hong Kong fracture from a bird’s eye view, it’s obviously an opportunity to impress her superiors and make a couple of extra stacks for the company, which is not wrong either. There are many truths to consider from, and she needed to be the architect of her own life by choosing which words to stack up the wall.

The meeting went better than expected. Of course it did. I’ve done this long enough to know how to match the supporting data and recommendations together. I’m a bartender offering an irresistible secret. I treated myself with a first-class dinner afterward. By the time I left their headquarters, it was past five, just in time to find somewhere before the dinner crowd. The top recommendation in my search bar led me to the fiftieth floor of a skyscraper in Tsim Sha Tsui. It had a Michelin star and a revolving floor which put the cherry on top of the 360-degree view of Victoria Harbour. 

Thank goodness the menu had both English and Chinese translations. There was a little golden hat stickered on the menu for the Barbecued Iberian Pork with Honey and noodles so I ordered that, along with milk pudding tofu and some more pork buns. Regardless, her company is sponsoring the trip, I could feel free to let loose with the credit cards. Maybe I’ll tell them I invited someone here as well and ate a second serving. As she was waiting for the food, she scrolled some fifteen second videos online and found a post of a woman asking her boyfriend what is his cutest, prettiest, favorite, and perfect photo of her. She shared the video with her own boyfriend, expecting a reply from him by the end of the day which he did, just for fun. Beauty is a spirit that if you follow will reward you. When the food finally came, I held my phone and waited. When the right view exactly came, I took a snapshot and sent it to an audience that I knew wouldn’t care but at least I do. 

After the meal, I went to the supermarket and sought solace in a random drink adorned with Chinese calligraphy. If it has a hefty price tag, surely the market forces of supply and demand must have justified its worth. By the time it deepened into eleven, the everyday objects and the rest of my memories faded into a fluffy pillow. 

Forcing myself out of bed, the hotel embraced a glass wall with a full picture of below. A Japanese architect designed the twenty five story tall building. Impressively, it was made almost entirely from mass timber, making it one of the largest wooden buildings in the country. Harnessing its power, the name Dojin Resort pays tribute to the Japanese gods of earth, land, and soil. There’s a sense of being that can be felt amongst the traditional texture. I can’t help but imagine something pulling the back of my head like a rope as I rise. Letting my eyes naturally calibrate from their slumber, I lay my bare feet on the carpeted floor and stand naked in front of the bed. The air conditioner lets the cool wind kiss her from behind. The blouse and pants she changed into after the meeting were scattered over the floor. The purse lying half-opened on the bedside table. Stepping over the dust-covered clothes, I went to the mini fridge and filled a glass of water. The clock overhead just ticked past nine. 

Stepping into the shower to freshen up, the clouds of steam dance around my face as the water molecules land on my shoulder blades. Little beads of sweat covered her skin - drifting from her arms down to her stomach, hips, and thighs before finally pooling at her ankles. When finished, I grab a soft, fluffy towel, rummaging it in my hair and enjoying its coziness. 

There’s still one more day before the flight leaves tomorrow morning. Most of her items have been packed into the growing purple luggage already. Just about everything could squeeze inside the floral rectangle. Another canvas sling bag is used to carry all the souvenirs she hoarded.  Just to be safe, check the to-do list app once more. 

“Shit.” 

There is an exclusive Lego set only available in Hong Kong. The set contains a collection of iconic structures in the country. At the base was The Hong Kong Convention and Exhibition Centre made with light gray walls and light blue translucent windows. Behind it to the right, stood a slightly larger Buddha statue, and on the left was a mock-up of Mount Peak using different shades of green Lego bricks. A peak tram rides a set of rail tracks emerging from the mountain. 

Switching to her Maps, the nearest Lego store is about three train stations away. There is more than enough time to capture it before checking out. Her nephew asked if she could get it while she was here. Christmas is just right around the corner, and she’s gotten a new job as Santa. From the closet, she puts on her last set of clothes for the trip, sliding on a coincidentally red sleeveless blouse and ripped blue jeans that just about fit her legs. . Scanning her room one final time, she exits and switches the sign to ‘Do not disturb’. The closest station to Dojin Resort was Ho Man Tin. To make it to Mong Kok, she would have to take three stops on the Green Line. The app predicts that she will reach the Lego store in half an hour. When I reached the station though, the algorithm forgot to take into account how many Hong Kongers would be crowding around the entrance. The violence hasn’t yet erupted but it was completely blocked off. The idea of a twenty minute walk is rather inconvenient, but there is no other choice. 

Suddenly as I turn, a burning sensation begins ravaging on my eye. The sudden rush is condemning and I rush to hold my head in my hands as though clutching a fire with my bare hands will extinguish it. Like a newborn exiting a mother’s womb and being afraid of the light, I don’t uncover my eyes fully, but through the slits of my fingers, little pixelations of black pepper over the red taxis and commercialized trams. A wall of tears accumulates in my eyes, which only adds more torment by kicking at the bottom of my eyelids. If the dam accumulates enough water it will overtop and burst, tearing apart the barrier between what I have and what I see. Recollecting my spatial awareness, there’s a bench I just passed along the pavement, I can go there. Time pauses as I become the center of attention of my mind. For a few minutes, I stay still and think of where to get eyedrops and return to my hotel. 

“Here, hold my hand.”

Looking through my fingers, the smooth, childlike voice is coming from a boy. He grabs my hand and directs me to one of the benches I was thinking of. My heart begins to slow down knowing I have a checkpoint away from the moving pedestrians.

“Put this on and try opening your eyes.” The boy says

With my left hand still compensating for the exposed parts of my face, my right hand reaches for what feels like a pair of glasses. Feeling the orientation of it with my fingers, I measure my breathing and prepare myself. Eyes still closed, I remove my second hand and put on the glasses. The moment unfolds as I blink my eyes violently as they begin to recollect their vision just as they had done so when I woke up. It was unexpectedly clear and reassuring. 

A small boy no older than ten years old was sitting next to me. He is wearing a blue tee and khaki shorts. In the center of his shirt is a ghost in the shape of a wired plug chasing after its wall socket. There’s also a bracelet with a plastic egg tart dangling beneath it. 

“Don’t take them off. You’ll be okay now.”

I feel a slap in the face from the irony and embarrassment of a child giving me instructions on what to do as I thank him for offering his help. I try to wipe some sweat off my forehead, only for my hand to clang against the plastic frame of the glasses that further presses into my skin. I ask him why he has spare glasses in his pocket and I offer to pay for the glasses but he waves otherwise. 

Nervously, the boy begins to talk:  “If you wouldn’t mind sparring the rest of your day though, I know this is a lot to ask of someone, but I was hoping you could help me find something of my own too.” Looking at the clean smooth-faced boy, I assumed he lost his parents in the graveyard of defeated souls. The egg tart keychain is perhaps an indicator for the parents to identify the boy in case of such a situation. But it did not look like the boy would be one to aimlessly wander off on his own. He stood his ground like a grown-up adult and had spare glasses in hand even though he didn’t need any. Anyways, it's the least she could do for a boy who just restored her vision.

As I prepared to engage in what felt like another formal presentation, I plastered on a polite smile and pretended that this was the first time we were talking. “No problem young man. Cany you tell me more about what they look like? And where do you think they could be?” I told him calmly. The boy is delicate, if I were to make him upset, it may break into an alarm or maybe the glasses will deactivate themselves. 

 “Oh, I’m not looking for my parents. I need to find something because I don’t have a phone.” He passes me a piece of paper with a string of numbers on it in two lines. 

 22.31667° 19’55” N, 114°11’24” E

 

I stare blankly at the numbers. It’s like math lessons all over again where I’m learning a new topic and I’m waiting for my teacher to guide me on the next set of instructions. “Open your Google Maps and enter the coordinates.” I did this just yesterday…Realizing my dumbfoundedness, I grab my phone and look into it. The facial recognition system unlocks me onto the home page as I scramble to find the maps application again. The route to the Lego store is still activated but I cancel it and follow the boy, typing out the numbers. I’m always used to typing in locations alphabetically, but I trust the boy’s suggestion and copy the piece of paper. A red circle pops up in a place called Kowloon Walled City, which according to the app, is in the middle of a giant grass patch. 

The boy takes in a deep sigh and almost curses. “I need to get to this exact location. I can explain everything on the way there, but I need you to come with me. Are you going to leave the fly-off soon?”

“Tomorrow.”

“Excellent, I just need you to follow my instructions. I promise you we will finish it by sunset. I’ll throw in a free souvenir you can show off too when you go back home.” He smirks at the end. With each sentence he said, I only became more confused about what was going on and who he was. I tap on the directions and the route pops up. A twenty-five-minute route by the Kwun Tong Line is supposedly an option, but the protests have relegated us to a fifty-minute walk. He begins in the correct direction and I ask him if we could take a cab. He says he can but refuses to explain what is happening if the driver isn’t deaf. So in the end we walk. Moreover, he insists that we have to see the place for ourselves. 

Usually, if a stranger approached me, common sense would tell me to leave them on the sidewalk. If this wasn’t a boy who knew what he was doing, I would be huddled in a cab as it drove my lazy ass to a toy shop. But something told me that when my eyes closed, I opened them again and my appointment with the future had changed. It’s like the movie I watched as a child when it started and ended with ‘abre los ojos’. In Spanish, it means to open your eyes. If she left him, not only would it be disrespectful of her, but she would not be able to see what is such a big deal about finding his thing. There’s no way he is waiting his entire life to pull the finger of a blind stranger into the most elaborate prank of the century. 

We need to find a train or something train-like that is most likely related to the art market. So probably a painting with trains in it or a mini model train. Millions of HKD are flying around every day. It’s usually not a problem but there is a painting they cannot get a hold of.”

“But are you certain that it has something to do with trains?”

“Definitely. I can’t find any reasonable explanation but it all started last year in 2023. They are no longer the same as they used to be, especially all things trains. Imagine one axis representing reality, and another representing imagination. No longer are they perpendicular to each other. Someone somehow someway has managed to grab both axes and squeeze them together like a pair of scissors.” 

“How could every single train change though? Or is that the reason behind the protests happening at the train station like back there?” 

“Yes and no. People are protesting because they will always rebel. But that is not the main reason. Trains are no longer the same color, and neither are their engines made by the same manufacturer. They may appear the same, but not from where I previously came from. So we cannot let that art piece reach the public eye for fear of entropy.”

He began to think about something, and his focus needed to be in a space somewhere else. Without a conversation, I observe the signs and shops around us. When it is evening, the lines of shops will give off a distinct diffused glow illuminating the streets in between,  creating a dark, futuristic backdrop that other Asian and American films have. We passed a building called “The Mahjong Hotel”, its neon lights remaining unlit as it was still 11 am. I could still make out the layout of the bulbs and that the first character is a number one in Chinese, followed by another unknown character that is played in the game. 

 A Chinese relative back in the States once invited my family to celebrate Chinese New Year in their house. I vaguely remember seeing some familiar tiles of sorts. My mother however pushed me away from the room, choosing to fix me in the living room with rows of Chinese treats formed up against the coffee table. From the games room, I could hear the clatter of what sounded like stones thrown against each other, presumably the white rectangular cubes. While opening a jar of pineapple tarts, the games room door slammed open as my father grabbed my hand and dragged me out of the house. It was the last time I ever saw that place. 

This can not be a prank. I think to myself. For all she knows, she could be finding a toy train and its extremist leader is a chubby ten year old in a superhero cape. Did the trains change? If I were to approach a sleeping old manor those boys in the soccer field right now and ask them if something happened to the trains, would they say so? Or would they just laugh? To be fair, metro trains fully dressed in orange seem quite unorthodox compared to the traditional gray back in Cali, but it doesn’t matter. The MTR card for rail transit here is called an Octopus card but I don’t see an octopus riding the rails and grabbing buildings like Lego blocks. 

“Do you believe in past lives?” Interrupting my thinking, this is the kind of questions that belong either to people with the wildest icebreakers or a close friend on a deep melancholy night. I love yapping about my useless opinions though. 

“Hm I wouldn’t discount the idea. Maybe each life is a chance for us to become better than our previous version. But I don’t see any concrete evidence of the concept of reincarnation”.

 The boy carries the confidence of someone who has indeed lived past lives but does not want to tell upfront. “Trust me when I say that the trains have not always been orange. Who in their right mind will turn the trains into a giant carrot! Even for me personally, if I cannot understand it without an explanation, I cannot understand it with an explanation.” 

“How do you know that I’m new here?”

“You’re a blond girl with a sleeveless red blouse and ripped blue jeans. Of course you’re a tourist.” He broke into a laugh as he said it. The mood softens lightly as I try to defend myself, explaining that I’m here on a business trip but on a holiday as well. He tells me that I’m not local enough to wear cool clothing, but neither am I enough of an expat to be wearing shorts. Whether or not this is an elaborate scheme, I’m enjoying this sporadic adventure into whatever this new world he’s preaching about.

#

The place is nothing like she could have imagined. In front of them lies a giant wall of housing that extends on both sides. The wall couldn’t be any smaller than a football field or two. Now she knows that she is not playing some game of cat and mouse. How did this place not appear on her top attractions? She feels like she is about to enter a villain’s secret lair. A secret lair that even the police would know, but are too afraid to interfere, choosing to wait for a superhero to save the day. 

“Your phone is not going to help you anymore, what you see here is the Kowloon Walled City. The densest place on earth. It was demolished in 1993 and converted into a park as you can see on the map. This place lives only inside your glasses.” He’s right. When I take off the glasses, all I see is a grass patch(albeit with some blurriness). But when I put it back on, the serenity is replaced by a dystopian megastructure. I ask him if I can step inside as long as I wear the glasses. “Keep your glasses on. Your vision is blurry anyway. It’s a giant maze, but if we can get to the center we’ll find it. I swear by my ninth life that no one inside will bite you. As long as we mind our own business, we get in so that we can get out. Mission accomplished.” 

If she left here without seeing what was inside, she would regret it for the rest of her life. And she will probably never be able to forgive herself for having averted her eyes from that something, whatever it might be. This would never ever exist in Los Angeles. 

Walking alongside the buildings. The majority of the front stores have dental chairs with elderly patients seated. Their clothes were worn out and tearing throughout. A few more rows down, there is an open grill with a signboard depicting a dog and an arrow pointing toward a bowl of noodles and meat bites. The grill pops and sizzles as the store uncle smiles at me, holding up a stick of scissor-cut meat. I swiftly turn away and face the front, refusing to let any thoughts simmer any more than the poor animal. 

An opening appears between the walls. Litters pile up on the left and right of the floors as drops fall from above, From the inside, there emanates a sense of living beauty and chaos that exists in inanimate objects. “Legally, the inside of this place is outright lawless. The British and the Chinese used to assert order but they could never keep a hold of it. No police officer would ever dare to go in alone. Eventually, the authority gave up on the place. Hence the nickname ‘city of anarchy’. Whatever happens, just follow me. Do not listen to anyone else.” 

It’s too late now to back out. “I’m ready.” 

He takes out a plain gray hoodie from his backpack and throws it at me, telling me that it will cover my colored hair. I catch the mess of soft fabric and try it on. It’s a loose fit around the arms but otherwise, a fluffy hoodie was warm and comfy. He surely planned the hoodie in advance for an average Joe. 

Without any further hesitation, we went into the narrow concrete walls. The contrast between the interior and sunlight was night and day. She has no idea how deep this walled city is. Within a few steps, the natural light was substituted with dim LED lights that hung from the ceiling. No windows in here can save this place from its light deficiency. The amount of litter steadily increased the deeper she went inside. Some old television sets and chairs laid by the side.  A pink worn-out mattress laid vertically against the walls outside a unit, and was about to fall at any waking moment. After a few left and right turns inside, a metal fabrication shop is opened, which seems to have entered in the 70s and got lost in space and time. The machines inside remind Teresa of workshops her uncles would have used long in the forgotten past. The smell of smoke however is definitely present. She stretches her hood and presses it against her nose as she rushes past, the mix of cotton and smoke salting up her nostrils. 

They begin to enter the rooms which they knew were empty in search of the art piece. Almost everything is drowning in a sea of dust as we look through and pick them up. I turned on my phone’s flashlight as well for extra measure. My phone stopped receiving messages as well. 

As we opened one of the doors, directly in front of us was a clean vinyl cover laid perfectly on top of a locked box. There was nothing else in the room except a single light bulb which was turned on before we came in. “Let’s bring this along just in case.” I hold the vinyl cover in my hand and see nothing except some graphic Chinese characters on a plain white background. Once more, I did not understand what the words meant. 

At the end of the corridor, we reached a low-hanging staircase. As I ascended, I could just about hear the screams of children chasing one another. As the children continue to play, she is impressed that children can still find happiness in such a place. Most of the housing units she passed were mostly elderly folks or poor refugees, but to know some kids live their lives in the confines of this building, whether imaginary or real, is noteworthy. Down the road, as life expands, they may realize how confined their living conditions were. But right now, these children wouldn’t know that they were making memories, they were just having fun. 

She had a dream where she was also in a walled city. Now that she thinks about it. In her world, the lift would only travel to a select number of odd-numbered stories. To reach the even-numbered floors, she needed to climb between the gaps in the walls,  like a character in a 2D game that needed to ascend the tower. And jump over barrels that rolled down before her. As each step was half her height, she would need to jump and pivot herself on the edge to bring herself upwards. Fortunately, this strange reality was friendlier than fiction. 

Eventually, a rectangle of light began to emerge. As they crabwalk sideways around an acute corner, the skylight shone through dozens of stories before crash-landing on an empty courtyard at the center of the entire building. For the past twenty or so minutes, she’s been suffocating in the depths of the musty alleyways. Finally, she’s reached the surface, and the breath of fresh air liberates Teresa’s lungs. 

“There’s a toilet here. Do you want to take a break first?” The boy asks. I have enough trouble trying to enter toilets in the city, I can’t imagine using one here. I tell the boy to go ahead and I’ll wait here.

“Want a smoke?” As soon as the boy goes in, a feminine voice comes from across the other side of the building. Standing on the opposite side of the path where I previously squeezed out from was a woman in her mid-thirties wearing a Qipao. In one hand she takes a puff of her Lucky Strike, in the other hand she holds a slice of watermelon. With her eyes, she signals to me the rest of her packet lying on the metal railing that rattles.

“No thanks, I’m good.” 

“If you insist.” Looking down, at the bottom of the courtyard there are little figures playing table games and instruments. I know I shouldn’t be talking to her, but I might as well try to be friendly with her. “Is the cigarette and melons a good combo?” 

“As a matter of fact, yes. I never understood why, I just picked it up one day and loved it ever since. The same can be said for this entire place.”

“You’re right. It’s a place that’s lost in time.” 

“Everyone loves Kowloon. Kowloon doesn’t need to change itself. The color, food, and lightheartedness are perfect just the way they are. People love the nostalgia..” 

She couldn’t have been any truer. Teresa’s generation, although the youngest, is also scientifically proven to be the most nostalgic. This isn’t the first time she’s seen a vinyl record in the past month. Her friends have started a renaissance of collecting vinyl and dragging her along to record shops to find albums from the 70s to the early 2000s. She’s accustomed to the smell of decaying cardboard and PVCs mixed. The hobby has seemingly appeared out of thin air. 

Without warning, an itching feeling bites on her throat. She hasn’t drunk anything since morning. She asks the woman if she’s got a spare water bottle. Fetching a water bottle hidden behind the walls, she tosses the clear bottle with a picture of an orchid flower. Uncapping the top, she downs about half of it immediately. It is times like these when flavorless water is the most addictive to her. 

Just as she hides the bottle in her bag, the boy returns from the toilet. “Alright, let’s keep going. It should be on this floor.” Looking back at the woman one last time, I smile at her and she waves back. The boy doesn’t acknowledge the woman’s presence at all. 

At this point, she has no idea what floor they are on. But judging from the valley extending below the railing, it was more than she had ever climbed since her schooling days. Most of the stores showed no sign of recent human activity. Mostly serving as collection points for common materials needed for the resident’s daily needs. Her throat was sore once again after a few rooms. The discomfort worsens with each step before she lets out a violent sneeze. She always thought she had a dust allergy, but now she knew for sure had it.

Come here.” Going to the next room where the boy was, there was an unlocked room. Through the window, there was a turntable and wooden chest about the size of her but laid horizontally. The rich coloring of the oak and elegant wood grain texture added a sense of beauty to an otherwise depressing room. Still holding the record, they go inside and she places the black disc on the turntable. Pressing the play button, the stylus reads the grooves within the record, relaying the instructions to a speaker before some canto-pop begins to copy across the room. Like clockwork, the metal hinges creak and the chest immediately opens up. The Chinese chorus continues to play in the background. 

Teresa has been to a few art galleries. Each style of painting had its own story to tell. Art and context always go hand in hand with one another. In Christian paintings, it was the expression of the faith. In modern art, the philosophy of re-imagining what the aesthetic concept is meant to be. In contemporary art, it was the polarization of the present time. 

With this painting, however, she couldn’t put a finger on what the creator was trying to say. A nametag at the bottom of the naturally colored frame read “Mit der Sohn und der Bahnhof”. There’s a standalone brick building resting in the background. A black and red steam locomotive of multiple carriages exhumes steam along its train tracks, taking up the primary focus of the painting. The painting didn’t try to define itself to a past or present time or imply any significance of what time and space it is occupying. It simply exists. 

The boy stared at the painting, his eyes filled with dejection that radiated throughout his body language. He was defeated by the truth. “He’s not inside.”

“Who?” Teresa asked.

“The Sohn.”

It’s the German word on the title of the painting. She guessed that the sohn could be the English translation of the word ‘son’. The boy reaches for the bottom of the frame and lifts the frame. Inside his backpack, he takes out a giant cloth and covers the painting. “Cut any extra cloth.” Together, we covered up the entire portrait. It’s about the size of an A3 paper. He pulls out a huge carrier meant for carrying large bulky items and inserts the artwork inside. It's believable enough that we simply came here to collect some scrap metal from the fabrication outlets. 

“Let’s get out of here. Once we reach the entrance, keep walking back to your hotel room and never look back. They will be watching and coming after me. I cannot explain it without cliche riddles that over-generalize, but whatever happens, just hide the painting from the public eye and you will be safe. They cannot touch you. For now, let’s just get out.” 

Teresa swallows the words and they begin their return. Her mental map of the place evolved and updated with each staircase and integrated structure. New graffiti and new shops emerged at connection points they previously hadn’t come across. There was never a single definitive map, but thousands of living organisms that shape upward and inward within each individual. Hardly anyone bothered to look at them or judge her package. Their new path was noticeably more dusty and difficult to breathe. Still, she soldiered through the hours.

By the time they made it out, it was roughly six in the evening. The sunlight was retreating in the west, replaced by the neon glow of street signs. Skyscrapers beam in the distance while symbols of fortune and dragons closely radiate in their own unique colors. As instructed, Teresa was a passenger on a pair of legs which were a one-way travelator forward. One hand carrying the painting, the other on her phone directing her back to the hotel. Suddenly, her phone begins to vibrate. 

“Take a taxi back to the hotel.” 

“Do not reply, delete the msg once you acknowledge” 

No greetings. No explanation. No beating around the bush. But she knows it's him. Moments later, as though on cue, a red and white taxi drops by to pick her back to Dojin Hotel. She cannot help but look out at the rear window as the cab accelerates, but he is no longer there. 

Back in the hotel, she sets the bag on the floor and examines the proportions. It can just about fit the luggage but some of her clothing will have to compensate into a secondary bag meant for souvenirs. While she was in the cab, out of curiosity, she tried searching for the painting online but was unsuccessful. 

With the remaining time available, she showers and packs the remaining items. There is still time to go out and eat but she decides to order from the hotel menu. Her legs were begging her to rest. It is also better to keep low-key just in case.  A simple salad and Szechuan chicken will do. Finally, she crashes onto the bed and falls asleep. No dreams or rude awakenings disturb her throughout the night. 

The following morning, everything was just as it was the night before. She books a ride in advance to the airport that will arrive in an hour. Everything has been prepped since last night. Most of the places she wanted to visit in Hong Kong were already ticked off so there was nothing more to do. She pulls out her laptop and finishes some reports and lines everything at the door to check out. 

As she was halfway, the doorbell rang. On the floor outside is a box of egg tarts and a small egg tart keychain resembling the one that the boy wore yesterday. Looking left or right, there was no one in sight. Upon opening the emerald green cover, there were four freshly baked egg tarts of different flavors. The first is an original egg tart. The second had a light green custard. The other two were definitely chocolate and strawberry-flavored. With no one else to share, she took a Teresa-classic photo and then treated herself to all 4 flavors. Each egg tart had a cookie crust, filled with smooth and lightly sweetened egg custard. Teresa always wanted to try at least one of the egg tarts for dessert but never got the chance during the trip. The flavors were not too strong, but subtly sweet in each tart. In contrast, the crumbly and buttery crust melted in her mouth with the chocolates and strawberries. 

She books out of the hotel and catches her taxi to Hong Kong International Airport. Fortunately, there was a shop selling the Lego set her nephew was looking for. The ride is smooth and she gets off thirteen hours later to the delight of her parents and boyfriend waiting for her at the airport. 

“I like the new look on you, I didn’t know you had to wear specs.”

How did she not realize she was wearing glasses this entire time? She cooks up a story about her vision blurring and promises to get them checked here. 

The following day is a Monday so she applies leave to go to the eye clinic. They run her through the tests with and without the glasses. Scanning her eyes and testing her vision, the eye specialist comes out with her results with an uncomfortable surprise.

“Teresa, your eyes are actually perfectly fine, if not excellent by our standards.” To her surprise, the specialist tells her just to get more rest. Didn’t the boy said that he didn’t have a phone either? How did he message me as I got out of Kowloon Walled City then?

Bringing the painting to the back of a random mall with a rubbish dump. She takes one last look at the painting before throwing and forgetting about it.