the past couple of days in hong kong. wouldn’t this weather wear you out as well?
it rained a lot. but I mean, a lot. endless streams of water flowing in horizontal direction. umbrellas never help. rain poured through most of the days of this week. there isn’t much to do when the weather is like that; gloomy and grey. and even though it’s summer, the wind creates a chill in the air. we like to kiss in the rain, the boy and I, although he hates it when I get soaked. water drips down my hair and legs and he looks at me with sad eyes: you will get sick, baby girl, and then what? we snuggle for as long as we can, before it’s time to go home. but our nights of sleep are disturbed. his big heart and open mind are beginning to lose hope and I cannot blame him. we just don’t need others making it even harder for us. it will diminish us.
central, downtown. I stopped listening to music when I am walking on the street. I get so lost in my thoughts I forget where I am. then my phone rings and it wakes me up from my conscious slumber. lines of men in suits pass me by; women in their high heels clicking loudly. it annoys me. there is a new cute barista at the starbucks downstairs. he always notices me, but I am never lucky enough to stand in his line. he does know my name already, even though, he never asked me. grande cappuccino, croissant with brie cheese. I chew my food mindlessly. I am not even sure if I am ever hungry, I just know it’s time to eat.
last night, after I returned home from a friend’s 21st birthday party at the upper house, I slurped a bowl of plain rice noodles. cheap contrast to the evening we’d just had. I ran away from wan chai, not being able to handle it anymore. last night, it felt so fucked up. the smell of spilt beer on the hot pavement, crowds overflowing from bars onto the road, people laughing and yelling. the ever-present rihanna on loud speakers. it was unbearable. I came back home and I put on tarantino’s django, grateful for the darkness and silence. halfway through the movie, just after they arrive in mississippi, I fell asleep. the boy timed his messages, so I could wake up to them in the morning. long paragraphs written in french intervened with an occasional lingala. we dream of a different life and it’s all in there.
bonjour mon mundele.