the luxury of dreams

images3edHe was short. When he walked, he lilted—up and down and up and down—bobbing as a buoy on the sea. Maybe because one leg was slightly longer than the other. Or perhaps he had flat feet.

No matter the weather, he wore a t-shirt (fitted tightly over rounded belly) with shorts and flats. Sometimes he wore a sweatshirt. His sandy beard he kept unkempt. His bus, however, was immaculate.

I saw him often—on my way to and from home. He drove the 103M, the minibus between Tseung Kwun O, the closest MTR station, and Clear Water Bay. Around and around he’d circle, letting passengers on and off, waiting in the dimly-lit parking garage for people shivering or sweating to fill the bus so he could take them home. While he waited, he’d wash the bus windows. Sometimes, he’d whistle. Continue reading

laugh a little

Try turning your head to the side. Say you’re looking left, across the street, over your shoulder. Maybe there’s a cute little girl in pigtails licking a lollipop, or a small dog, or, here in Clear Water Bay, a bronzed old man with gap-toothed grin harvesting his garden.

Now walk full speed ahead. Into a 35-foot cement telephone pole.

Now tell me how you feel.

I’ll tell you how I felt: pretty dumb. And a little embarrassed. (Thankfully, Mr. Gap-tooth was the only one around.)

Truth be told, I’m a klutz. I have been all my life. In high school sports, I was known for dropping the ball, missing the pass, and losing the goal. (One of the many reasons I now prefer individual sports.) I was also quite likely to trip over nothing, drop things, and knock over my water bottle. My longtime girl friends have never let me forget the time when, in about the fourth grade, I spilled chocolate milk all over my pink sweatshirt and white pants. I was mortified.

It’s a reputation I had hoped to outlive, but one which seems likely to follow me all of my days. Despite my best attempts, my mind seems to wander far from my body while doing almost everything. (Even now, as I type, and as I want desperately to focus so I can get something written, all I can think about is everything else I should be doing.)

The good thing, though, is that—somehow—I am coming to accept this flaw. So I drop things. So I’m not the most observant of people. So what? What’s your point?

We all have strengths and weaknesses. The key to success (and sanity) is to hone in on what you’re good at, and be able to laugh at yourself for what you’re not.

At least that’s what I keep telling myself. (And you, Mr. Gap-tooth. I see you laughing at me!)


This will become a blog. Even yet.

Just you wait.

You’ll see.

I’ve taken pictures around Hong Kong. And gone on hikes. And visited the sea.

I’ve been out with friends. And stayed in with friends. And worked my ass off here at home.

I’ve learned a lot. I’ve procrastinated a lot. I’ve dreamed a lot. I’ve worried a lot.

I’ve wished I had internet a lot. (I don’t have internet in my apartment. Hence, the only time I have to blog is when I’m in my office—when I should be working.)

I’ve hoped a lot and changed a lot. (Just when I think I’ve got things figured out, unexpected additional information throws me into a tizzy of reflection.) Can anyone ever truly know anything? Sometimes I think not.

But I believe yes.

I believe in love. Oddly.

(Love is . . .)

And so it is that paradigms shift. What once we thought true we later find false. Or changed. That’s all life is—one big, constant change.

And so we shift.