Notes from aboveground

I survived Canada! Or at least Vancouver. And that amphibious aircraft, which turned out to be a heckuva ride, with the smoothest landing I’ve ever experienced. Some photos of my trip are up on Flickr.

On the other hand, I didn’t escape the past week unscathed — when I returned to Hong Kong, it was smack into the worst haze of the year. My respiratory system buckled within a day, and I was part of the gooey dribble mob, learning how to don a face mask properly along the way (it’s green side out).

Thankfully, my dad had decided to linger in HK for a while after Vancouver, so he’s been doing the cooking and cleaning for me. Parents — to be treasured, not tossed aside like so much used tissue when “our wings are ready to fly”.

But that’s the obvious stuff. I was definitely unprepared for the surfeit of emotion churned up in a near and dear one lately. Really, maybe, my once-throbbing heart has long turned cold, cos I don’t think I’m actually capable of hosting such a tempest inside me anymore. I’m either too jaded, or too afraid, or simply ineligible for such flights and dives and whatnot. But love stories are not lost on me …

Ah, I must lack the courage for change. You can achieve great feats of derring-do, and still be a crass coward when it comes to the Really Important Pieces of the Jagged Jigsaw of Life. (That’s what I learnt from the extraordinarily bloody Hungry City Chronicles by Philip Reeve.)

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