Hong Kong is easy to hate. The crowded streets. The traffic. The pollution. The hoards of people trying to push flyers, posters, bits of paper, packs of tissue, as you attempt to navigate the streets. The lack of space. The noise. Oh, the noise. Hong Kong is hard to love. But boy, do we miss it.
After the busy, dizzy whirl of Shamshuipo, Singapore feels like Pleasantville. There is peace. There is quiet. There is a great deal of respect for privacy. But nothing seems to happen here.
We miss football trainings on Tuesday and Fridays. Miss the Thursday outreach sessions. Miss our late night suppers with the boys on Temple Street. Miss the mango pudding at Hui Lau Shan. Miss the freer press. Most of all, we miss the brash Hong Konger. Miss yelled-out opinons and loud conversations. Miss the fact that people seem to say what they like when they like in Hong Kong.
Here, in Singapore, it’s calm all-round. But somehow, it all feels so surreal.
