As I rode the A41 bus from Hong Kong International Airport to Sha Tin Station, it finally became real; here I was, embarking upon a new life with nothing but an oversized orange suitcase and a year-long visa slip stapled to my passport.
I was in autopilot as I pushed said luggage up the hills of the Chinese University of Hong Kong, into the cranky elevator of my apartment block, and down the corridor of the 8th floor. Each girl turned her head away upon seeing me – a blonde-haired, blue-eyed foreigner – trundle down the hall noisily. I began to wonder whether choosing to live in Wu Yee Sun College, 5,900 miles away from home, would be the ‘culturally-immersive’ experience I had proclaimed on my exchange application.
The first outing was no less estranging. One minute, I was wandering around the bright and boisterous streets of Mong Kok (named ‘busy corner’ for a reason). The next, I was being reprimanded in a cha chaan teng for struggling to choose from the thousands of dishes on the menu. For all its visible disorder, this was a place that valued efficiency. While I listened to the man seated opposite me chomping noisily on his char siu, I felt like I had entered another world.
For years, I had studied Sociology to ‘make the familiar strange’, but now it was time to make the strange familiar. I couldn’t tell you when the skyline of pastel high-rises became everyday scenery rather than a postcard image; when Sunday dim sum replaced weekend brunch; and when my default ‘thank you’ turned into ‘m goi’. All I know is that somewhere along the way, the hills of Hong Kong had become home.
During my last day in ‘Asia’s World City’, I was determined to eat and experience as much as possible. In between enjoying pushcart dim sum, my favourite Bakehouse egg tart, and the iconic Chongqing Snack, I walked from Tsim Sha Tsui to Mong Kok for the last time. For old times’ sake, I took a final trip down Ladies’ Market. The stall vendor and I both laughed when he offered me a packet of imported chopsticks for 200 Hong Kong Dollars (I got them for 20).
On the East Rail Line back to University Station, I observed its familiar characters: Chinese ladies watching videos on Douyin at full volume, a young couple embracing as if their lives depended on it, and a child wearing an English t-shirt that read ‘WISH YOU WERE BEER’. After a year of public transport in Hong Kong, the London Underground would never be the same.
As I mentally waved goodbye to my favourite establishments, neighbourhoods, and MTR stations, I thought about how much had changed since that first wandering in Mong Kok. I was still a baby-faced foreigner with a resolve to learn more about the world, but the lens through which I viewed my surroundings had been radically transformed. I felt indescribably sad to be leaving Hong Kong, but I was overwhelmed with gratitude for the gifts my exchange had afforded. I began to realise that none of these things were truly ‘last times’; a return to this home away from home was inevitable.
