Work hard, play…

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When one visits the outer reaches of HK, they are reminded that in order to really experience this place, to be in and of it, hard work must be done. Stanley, like Sai Kung, like Lamma Islands, bristles with the affluent and the successful. If you’re starting up here, with no proper social circle, it can feel all quite overwhelming.

The work is to come. Earning the HKD, to – not so much meet green eyes on a level playing field – be able to indulge, play, sit on the fine sand of Repulse Bay and say, “I belong here”.

Often this percieved as aggressivity – if – and only if – humility has clouded a sense of purpose.Or the weak have led you that way. It isn’t sociopathic if it is tied with an ethical sensibility.  Just don’t shit on anyone from a great height.

The Will-To-Power is the fundamental root…. the thread that become the tree that becomes the branch that becomes the leaves.

You’re the outward expression of a momentary fragment of reality imposing itself on itself- and not a smiley, happy-clappy, ray of light.

I am present, so I must capitalise on the opportunity, capitalise on the fluidity of a city that flows like the capital running through its veins. The men are captains of industry, but it’s the women who power this ship.

life thrives as a kaleidescope of fearlessness, it  serves up easter eggs in both the commercialised ‘artifice’ and the natural tranquility of the city state edges.

There, behind the overgrown school of Lamma Island, or the burning sticks of a silent temple, lies the numinous dynamism that permeates the veins of strong, honest men.

 

 

 

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HK Update: One foot in.

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I’m not out of the woods quite yet. Much of what is to come is waiting. I’m waiting on e-mails, on other people. I’m hostage to habits of time-keeping, general efficiency, and the flow of capital: will the budget for this year factor this guy?

Thankfully I’ve met some people who believe in me, here. It’s a nice change. It’s kind to the ego. Much of self-esteem comes from the outside: the ‘desire for recognition’ Hegel spoke of. Without this social glue, this affirmation of the singular in the presence of the whole, nihilism creeps in at night. ‘Hermitting’ might be the final dice roll of rebellion, but good luck with your sanity.

I can’t fall in love – whether with surroundings or women – if a part of me stil resides in the grey isles. It does, you know, it must. Otherwise the psychological wounding of an unsuccessful venture would cut too deep.

I like helping children with their latest academic quandary. It’s a nice feeling when you ostensibly inspire a bright, young mind. People like Dr Alan Thomas and Adam Oliver once incited me to think too. I hope to impart some wisdom to the young ones.

Still, writing remains my raison d etre, my elan vitae. The pen or the keyboard come to me in dreams and pitches. I’ll value enthusiasm and a refreshing angle all day long. Freelancing, though, is a fickle business. Lots of contigencies mean less guarantees. You have everyone’s word, rarely their ear, and a sneaking suspicion that the money will roll with Sisyphus.

 

 

 

 

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Anxiety comes from the encroachment of what was already there, son. Death.

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Is it not? When the body is beaten then the body just falls. It repels at the trauma of a better man. You close off, you give in, thy brain is bruised.

But think of this. When the mental trope has wars waged against it, then the death of the centre becomes complex. It fills itself with fears, and dark corners.

It might be the birth of horror.

If it isn’t, it’s a lie, crododile tears. It’s not worthy of our time. I must feel like what happened could possibly be the last thing that happened – otherwise where does it all stand, in the grand scheme of things. No where. Ever. At all.

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High kick, lights out.

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Thankfully my jet-lag-cum-insomnia was (more-or-less, 6 hours sleep) cured by a much needed Muay Thai session. The weather here adds to the challenge, and at 85kgs, I need to lose some muscle and fat to get up to pace.

Come the night, my internal sat-nav, (does it even exist), dulls, resulting in panic. I was struggling to find ATMA Fitness without a smart phone… I was on the right road but had forgotten it bends back on itself and upward. Thankfully a Cantonese guy – who wasn’t hot on English, finally realised where I was trying to go. Phew. My Cantonese is not quite conversational yet. There’s definitely a confidence thing going on here. We have to fail to get through tonal errors and suspect pronounciation. Being in the New Territories requires Chinese to really blend into public life, otherwise you’re just another Ghost Walker.

Monday kicks off one of the most important weeks of my life. I have Interviews with two tutor schools, Hubbis, Digital Revolutions, Yamaha, and Thomson Reuters. No more sofa-surfing would be a good thing – a place to myself… yet adversity is never wholly negative. It builds appreciation of luxury, and broadens experience, deepening character. For all my de-tachment at first inspection, I still grow.

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What eats at you isn’t all that you are

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The burden of life is that it gnaws at the edges of our sensibilities,

Sometimes they’re tossed asunder, in new places. A phoenix is born from the flames of self-doubt.

When your ego expands, you’re only your own worst enemy,

Caught between you and yourself.

The man I was is just an addition of the man I’ve become.

One spoken-about layer after another,

Until,

Until?

You threaten to cave the sandcastle back into the sand.

If not by your hand, then by the contigencies of a more fickle man.

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No shit, break

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There’s no denying that my guts have taken centre stage here in HK. Yesterday I empathised with the shame of my potential self shitting his pants in a green mini-bus, in front of the natives.

“This Gweilo, what was he thinking?”

Yet I thought fast. I got off the bus early and semi jogging-sprinting to the nearest McDonalds. Say what you will about their ethics and food, the golden arches symbolise an oasis of hope for someone whose stomach has not accommodated to an alien culture.

After that near incident, I took several trains to central, confident in the fact that THE MTR HAS TOILETS EVERYWHERE, LONDON. I realised that my fixed abode will probably have to fall closer in. Regardless of the efficient trains and 2 minute waiting times, Hong Kong is bigger than I thought. Not quite a state, but big for a city, geographically.

On arrival – my destination an MMA club – I was bombarded by the hyper-capitalistic layout of the area. As the roads in central ascend, so do the layered sign posts of luxury brand logos. Everything sleek, and shiny, like the inside of Robert Pattison’s limo-cum-finance hub. Here, the Landian aesthetic has perfected itself: both visually anodyne, yet garishly seductive: money, technology, and market psychologised design conspire against willing iPhone connected consumers, burning money to satiate desires that feedback on themselves.

To just throw a fit at this is more pissing in the wind than tilting at windmills – and it’s the liveliness of the air, surely, that gives windmills their elan.

The MMA club, understandably, was well out of my price range. In my heart-of-hearts I knew this when waiting in the foyer, following visual traces of advertisement vid-boards, easing off the edge of black marble that encase lifts that don’t take 10 fucking minutes to reach you.

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Yellow gun of love joy

3.2.2.22-Langham-Place_03I spent 11 hours sans shut-eye on a plane next to a guy who was only conscious to be fussy about what constituted his breakfast and dinner. To be fair, his pedantry might be a survival mechanism. My stomach turned as if I’d been hit by the gastritis tumult of my drinking years….

On arriving in Hong Kong, the wraith of its humidity welcomed by skin and tired sinuses. Boy-oh-boy I thought, “this isn’t even July”. As I went through the nothing to declare barrier, a small cantonese man pointed a yellow gun at my forehead. No, not immnient Sino-on-Anglo gun crime, but some sort of disease detector. Thankfully, Lice or STD free, or whatever it he was looking to find, I was allowed to move on…

No sleep and Kowloon is a recipe for paranoia, chest pains, and general delirium. Kowloon is busy – not just in the vechicle and people sense, but in the way some paintings evoke crowdedness, proximity: the imposition of sensorial dissonance at the speed of ‘now’.

After trudging through the Shopping Mall of Langham Place, with my lungs slowly adjusting to the haze of  this blade runner esque mecca, I finally met Simeon at a Starbucks. Slightly wild-eyed, and blending into the techno-commercial severity of it all with an iced green tea lemonade, I began making my way to the New Territories….. Which will be the subject for my next post. Wild boars might factor.

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