Fiction: Group 4
peel and plastic bags. I hated it already, but this news was worse. We were going to Guangzhou to see
whether… whether we could move there.
I’ve been learning Chinese since I was two. Yes, Western mothers can be tiger mothers, too. I learnt
traditional characters, so I could read the street signs in Hong Kong, but I can’t speak Cantonese. I wish I
spoke it, but my tongue trips over the words, humiliating me.
One of my first memories was standing on a stool, on my tiptoes so I could see myself in the mirror, taps
running. I was putting water in my curls, pressing it into my cheeks. It was darker and straighter with the
weight of the water. My mother came in. ‘What are you doing, silly?’ I looked at her like she was an idiot.
‘Making my hair normal, so I look like my friends.’ She picked me up, hugged me tight. ‘You have lovely
hair, sweetheart. You don’t have to change.’ But I did.
The airport smelled of kerosene. Usually, that smell made me excited, quickened my pulse, but today I felt
sick. Walking through immigration, I showed my passport to the smiling man behind the counter. He
looked doubtfully from me to the photo. It had been taken in Year Seven, the year when I had gone to a
hairdresser that couldn’t speak English. His pasty face lit up, but I found myself wishing he’d actually tried to
arrest me. Then I wouldn’t have to leave.
I was born here. As I watch the contrast between the dark sky and the street lamps grow, I feel a wrenching
in my gut and the weight of the truth drops. This is my last night in Hong Kong.
The kerosene smell was stronger than ever. I walked down the tube connecting the plane to the airport. My
trainers slapped the cheap carpeting. I felt trapped. Suddenly, there wasn’t air. Short of knocking out the
cabin crew and kicking the pilot out of the aircraft – and I was almost that desperate – there was nothing I
could do.
An airhostess tapped my shoulder. In the spirit of Christmas, I decided not to punch her lights out, but I felt
anger well up, nearly breaking the surface. I spun on my heel and looked her in eye. ‘What?’
She stepped back as if I was rabid. ‘I need to see your boarding pass.’ she stuttered. I felt bad for a second.
Then I was back, mainly because my mother had grabbed my shoulder. ‘I know you’re angry about this, but
there is absolutely no need to take it out on this poor woman.’ She turned to the airhostess. ‘I’m so sorry,
she’s going through a phase.’ I felt a heady mix of betrayal and fury settle over me as I pulled out my
boarding pass, and stalked off to the Economy seats. I sat down at the window seat, and stared at the sea.
There were no black kites here. The whole place smelled like goodbye.
My fingers trace the rocks I’m sitting on; spelling out the word I fear the most. I find a piece of charcoal,
and write it out for all the world to see. Goodbye.
‘Sash?’ I don’t turn around. ‘Listen, I know you’re sad about leaving, honey, but this is just a test, a dry run.
You might even like it there.’ I do look around then.
‘Like it? I’m sorry, have we met? I know you gave birth to me, Mum, but really? I will never like it there if
this holiday lasts a lifetime! I hate it already, and I’m not leaving. I’ll find a boarding school or something,
but I’m not leaving, you do know that, right?’ Heads turn, but I don’t even acknowledge them. ‘Listen,
mother –‘
‘No, you listen, Sasha,’ Uh-oh. The full name is never a good sign. ‘This isn’t final. We’re not even sure I’ll
take the job. We going so we can have a look, see if it’s right for us. You are completely overreacting, and
you are drawing attention to yourself,’ she hissed. It took every fibre of my being not to yell ‘Hey world,
look at me!’ at the top of my lungs.
But I didn’t. I held my breath and fastened my seatbelt, not looking at my mother. She sat next to me.
‘Sashie?’ I stared steadfastly out of the window. Funnily enough, ripping me away from the only place I can
