I was taking a brisk walk on the Tsim Sha Tsui waterfront outside the Art Museum towards Hung Hom on a busy Sunday morning a week ago, through a big crowd of tourists mostly from the Mainland.Suddenly, a big, young white man ran past me, going in the same direction, but much faster than I was.I thought to myself: Even when I was in my 20s, I couldn’t run as fast as he was.But, will he be able to run this fast, when he is my age now?
Just seconds later, he turned around, and ran past me again, this time in the opposite direction. What was he doing? Perhaps he was running towards Regent Hotel, and he realised he was in the wrong way. I turned to see whether he was indeed running towards Regent. Just in time to see the big man bend down to pick up a piece of plastic, perhaps a bag that used to hold some potato chips, using his hand. He looked around, perhaps for a trash can. There did not seem to be one nearby. What would he do now?
He turned again, and continued running towards Hung Hom, holding the plastic bag in his hand.
I was quite surprised. Stunned even. Did he really care about the environment enough to do that? I know I wouldn’t. Not with my bare hands, when I have no idea how clean (unclean) that piece of trash may be.
In a crowd of hundreds of Chinese, from Hong Kong and Mainland China, it is the lone white man who care enough to pick up that piece of trash from the ground. We have a long way to go yet, in terms of care for the environment. Even though we are so proud of our so called 5,000 years of civilisation.
Tai Hang Sai Estate is going to disappear soon. It is a unique private housing estate in Shek Kip Mei.
It was developed by a privately owned company rather than some government agency or statutory body such as the Housing Authority and the Housing Society.
THS is almost 60 years old now. It is not surprising that it is going to be torn down and re-developed.
I used to lived in a public housing estate in Ho Man Tin Estate in the 1970s which share some familiar characteristics with THS.
There is along corridor running the length of the building. Units on either side of the central corridor, with doors facing each other, windows on the opposite side.
In hot summers. we open our doors and windows, and pull the gates closed, so that air currents come in through one set of windows, flow through both sets of doors, and out the windows of the opposite set of windows.
We know our neighbours well, and look after each others’ children. Particularly when they come home after school, before the parents return from work or grocery shopping from the market.
The process of re-development is controversial because many residents are unhappy with the compensation provided.
Some are holding out, but there seems little hope that they will win.
It is about time I explain the Lion Rock-like scar on my forehead.
The short version: I fell down the stairs and bumped my head against the steps, which opened a big gash on my forehead, leaving behind a Lion Rock-like scar.
The longer version: On February 5, around 1:15 pm, I was walking from campus towards Tsim Sha Tsui East for lunch, going down the stairs at the end of the pedestrian walkway. When I was perhaps 10 steps from reaching the bottom of the stairs, I slipped and fell down the steps. My head bumped heavily against the steps before I came to a stop. I found myself sprawled on the last few steps, my head higher than my feet, facing down towards the steps. I was dazed but did not lose consciousness. I heard passersby screaming: “So much blood!” “I can see bones!” I opened my eyes and indeed saw a big pool of blood. At that point I thought I might have cracked open my skull! What happens now? Will I die? Other than that, not much came to mind. Not that I can remember anyway.
A man handed me something white, perhaps a stack of tissue, and told me to put them on my forehead to stop the blood. I took the white pack of stuff with my right hand, put it on my forehead, and felt my hand getting wet and sticky. That must have been my own blood; but I did not dare to check. A person said I should sit up; another said no, because they didn’t know how badly I was hurt. Someone said to call 999 emergency; another said he has already done it. A man claimed to have medical training and said firmly I should sit up. He held my left hand, and helped me to sit up on my own power, on the last couple of steps. I felt I could use my hand and legs. My wrists and knees hurt; but I did not feel anything broken. At that point I felt perhaps I would not die yet.
I started to look for my mobile phone and eye glasses. A woman to the left in front told me that she had my glasses and phone, and that I should not worry about them. About this time, I realised that my boss, whom I was going to meet for lunch, had arrived by my right hand side. Another colleague passed by and offered to take her backpack back to the office. A doctor at the university health service (as well as a family friend) passed by, offered to call my wife, and directed her to meet me at the emergency room at Queen Elizabeth Hospital. By the time, the ambulance had arrived. I was taken into the ambulance and checked. My boss went with me to the hospital and handed me over to my wife.
My head was CT scanned and my neck and wrist X-rayed. After the scan, the doctor suspected that there might be a fracture in my skull. I was plunged into another round of abject fear. Will they have to cut open my skull to repair something? Or just let it heal by itself? My skull was X-rayed and I was admitted into the neurosurgery ward. Fortunately, X-ray revealed no fracture. It was 8 pm when they started to clean my wound and stitched it up. I could feel every injection of local anaesthesia. It was particularly queasy when the doctor pulled up my scalp to clean under it, even though it was not particularly painful. I could barely bear the feeling of the thread pulling my skin tightly together, 16 stitches in all. When it was done, roughly an hour later, I was soaked in my own sweat. 12 days later, the stitches were removed. That was how I got a 16 cm long scar in the shape of the profile of the Lion Rock on my forehead. Honest. My wife has been at my side throughout the whole ordeal, fighting for better, quicker treatment for me, looking after me in all aspects.
Many people, including doctors, told me I could have died. I am eternally grateful that I have so many guardian angels hovering around me, helping me pull through this ordeal. I feel that there must be something that God wants me to do before I actually die. I shall do my best to fulfil that responsibility.
There is a local custom for people to come to the Guanyin Temple, shortly after Lunar New Year, to “take out a loan” from the bodhisattva.
One comes to the temple and buys a package of incense and stuff to be offered to Guanyin. One can then take a kind of promissory note of an astronomical sum of virtual money, from Guanyin's treasury. At the end of the year, if indeed one is blessed with good fortune, one then comes back and makes another offering to show gratitude to the bodhisattva.
Today the Guanyin temple in Hung Hom is full of people. I estimated that there were at least a thousand people in the tightly controlled crowd in the street right in front of the temple. There were a lot more at the holding area in the park across the street behind the temple. And more were hurrying to join the end of the line.
One thing that I did not notice in earlier years is the large number of foreigners, from South East Asian countries, apparently. Many of them come in groups, with guides instructing them on what to do. By their looks and language, they might be Indonesians or Thais. But I cannot be sure.
There is surely a festive atmosphere around the temple, bringing a lot of business to the shops in the area.
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