I visited Hong Kong for the first time last August, though it felt like visiting an old friend. While I was there, I thought about him often. I pictured him wandering the same streets and I nodded in silent agreement with his description of how crowded it all was. Thoughts of him came to me abruptly and dissipated just as quickly. I could not distinguish Hong Kong from him. And so before I ever visited the city, I felt affection for it. I didn’t mind the towering buildings stacked like a half-finished game of Jenga nor the critters that roamed the night markets.
When I grow up, I’d like to live in a walkable city. A city I can explore by feet is a city I can fall in love with. The seasons must be distinctive and the climate mildly humid. Ideally, there’d be many hiking trails close by. If not that, at least half a dozen parks with enough green to contrast the gray of modern architecture. I wouldn’t mind the noise at night, it’d help to drown out my thoughts, which are my only barrier to sleep. The traffic would be combated by an efficient subway system and daring taxi drivers. And the fast paced life…well, patience was never a virtue of mine.
I know people who dream of nothing but escape, they stare into a starless night and pray for the wings of birds to carry them away. I dream of a place that’ll grab onto me until I no longer crave flight. I no longer envy the bird with all the freedom offered by the sky, instead I envy the oak tree upon which it perches.