Fifty years ago, to a young girl of six, a refugee from the small town of Deqing up the river and a night's journey by steamboat to Guangzhou, the British Crown Colony of Hong Kong was an awe-inspiring magical land. Dwarfed by a forest of tall concrete buildings, I would cling tightly to Mama's hand hoping to avoid big people bumping into me as they hurried down the street.
In those days, there was a real fear that Red China would cut off the water supply from the Mainland to Hong Kong. Residents even used tin cans to collect rainwater for their daily needs. But China never did this since Hong Kong was her window to a bigger world, especially because it was the source of foreign exchange.
The British subjects and refugees of Kowloon living in cramped conditions considered it a small price to pay in exchange for the refreshing air of freedom. Then the city's pungent smells and dazzling sights encouraged the residents to greater industry in pursuit of opportunities.
While walking home from school on hot muggy days, my shoes would stick to the pavement in front of an ice-cream parlor until Mama walked inside with my older brother and me quickly following behind, with thoughts of that slice of cold creamy sweetness slowly melting in my mouth.
Once outside again in the bright sunlight, I saw the makeshift stall of a peddler kneading a brightly colored ball made from sticky rice the consistency of dough. With a quick spin of a potter's wheel, he brought to life the legendary figure of the Monkey King, who with one mighty leap, crossed the Indian Ocean, or with one deep breath, blew on a single hair plucked from his body, transforming it into thousands of little monkeys just like himself. Children pushed one another to be the first to hand a few pennies to the peddler in exchange for the legendary figures that emerged from the amorphous blobs.
On weekends, Mama took me marketing in the street stalls covered by canopies to buy lychees. As I bit into the sweet white flesh, I was careful not to have its juice run down my hand. Inevitably, at the vegetable stand where leafy greens and white daikons were piled high, a farmer's wife would give Mama a bunch of free scallions and cilantro for shopping there.
Afterwards, Mama went into the fish market where she selected a fish for the evening meal from among those swimming. Right before my eyes, the hapless creature would be gutted and its scales removed by a sharp cleaver. When I saw Mama at the street corner scrutinizing bunches of sausages and dry, pressed ducks hanging in the window, I knew that I was to have a mouthwatering dinner that night.
Having finished with the most pressing chores, Mama walked briskly to Flower Market Street to buy flowers. But my legs would feel rubbery as I complained that I could not move another step until Mama promised to climb a small hill afterwards where numerous birds in bamboo cages in the Bird Market were sold along with the paraphernalia required by bird aficionados. Rejuvenated by the thought of a reward, I quickly followed.
At the Bird Market, when I heard a parrot or mynah say "Ni hao" in Cantonese, my face would be instantly transformed by a smile, amazed and charmed by my newly found feathered friend. When Mama tugged at my hand, with great reluctance I walked slowly away, turning back to have a last look. And that was half a century ago.
Recently, I revisited these childhood haunts. Brightly colored signs and advertisements festooned the busy streets of Kowloon, and the shops were busier now than in my childhood. Wherever I looked on Woman Street, the density of goods—heaps of clothing, shoes, bags, and anything else a woman might lust after—blocked passageways. Since the items were such a steal, no bargaining was necessary.
The ride on the Star Ferry was still merely a quarter. On Victoria Island, I found myself lost in a maze of glass-enclosed pedestrian walkways high above the noise of congested roads. On another day, using the subway to again cross over to Victoria Island, an even more modern and taller forest of concrete, steel and glass greeted me than that of my childhood. These buildings stood as sentinels to the gateway of a rapidly changing China, a symbol of her economic might and prowess.
Although my Hong Kong acquaintances and friends spoke of the slowdown in economic growth, the effects of SARS, and the high rate of unemployment, the harbor was nonetheless filled with heavily laden container ships, and the massive yet graceful cable bridge that connected the airport to the center of industry and commerce was spectacular.
However, there was a nagging doubt in my heart. I asked myself at what price are the people of Hong Kong paying for what I see before me. By chance, at a stoplight on Victoria Island, I came across an orderly procession of men and women carrying flags of slogans solemnly walking by, escorted by the police. That also reminded me of the Hong Kong of long ago. It warmed my heart to see this protest, for it meant that the people are still fighting for what they believe in, that there is orderliness in society, and that the government has not interfered with this privilege and fundamental right no matter what the posturing is on both sides.
Yes, Hong Kong has changed: It is more modern, prosperous, bigger, and more beautiful than I remembered, and it is still the pearl of the Orient that I cherish today as I did in my childhood.