The Dim Sum Diaries (Part I)

Feeling disembodied.

Or rather, as Freud might be made to say in pop-psychology, it seems as if my Unconscious is still in Hong Kong and my Conscious has wandering around Singapore, going about daily life, talking to people, cooking, routinely churning out work. It's as if, in pop-Christianity, my body took off for Singapore and left my soul back in SAR.

Life in Singapore seems a dream that I will surely wake from, and on that day, I will rouse from under my duvet to the chill of a Hong Kong spring, look out the window to see old folk doing tai-chi in the clear crisp sunlight under delicate pink cherry blossoms, I will dress with the heater on, pick up a paper at a corner stall and board an old green-and-white ferry to Central, standing on the top deck in the salty sea breeze, sharpening my appetite for steaming hot dim sum in bamboo baskets and a pot of hot tea. At night, after a vigorous long hike in the chilly hills with good friends, we will descend onto the welcoming warm lights of a bustling restaurant, take off our coats and refuel with sizzling roast goose, crispy roast pork, fragrant fried rice and freshly stir-fried leafy veg.

Every time I close my eyes on the MRT, the murmur of Singaporean English around me seems foreign. My ears have happily settled on rapid-fire Cantonese and refuse to acclimatise. Can't snap out of it. I've never been to Hong Kong though I'm Hongkie on my mother's side. Not subscribing to generational memory theories, can't quite put a finger on what so beholds my Unconscious. It could be the wonderful food which gives much joy to a necessary task. It could be the lovely weather that allows you to walk and chat for miles and miles without breaking into a sweat. It could be the vibrant nightlife of classical and jazz offerings. It could be the marvellous treasures in their exciting musuems and free entry on Wednesdays. It could be the innate energy of the locals on the move and the smooth efficiency of the transportation system. It could be the fascinating specimens and amazing fashion sense of both sexes that would make a designer swoon with joy and make people-watching worthwhile. It could be all of the above. Or it could be none of them.

Headhunters had come knocking just before the trip and one of the destinations proffered was Hong Kong. And the questions hovering over the span of the trip were, "I think I could live here. I think I could be happy here. But how easy would it be to be Christian here? Would I delight too much in the materialism of the here-and-now? And ultimately, would I really be happy here without a relationship with God in the here-and-now and for all eternity?"

Might consider if there was a good bible-teaching church there and a chance of accountability partners. However, didn't get to check due to oversleeping issues (not mine for once!).

Now if I were the type to attempt to read God's will in the shape of my 蛋塔, it could seem that God is calling me to missions in Hong Kong. How convenient for my itchy butt.

The Dim Sum Diaries (Part II - Dim Sum)
The Dim Sum Diaries (Part III - Birds and Pigs)
The Dim Sum Diaries (Part IV - Noodles and Rice and some noodling around)
The Dim Sum Diaries (Part V -Snacks)