  
It’s been one month since the last dance was done. Pace is in vain. All get along in a powder of normality. Within a while, a titanic sinks into the deep darkening world of the forgotten. It is not as difficult as people may consider for the repatriation. It is not a matter whether it is in Paris or Hong Kong, or even in Moscow. My topographic identity is not based on the measurement of distance I am away from my dwelling. The visit to Stockholm some time ago reinforces my belief about the relationship between human and environment. An external factor can model the well being of a person. Rather than relying on the driving force from the external surrounding, it is also the perspective from the inner self that determines the existence of 'to be'. Hong Kong is not as cool as I remember, and it is not yet too materialistic to me. I am not fringed, and I am not the victim of the marginalisation or the residual of any collective thinking. This is indeed a very strange feeling, as least I do not expect to have this kind of weird feeling before I really landed on the piece of homeland whether it will be or not. A change of lifestyle, perhaps and the sense of value re-shape the landscape in front of me. I would say, the infiltration of the return in Hong Kong was perfectly fitted, though there lacks a thorough evaluation of myself. At the same time, I do miss the reflection of image of Paris on the Seine, well, it is good to be in memory.
One month passes quickly, a bit in a chaotic manner of distorting proportion of time. Time has exposed to me in a twisted manner. The nights seemed to be quiet, and the days last short. Time is white in colour in Hong Kong. I do not recall too much how things happened and disappeared. I didn't seem to have done much. No way to think, and no time to feel like thinking. Meeting with different kinds of people, and at the same time trying to recall the names of the people, it is a process of life to recall certain symbols or identifications and so proving the significance of the consciousness of 'to be'. Again, it is an extension of existentialism. I do not have any time to encounter the evening of the Victoria Harbour. It used to be shining on vivid colours which reinforced the Victorian era in Hong Kong. Sampans could still flow. I live in a certain extent in recalls and memories. Sometimes it becomes uneasy to distinguish from either end of life from the opposite direction. Antipodes. Quite some time of the month has been spent in the choking cabinet of the shaking flights, and they were the only brainstorming sessions to keep my mind vibrated, as least it appeared so. So after a month, this is the second encounter of the snowy moonrise.Libellés : hk, paris, russia, self, sense |
