Day 1- YOU
So there is you.
You live far FAR away in Hong Kong.
Where people eat mango sticky rice dessert.
You promised me to have this when we meet again.
A place where they serve tea
made of little rosebuds.
Small pink baby roses in a cup.
We drank this tea together,
I loved it.
And there is me.
I live here in Belgium.
A country where people eat nothing but waffles.
One day, you shall eat one of those and get
addicted to it like the rest of us.
I live here, in this small medieval city. I laughed and yelled,
“Come on!” when you said you liked Bruges better.
We met in the country of licorice. Officially, we studied for a master’s degree in journalism. And unofficially, it was all about dinner parties.
Did I see reality? How did I perceive you, us, Hong Kong politics?
Your case should have lasted 90 days, but that number was
surpassed a long time ago.
In the beginning, I was impatient.
I wanted to know what would happen.
Checked my phone endlessly, waiting for updates.
Roller coaster up, roller coaster down.
And now, I just know you are in jail and that you will
probably stay there for a while.
So what’s with all the blue? It is the colour that you like the most. Lately, I have come to love it too. Your name means“blue” in English. So here we go.
It is the colour of depth, melancholy, strength, resilience, calm, and rage.
The hottest flames are blue. No please don’t start about red, that’s a joke.
It is Joni Mitchell’s album, Jacqueline du Pres Dvorak Cello Concerto, and Bluets, written by Maggie Nelson.
It is the last colour before the night turns black and the first colour I see
when I look out of the window in the morning. Cornflowers in summer.
I have no expensive words to write in an academic paper about all of this. But some days, I want to paint the whole city blue so everybody knows.
Denmark 2018. Your face in the doorway. Radiant. You show
me a box of strawberry mochi you made yourself. They
looked like strawberries wearing a glutinous rice winter coat.
Bonfire in the Danish woods.
We were with so many people.
You lost your marshmallows in the fire and I smelled like a smoked sausage for days.
You went to Barcelona one day and you bought me bags of
tea. I loved the sweet Sakura tea. Years later, I wandered
around in the oldest part of the city. And suddenly, there it
was. Your tea shop!
We were biking in Amsterdam and it was windy. The wind
played with your hair and I tried to keep up with you.
“Could you give me some makeup advice because I have to
look perfect on TV”
Soon, too soon, you would defend your ideas on democracy on TV.
“What did you say, you want to be a perfect kiwi?”
I thought about Céline Dion and how people shamed her as a singing
kiwi as she didn’t shave her upper legs. Quite ridiculous, legs have hair on and kiwis are tasty.
You yelled and the wind was howling
“No not kiwi, I said TV!”
“You would be my favourite kiwi” I said happily and you frowned as if what I said was nonsense.
But I meant it.
On some dark blue days, I cry. A cancelled train, a broken heart, an empty shelf in the supermarket where my favourite chocolate spread used to be…
Enough reasons to cry whale tears.
“Take a shower and then see how you feel after.”
Best advice you gave me, hands down.
Nothing is more soothing than a hot stream of water and the smell of a good conditioner.
And if it isn’t working, at least you smell good.
You bought tons of Albert Heijn yoghurt in these typical light
blue buckets.
I still buy them.
I mean, just in case you would drop by.
All pro-democratic protesters in Hong Kong were wearing
black. The police used intense blue water in their water
cannons to mark protesters for arrest. Waves of black shirts
in a blue ocean of violence.
You love cheese. It is super pricey in Hong Kong. We spoiled
you when you came to Belgium with a cheese plate. Many
different kinds of cheese, fruits, nuts, and beers.
Ice cream and Baileys, we ended all our dinner parties in
Denmark with this perfect combination.
Every time I get a letter from you, it feels like a missing
puzzle piece is found.
“What do you do when you feel sad?”
“I drink a beer.”
“And what do you do when you still feel sad after?”
“I drink some more.”
I worry too much and you tell me not to do it la. You laugh when I ask you about “la”.
You say it doesn’t mean anything and all Hongkongers use it.
Tears of joy.
Tears of rage.
Tears of despair.
Tears of I don’t know why the heck I am crying but you aren’t
here.
Christmas break, you call from Hong Kong holding up a box.
You are standing in the middle of what seems like hundreds
of lucky cats. I dream of such a cat with a hyperactive little
arm.
“Which one?” you ask.
Your trial is in English, very colonial. I try to figure out what
is going on. Someone tells me you were singing in court. I
smile. Yes, I recognize you!
I am sure we will meet again. I don’t know when. But I know
we will. And until then, I will do my best to live the most
interesting and fullest life. A life full of many ideas, questions,
tryouts, fuck ups, coffee bars, food, heartache, tears, laughter
and so many colours dear.
“Die Lô” (The Law) by Adam Small is an Afrikaans poem
about social and racial issues during apartheid. You
supported me when I pursued my interest and took courses
on South African literature and history while we studied in
Amsterdam. You pushed me to do field research in South
Africa even though I was enthusiastic and scared.
This poem is about the law in which apartheid was
embedded. It destroyed the lives of many generations. Legal
does not mean right. We both know that.
“The law. The law. What about the law?”
I own a dark blue cloud.
I have wrestled with blue-shaded weather all my life.
Many of the talented women of our student cohort own such
a cloud.
You said that drinking a beer helps. And sometimes I hear
you scream incomprehensible Cantonese things while you are
furiously cutting up vegetables.
I talk in circles when I feel upset. And in the end, it all usually
ends in plum liquor and laughter.
Summer 2019. You were beaten up by white shirts in the
Yuen Long metro and you became famous. I refused to watch
the video. You came back to the Netherlands and we had
stroopwafel ice cream. I pointed at your scar. You said “No
worries la” and gave me these delicate butterfly earrings.
You worried you had a bad influence on me. You thought
your constant cursing was ruining my innocent soul. I
laughed when I saw your worried face. I swear you did not.
Time goes by and it doesn’t notice me not having heard from
you for so long.
Sometimes, letters get stuck. And then suddenly, I receive five
letters at the same time.
Will you recognise me when we meet again?
March 2020. We both went home. Corona times hit hard.
Everyone was isolated and I lost my job and my relationship.
I woke up in a room by myself in the dark. I lay there for
what seemed ages.
I bought twenty plants and a book of two thousand pages to
keep me company.
My letters are a window for you to the outside world. You see
the world through my eyes, through blue-coloured glass.
Hong Kong is falling apart.
A flower losing its petals.
Like the rose of Beauty and the Beast.
We held karaoke nights and sang till morning. We screamed
“bad romance” and I was introduced to K-POP dance battles.
We danced and laughed, and boyfriends and other friends
joined us. Your flat was crammed with people.
Was that the night our American friend accidentally set her
hair on fire?
We came back from our trip to the Hans Christian Andersen
house on a beautiful spring day. On the bus, our friend from
Wuhan told me that unmarried women over 25 are
considered “leftover women” in China. I thought it was unfair
and harsh, I felt bad for her.
I said, “Leftovers are the best, shall we eat dinner together
with whatever leftovers we have in our fridge and ask our
friends to join us with a bottle of Baileys?”
Denmark taught me what racism looks like.
My friends talked about “those white people” during our
dinner parties and I forgot while listening that I am one of
those people.
We put our arms next to one another, there was barely any
difference.
The Danish bus driver shouted at our Chinese friend until he
saw I was accompanying her.
She shouldn’t need Snow White to have her back.
I read the book Americana by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie in
the Aarhus library with a view of the Baltic Sea. I loved it.
We were on a trip to a Danish castle, and a group of Asian
friends asked me how I stayed so white as they loved my
colour. I didn’t know what to say.
The South African poet Antjie Krog asks the question: how
white beats my heart?
I never thought I would be connected to Hong Kong. I didn’t
know much about it.
Er um somewhere in China?
After you left, I got to know so many people who know you as
well. All these little dots.
Connecting me with you.
“These protests with all those umbrellas, what was that
about?”
“You mean the umbrella movement of 2014?”
We were preparing dinner in your small Danish kitchen.
Another dinner party. The music was on, there was laughter
in the back. We talked about politics.
You told me the fight for democracy in Hong Kong started a
while ago and there were protests in 2014. People shielded
themselves against police tear gas and intrusive cameras
with umbrellas.
You were jumping. Up and down. Right next to our shared
desk Up and down up and down up and down up and down.
Breathing intensely on that blue yoga mat.
I tried to write my thesis and sighed.
“What on earth are you doing ?” “My arms”, you said
between two breaths. “I want them to be slimmer before the
campaign.” You left for Hong Kong during covid and I went
home as well.
We saw you on TV talking about Hong Kong politics. I bet I
was the only one screaming at the TV.
“Your arms, girl! Look at them! So slim! You did it”
My eyes sparkled when I saw the shirt.
“That’s a shirt female protesters in Hong Kong wore on the
street. Female protesters were humiliated and they turned it
around. They combined the word “freedom” and “hai” (a
swear word meaning something like slut) and wore it with
pride.
Want to have it?”
I nodded enthusiastically and wore it ever since I biked
around in Amsterdam like a true protest slut.
I saw you on TV. My eyes were big, sparkling with pride.
Later on, they were filled with tears.
Every morning you made me breakfast in Amsterdam. Fluffy
pancakes and avocado slices.
And this alien orange fruit you called “Kaki fruit.”
You love the different Baileys flavours. Sea green egg cups in
your cupboard.
The famous Baileys cups.
I drink tea combinations and you found it intriguing. “In
Europe, people drink all these blends,” you say.
My latest combination: green tea with passion fruit and blue
cornflowers.
Prison jail prison jail prison jail. I don’t understand it
anymore.
All this waiting drives me nuts
You asked me about this text I have written with the title
“Sweet Avocado”
It doesn’t exist but I promise you. One day it will.
“Actually, you are very beautiful”
You say it with a high pitch at the end of your sentence like
you want to point out a sudden discovery or a question. You
narrow your eyes and go on with your inquiry.
“How beautiful are you compared to other Belgians?” I raise
one eyebrow and reply with a smile. “Tell me, do Hong Kong
people usually ask these uncommon questions or is it just
you?”
You said you liked this colour. It is embedded in your name.
When I was a toddler, we had two choices. We either had red
or blue as our favourite colours.
I fell in love. Usually on my face.
Hot showers and ginger tea. “What is this? High school?”
We were walking in the Danish woods. You told me the story
of your beloved white cat. The one you had when you lived in
a dorm in China while studying journalism.
I love you.
Still waiting.
The newspapers are full of crap. I can’t take the endless pile
of insignificant rubbish anymore. Columns written by young
women our age, writing about nothing.
Maybe it is a luxury, not needing to think about human rights
as it is a given here. But still, human rights are fragile and
even if they need not think about their human rights, they
should write about other people’s. People like you.
Human rights!
Human rights!
Human rights!
Oh, come on!
We lived together. Sixteen square metres, maybe less. You
laughed when I moved in and worried about your privacy.
“Just Google cage homes, you’ll understand what I mean la.
Buy a mattress, wear slippers, and stay.” We split the rent
and drank a beer, that’s all that had to be said.
My friends in the city nowadays are all about me-time,
boundaries and privacy. They see their therapist more than
me. I look at the blue sky and miss drinking beers in our
small Amsterdam shoebox.
I turn every stone to find what (I don’t know) I am looking
for. I don’t want to be this “searching person” and I can’t
stand the comment that some people are searching all their
lives. No thanx.
When you are free again, my friend, I want to tell you “Found
it! Look, isn’t this nice?”
I keep thinking you bought this dress in Japan, although you
have told me before that you didn’t. I wear it in Brussels, the
blue fabric gently caressed by the wind. It catches the rays of
the sun. Blue, blue, blue! Such radiant blue!
“Each time I eat, I will think about you”
“Oh that’s a lot!”
One day we will celebrate. Your freedom, your people’s
freedom, the birthdays we missed and the ones to come, the
blue sky, good food, our friends, the crap we went through
and the songs we played on repeat.
Poor me a drink la.
You breach the national security law when you want the
same human rights I have.
I want to throw myself on the supermarket floor the world
has become.
Law school was easy. Far away troubles on paper. It never
taught me how it feels to watch injustice and to scream in the
desert.
We said goodbye in March 2020. The coronavirus pandemic
was showing its ugly face. Borders were closing. Panic. I
knew I might not see you again for a long time and that you
might end up where you are now.
My chest was hurting after you left. I had trouble breathing
and every heartbeat resulted in a painful stab.
I called our friend. “I think I have this coronavirus, my chest
is hurting and I feel bad.”
“Mama Linda, that’s no virus. That’s a broken heart.”
I turned thirty and started playing violin in the morning and
drinking my coffee black.
I am stubborn.
Recently, I have been dreaming about cliffs and sea salt air.
Screaming seagulls and wild waves. I want to quit my 9 to 5
job in that business tower.
I heard you recently are into pink and that you wore
something pink in court.
My friend painted my eyelids in glittering pink before I
performed my first violin concert.
You knew me as a tea addict. I always have a cup in my hand
while thinking about the next one.
Now, I try to limit my coffee intake to two cups a day.
It has been 4 years since we said goodbye.
I kissed a cloud. A big plumpy white ball of cotton. Soft and
airy.
I am not a mother. I would like to say not yet.
There is this wave in the European Union, dear. It’s coming
with a rumbling noise, heavy and determined. I don’t know
how to surf this one. I hope history won’t repeat and that
democracy and human rights will prevail.
You are found guilty of breaching the national security law.
As a kid, I loved looking at my father’s aquarium. My
favourite fish were these tetra fish, I loved the sparkling blue
of their fins.
Something about a man travelling in time and having crazy
adventures. That’s all I know. And that you are crazy about
this series. And your friend is crazy about it too. I still don’t
get it. Maybe one day I will?
It is hot in jail, crazily hot. And there is no cold water or air
conditioning.
Recently, I have been really into sausage dogs. You see them
everywhere in town and I love them. They are small and
fierce. Oh, these bundles of joy!
This sentence, I recognise you. I keep looking in the rearview,
just like Andra Day’s song. You pull me out of my thoughts
and push me to look forward. Forward, forward, forward!
Now tell me, friend. What’s next?
You are proud. Your laughter shines through your latest
letters. You wrote to me that you took up the art of painting. I
love your watercolour paintings. I can tell you enjoy yourself
and they are beautiful. Watercolour is such a free way of
painting, you have to let go of control and let the paint run
free through the water.
Low Commitment Casual Girlfriend
Girl, this is a sign of the times, correctly described by the
character of Ken in the famous Barbie movie. What a joke
right?! Honestly, boys, get out of my way. I am looking for a
husband.
The current state of Hong Kong.
An apple a day…
Remember that dance performance in Amsterdam, where
you came to support me together with our friend? What a
joyful evening!
Let’s not talk about it.
I am so lonely.
I got on your nerves with all my questions. You sighed and
told me to use Google and look it up myself. These days, there
is ChatGPT. Oh, you should see it!
I look at the dark blue sky. Have you ever seen a fallen star?
You are witty and smart, even behind bars.
You read so many books!
So here we are. At last.
Saarvoirvivre 