Fiction: Group 4
Amidst the exodus, my dad himself hatched a dream of
economic prospects.
“Jia Li, what do you think about making
cards?”
He wanted to make cards, all kinds of cards. Pink cards, blue cards, rectangular cards, circular cards, birthday
cards, wedding cards, the list went on and on. He had been inspired after one of our younger neighbours -
who had been one of the first to leave - had sent us a greeting card from Hong Kong.
‘You cannot imagine the reality of Hong Kong without seeing it for yourself,’ the card had read. ‘Do not
lock yourself in the past: come, come and explore what is beyond.’
Whether he was truly interested in cards or whether he just wanted to leave, I never found out. After six
years of ruminating and planning at his small desk in the right-hand corner of our house, my father declared
we were going to move to Hong Kong.
“I’m going to open a card-making factory in Shenzhen. I’ve got it all planned out,” he said. “we’re going
to move to the neighboring city. You’ll be able to learn English, my dear.”
Hong Kong? English? Neighboring cities? Factories?
All these concepts seemed to foreign to my twelve
year-old ears. I couldn’t help but harbor pangs of fear in both my mind and my chest.
What about Peng?
Although the gradual onset of adolescence had meant we spent less time around each other, Peng was still
my best friend. The knowledge that he was constantly nearby soothed me whenever the world seemed to
spin on the wrong axis. Peng, with his ruffled hair and foolish grin, his long arms and small feet. Peng, who
occasionally knocked on our door with a batch of biscuits his mother had bought for us. What would
happen if I lost Peng? If I never saw him again?
And yet there were morsels of wanderlust floating within the crevices of my body. Like dust motes
illuminated by the lazy afternoon sun, each thought of Hong Kong carried with it an anticipation that could
stretch on for hours. Y
ou cannot imagine the reality of Hong Kong without seeing it for yourself. You
cannot imagine the reality of Hong Kong. You cannot imagine the reality. You cannot imagine. You
cannot. You.
You will change. We will all change. New faces, new sights, new beginnings. It was a threshold begging to
be crossed, an entrance into a new land where I could blossom in an entirely different way.
When we finished packaging our bags that summer of 1985, I tried to retain this thought in my head. It had
been a silent day: so silent that one could hear a personal radio cackling and whispering from the dirt roads.
Many people had come to say goodbye, but for me there was only one thing that mattered.
“I can’t believe you’re doing this,” Peng sighed. We stood facing each other a few meters away from where
the adults were, exchanging final handshakes and hugs. “At least we should play a final game of cat-and-
mouse?”
“Don’t be stupid,” I replied. As I attempted to smile, my cheeks felt heavy and my lips could only manage a
faint curve. “You’ll write to me, won’t you?”
“Of course,
stupid,
” Peng laughed before giving me a hug. “You know what, I’ll write you on your dad’s
cards.”
