364: Look, I Am Your Father

I have finally decided to make a separate Facebook account for my students yesterday because I got fed up with all the photo tagging.  As I was adding friends to my account, a familiar face popped up.  My dad in the friend suggestion box.  I added him and waited for the result.

Today, I woke up late as usual.  Dishes, lunch and a shower later, I had a few minutes to spare for Facebook before heading to the cinema for what else.  I promised Van I'd be done in five minutes.

I refreshed my Rated PG page and sure enough, my dad added me.  Interesting.  I haven't heard from him for years.  I haven't seen him either except for some photos a couple of months ago.  I was hoping I'd see new photos but what I saw in his account were baby pictures of "all his children" or so the album title suggested.  His five sons from three mothers.  I wonder how he pulled it off.

I dreaded most of the photos because I looked awful back then but one picture brought back a memory.  It was a portrait of myself.  I was probably eight years old.  I remember my father fixing my hair before the picture was taken.  I also remember a year later my dad decided to take the photos himself.  He got excited one afternoon, loaded the Kodak camera with film and asked me to fill a basin with water.  He put the basin near the window where it caught the sunlight.  He then told me to sit in front of the basin.  He seemed satisfied to see the ripples of light reflected on my face.

"Five minutes!" Van in his usual grumpy way.  I decided I've had enough daddy dreams anyway so we got going to the movies.  Coincidences have a funny way of showing up though because the movie we watched was Inception which, I later found out, was a full-blast father and son film.  The only thing missing was Cat Stevens' (aka Yusuf Islam) classic hit.

I purposely stayed away from anything that was written about Inception because I didn't want to spoil the fun.  I had a vague idea of the concept, but even vaguer was the story itself.  I had no idea it would be a three-level father and son medley.  I remember how I bawled with Frequency, and I feared I might do it again while surrounded mostly by men in the theater.

Towards the end of the movie, the younger Mr. Fischer sat beside his father's deathbed.  "I was disappointed that you tried [to be like me]," the dying tycoon Mr. Fischer told his son (sorry for the semi-spoiler but let's leave it at that before I ruin the whole thing).  That got me.

Growing up with a man's man father was tough for me.  Being a basketball coach, he was often asked whether I was following his footsteps.  I have tried my best.  He let me join the basketball clinic he taught in one summer.  He'd take me to all his matches.  But it wasn't in me or early on I decided that he's a tough act to follow anyway.  One day at the court, I was waiting on the bench when his friend asked him if I was going to be the next MVP.  My father took one look at me and said, "Nah, he's doing ballet."

I wanted to show him he was wrong. I started to learn the game.  I read a lot of books about basketball.  I got serious in my basketball PE classes.  I had a plan.  I would be best bb player in my city and I will never play for my own father.  I will embarrass him by not playing for his team.  But the plan became meaningless when he moved out of our lives.

The film ended with the now famous totem, top, spinning on the table.  I got teary eyed again just before the credits rolled.  If you ask me if the film was good, I can be technical about it and enumerate a dozen reasons why it's an instant classic.  But I can tell you one reason why it's the best film of the year so far.  It touched my heart.

I still dream that one day I will see my father again.  I can be honest and say I hated him when I was a teenager.  But now that I'm in my thirties, practically the same age as he was when he left the family, I couldn't blame him anymore.  I can be a bitch and dwell on the heartaches but now, I'd rather just remember the tender moments like when he fixed my hair for that photo shoot.  The creases on the photo are evidences of the many wallets it has been through.

Now, it's all good.  One day, I'll see him and probably, jokingly tell him I took up ballet and didn't like it.  And when that day comes, my top won't be spinning endlessly on a table.

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365: A Vow

I asked for a sign on my trip to the immigration office. A white dove. Naturally, the whole 45 minutes on the upper deck of the bus, I was wide-eyed, on the lookout for a bird that was probably busy doing a day job in a wedding chapel somewhere.

The first trip hit a snag which could have been avoided if Dodeng Daga simply trusted my visa-processing skills. I have done this twice, after all. When the immigration officer interviewed me, I was a syllable away from being called stupid because of the inconsistent document that I gave them. Said document was the genius plan of Dodeng Daga who, while not really a rat, certainly resembles and thinks like the vermin.

I was given an appointment schedule for the 29th of July, just a couple of days before my visa expires. Surely it was not the sign I was hoping for. The walk out of the immigration office was a long one. I felt lost and rejected even though there hasn't been a decision yet. Still, a landslide of questions were upon me. I dodged the people passing by like a ball in a pinball machine. Each time I hit a passerby, BING!--a thought, ZING!--an idea, TOINK!--a worry. What if I won't be extended? What if I had to leave within two days? What if I can't find another job soon enough? Where should I go next?

With all those thoughts running through my brain, I didn't notice an old friend approach my side. It was Adam. Perfect. I needed a hug. He said two words: "hello" and "wait". He traded me for a phone call so, after ten minutes, I waved goodbye and grabbed some comfort food at 7-11.

By then the afternoon was just making everyone in Wan Chai sticky, irritable and thirsty. I wasn't spared of course as I itched to get on the bus. I savored the trip back home thinking it might be one of the last long bus rides I'll ever have in Hong Kong.

When I got home I can only think of one relief--a shower. And there in my small bathroom, the sign has been sitting there all along. A new bar of white Dove soap. I know we tend to force patterns and meanings into our lives but whether or not it's the sign that I was looking for, it was just what I needed at that moment. I soaped away the sweat, washed away the tears and relieved my tired spirit.

A week later and with a renewed sense of hope, I headed back to the immigration and got my visa for another year.

I had promised a few things to that imaginary dove. And keeping this blog up and running again for at least another year was just one of them. Let the countdown begin.

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Double Deck the Halls

On the bus tonight I kept glancing on my phone and checking the time. In thirty minutes it will be officially Christmas.

I left Van at Lan Kwai Fong just when the masses began their pilgrimage to Hong Kong's nightlife district. Had I gotten major good news from an earlier business appointment, or, at least, had I worn more comfortable shoes, I would've stayed longer. But my spirits were low and my feet were screaming through the fungi so I wished Van a merry Christmas and got on the bus.

My only hope was to make it home before midnight. The 45-minute trip home would usually have me sleeping halfway through. Tonight, however, the possibility of meeting Christmas inside the bus entertained me. Would everyone greet each other?

Seated at the upper floor of the double decker bus, I looked at the passengers near me. A couple and their daughter were at the front. The father busy watching a movie on his mobile, the mother exchanging tall tales with her daughter. Beside me, a woman observed the world disappear into a blur behind us as she listened to her music. Across the aisle, another woman lulled herself to sleep with a 2nd generation iPod probably set to shuffle and beside her, a middle-aged lady clung to her shopping bags. Behind me, two guys were chatting. Beyond that, the themes just recur--earphoned people, chatty people, sleepers, observers and thinkers. There were a few lovers, too. Judging from the crowd, the chances of them bursting into a Christmas carol were very slim.

By 11:30, the bus was already on Ting Kau Bridge, my favorite bridge in Hong Kong. Watching the bridge's cables roll by while listening to the perfect song is sometimes better than sex. It should be another 15 minutes before I got home, I thought. I'd have enough time to buy some crappy food at the grocery for Christmas lunch.

11:50 and the cashier was asking about some sort of "toy". Experience told me that "toy" meant plastic bag (maybe). I didn't have time to be environmentally friendly so I said yes.

11:58 with a few minutes to spare to get the mail from the post box. At exactly midnight the front desk guard greeted me "merry Christmas". I smiled and greeted back. That was nice, I thought.

It was 12:01 when I took off my boots, still wondering whether the other people in the bus also made it home in time for Christmas (if it mattered to them at all).

Flashback

Like Clockwork Orange became a big part of my life when I left home and started to work in Qatar. Most of the entries were written while I was in Doha but to me they're timeless reminders of my adventures and misadventures and all the lessons I have learned. Click on the link if you care to reminisce with me.

Clean Slate

Tonight, hungry and weary, I sat on an orange seat in the train as it slowly made its way to the last stop--my stop. It has been my start and stop, day in and day out for the last year and a half here in Hong Kong. Each day I board the train I'm reminded about this blog I used to, religiously, keep--Like Clockwork Orange.

Tonight though, on the train, I caught a glimpse of a seemingly new color. Through the window, out in the darkness, a joyous blue glow caught my eye. A blue Christmas tree with nothing on it except for blue lights.

I have never thought of Christmas until tonight and I have never thought of blogging again until I chanced upon that blue Christmas tree. I arrived home hopeful but still hungry. Should I ditch Like Clockwork Orange completely? Only time will tell. For now, I need a clean slate. A fresh start. It's about time (long overdue, in fact) to allow Hong Kong into my life.