Thirty-five years ago, I arrived in Hong Kong as a bewildered teenager, eager yet uncertain about what lay ahead in this bustling metropolis. I was a foreigner, a minority, an outsider. But little did I know, I would soon fall deeply in love with this vibrant, sensory-overloading city.
Years later, I found myself returning, driven by a desire to explore the changes that had taken place since the Handover in 1997. I spoke to journalists, young and old citizens, and even my son, who was the same age as I was when I first moved here. However, our time ran out, and we vowed to return.
Five years later, the world had changed, and the opportunity to come back presented itself. I was eager to witness the transformation of this city I once called home. But this time, the stakes were higher, and the changes were more profound.
Hong Kong has always been a city in flux, embracing change in its relentless pursuit of progress. Buildings were demolished and replaced with glass and steel, the harbor was filled in, and the skyline was constantly evolving. However, beneath the surface of these physical changes, something more profound was happening.
In 2014, a series of protests shook Hong Kong to its core. Citizens were angry at China's interference in local elections and took to the streets in their millions. The unrest continued, fueled by the dilution of Hong Kong's independence and the erosion of freedoms and rights.
The pandemic exacerbated the situation, as Hong Kong enforced strict COVID-19 policies, isolating the city from the rest of the world. The city's unique identity, once fiercely protected by its population, was fading.
Despite the changes, I couldn't help but be drawn back to my old haunts. Sham Po, one of my favorite parts of Hong Kong, remained a vibrant, exciting neighborhood filled with working-class charm. The once-ubiquitous dai pong (street food stalls) were struggling to survive, with only 20 remaining in the entire city.
O Man Sang, a quintessential dai pong in Sham Po, has been serving the community since 1956. They, like many dai pong, have adapted to survive, but their spirit remains intact. The sizzle of stir-fries and the aroma of kerosene-fueled stoves continue to attract patrons seeking a taste of Hong Kong's culinary heritage.
Breakfast in Hong Kong is an experience that showcases the city's unique blend of cultures. Dishes like macaroni or noodle soup, born out of the fusion of Western and local ingredients, are a testament to the city's adaptability.
Irene, the inventor of iconic dai pong dishes, embodies the spirit of preservation. Despite the changing landscape and tastes, she remains committed to preserving the traditions that make Hong Kong unique.
As I walked through the city, I couldn't help but feel a sense of loss. The heart and soul of Hong Kong seemed to be slipping away, replaced by an eerie silence. But amidst the uncertainty, there were still glimmers of hope.
Hong Kong remains a magical place, full of unique experiences and flavors that need to be shared, preserved, and celebrated. The city's spirit may be dimmed, but it's far from extinguished. I will continue to return, to document, and to experience the ever-evolving essence of this remarkable city.