I was sitting at one of my favourite spots on campus, a picnic table on the podium level near our office, facing a row of trees.I was minding my own business - reading and listening to some of the birds in the trees.
Out of the blue, something crashed on my head. Before I realised what happened, and worry about the damage to my head, that “thing” flew across and landed on a concrete bench opposite. It then strutted back and forth for a while before flying off.
It looks like a black-collared starling (黑領椋鳥, 黑脖八哥), quite common around Hong Kong. I have often seen them on campus. But why did it attack me? Perhaps I was sitting in the place that it felt was its?
At first, I was a bit worried about my head, having had that bad fall 2 months ago, which left a big scar on my forehead. I have been wearing a cap on my head since, more for psychological comfort than physical protection. This morning, I left it in the office. And this bird attacked me! Fortunately, my head seems fine.
This is one of the weirdest experiences I had on campus.
I learned a new word from watching “Jafar Panahi’s Taxi”, also known as “Taxi Teheran”.It is an 2015 Iranian movie, directed by Jafar Panahi. The film won the Golden Bear at the 65th Berlin International Film Festival.
In the movie, Panahi drives a taxi around Teheran, picking up passengers and listening to their stories. It touches on a wide range of issues: capital punishment, pirated videos of foreign films, movie making, stealing, will and inheritance, superstitious women, human rights, …
One of his passengers was Panahi’s niece, who was learning to make movies. One of the rules imposed by her teacher was to avoid “siahnamayi” - literally “portraying in black” (抹黑) - about the country.
Another passenger was Nasrin Sotoudah, a human rights lawyer, who was on the way to visit Ghoncheh Ghavami, who was in prison for protesting for equal access to sporting events in Iran. Sotoudah was imprisoned herself.
The movie itself was accused of committing siahnamayi. Perhaps inevitably.
It is now two months since my Fall, which left a big scar on my forehead.Some aches remain in various parts of my body, but otherwise I am walking and running, and going to work like before the Fall.I am grateful for the recovery.
I am also grateful for:
the man who passed me a bunch of tissue to stop the bleeding on my forehead,
the person who called for an ambulance,
the person who took my hand and helped me to sit up,
the lady who collected my eye glasses and my phone,
Dr. H, who called my wife for me,
my boss G, who went with me to the emergency room in the ambulance,
the medics who stabilised me in the ambulance,
the ambulance driver who took me to the hospital,
my wife, who met me at the hospital and have done so much to take care of me from that point on,
the medical staff who scanned my head and wrist,
the doctor at the emergency room who got me admitted to neurosurgery,
the doctor who sewed up my head wound,
the nurse at the neurosurgery who took care of me that evening,
my colleagues who came to visit me at the hospital,
my friend P who brought me cha siu for lunch,
my friend G who brought me a croissant for dinner,
my family who cheered me up in the family video call,
the doctors and nurses at University Health Service who cleaned and looked after my wound,
Prof. C who gave me scar-removal patches,
the nurse who removed my stitches,
the doctor who examined me in the follow-up,
the many relatives and friends who sent well wishes,
the many friends who recommended medicinal food to help with the healing,
the functioning public health system that saved me,
… and so many kind people whom I have met along the way,
ultimately, my wife who has been by my side all the time, through everything.
It is our family clan’s tradition to pay our respects to my paternal grandparents at the Chinese Cemetery at Aberdeen. During the pandemic years it was difficult to gather.This year we had 10 people.All from my generation - cousins.Some of my father’s generation have passed away, others have emigrated, while the 4 that remain in HK can no longer climb the steep stairs or the slope to get to the columbarium.I am quite glad I can catch up with my cousins what is happening with our children.
Today there are lots of people at the cemetery, although not as many as at het height before the pandemic. Many still climb the 100 dangerously steep and narrow steps. I took the slope.
Many burn the traditional incenses and candles.
Many also burn paper money, clothes, shoes, mobile phones and gadgets, …, and dim sum.
In the past, we would eat much of the real food: roasted pork, real dim sum, oranges, bananas, etc., right there at the end of the ceremony. Nowadays we split the food to take home.
Afterwards, as is my own custom, I pay respects at the grave of Tsai Yuan Pei, respected president of Peking University during the days of the May 4th Movement of 1919.
It seems only rich or famous people have graves in Hong Kong. The rest of us can only get cremated, with ashes stored at the columbarium. In my opinion, the best thing to do is what my father asked for, and received: to get his ashes dropped into the open sea south of Aberdeen, where he used to work (on boats), when he was young.
I was taking a brisk walk on the Tsim Sha Tsui waterfront outside the Art Museum towards Hung Hom on a busy Sunday morning a week ago, through a big crowd of tourists mostly from the Mainland.Suddenly, a big, young white man ran past me, going in the same direction, but much faster than I was.I thought to myself: Even when I was in my 20s, I couldn’t run as fast as he was.But, will he be able to run this fast, when he is my age now?
Just seconds later, he turned around, and ran past me again, this time in the opposite direction. What was he doing? Perhaps he was running towards Regent Hotel, and he realised he was in the wrong way. I turned to see whether he was indeed running towards Regent. Just in time to see the big man bend down to pick up a piece of plastic, perhaps a bag that used to hold some potato chips, using his hand. He looked around, perhaps for a trash can. There did not seem to be one nearby. What would he do now?
He turned again, and continued running towards Hung Hom, holding the plastic bag in his hand.
I was quite surprised. Stunned even. Did he really care about the environment enough to do that? I know I wouldn’t. Not with my bare hands, when I have no idea how clean (unclean) that piece of trash may be.
In a crowd of hundreds of Chinese, from Hong Kong and Mainland China, it is the lone white man who care enough to pick up that piece of trash from the ground. We have a long way to go yet, in terms of care for the environment. Even though we are so proud of our so called 5,000 years of civilisation.
Tai Hang Sai Estate is going to disappear soon. It is a unique private housing estate in Shek Kip Mei.
It was developed by a privately owned company rather than some government agency or statutory body such as the Housing Authority and the Housing Society.
THS is almost 60 years old now. It is not surprising that it is going to be torn down and re-developed.
I used to lived in a public housing estate in Ho Man Tin Estate in the 1970s which share some familiar characteristics with THS.
There is along corridor running the length of the building. Units on either side of the central corridor, with doors facing each other, windows on the opposite side.
In hot summers. we open our doors and windows, and pull the gates closed, so that air currents come in through one set of windows, flow through both sets of doors, and out the windows of the opposite set of windows.
We know our neighbours well, and look after each others’ children. Particularly when they come home after school, before the parents return from work or grocery shopping from the market.
The process of re-development is controversial because many residents are unhappy with the compensation provided.
Some are holding out, but there seems little hope that they will win.
It is about time I explain the Lion Rock-like scar on my forehead.
The short version: I fell down the stairs and bumped my head against the steps, which opened a big gash on my forehead, leaving behind a Lion Rock-like scar.
The longer version: On February 5, around 1:15 pm, I was walking from campus towards Tsim Sha Tsui East for lunch, going down the stairs at the end of the pedestrian walkway. When I was perhaps 10 steps from reaching the bottom of the stairs, I slipped and fell down the steps. My head bumped heavily against the steps before I came to a stop. I found myself sprawled on the last few steps, my head higher than my feet, facing down towards the steps. I was dazed but did not lose consciousness. I heard passersby screaming: “So much blood!” “I can see bones!” I opened my eyes and indeed saw a big pool of blood. At that point I thought I might have cracked open my skull! What happens now? Will I die? Other than that, not much came to mind. Not that I can remember anyway.
A man handed me something white, perhaps a stack of tissue, and told me to put them on my forehead to stop the blood. I took the white pack of stuff with my right hand, put it on my forehead, and felt my hand getting wet and sticky. That must have been my own blood; but I did not dare to check. A person said I should sit up; another said no, because they didn’t know how badly I was hurt. Someone said to call 999 emergency; another said he has already done it. A man claimed to have medical training and said firmly I should sit up. He held my left hand, and helped me to sit up on my own power, on the last couple of steps. I felt I could use my hand and legs. My wrists and knees hurt; but I did not feel anything broken. At that point I felt perhaps I would not die yet.
I started to look for my mobile phone and eye glasses. A woman to the left in front told me that she had my glasses and phone, and that I should not worry about them. About this time, I realised that my boss, whom I was going to meet for lunch, had arrived by my right hand side. Another colleague passed by and offered to take her backpack back to the office. A doctor at the university health service (as well as a family friend) passed by, offered to call my wife, and directed her to meet me at the emergency room at Queen Elizabeth Hospital. By the time, the ambulance had arrived. I was taken into the ambulance and checked. My boss went with me to the hospital and handed me over to my wife.
My head was CT scanned and my neck and wrist X-rayed. After the scan, the doctor suspected that there might be a fracture in my skull. I was plunged into another round of abject fear. Will they have to cut open my skull to repair something? Or just let it heal by itself? My skull was X-rayed and I was admitted into the neurosurgery ward. Fortunately, X-ray revealed no fracture. It was 8 pm when they started to clean my wound and stitched it up. I could feel every injection of local anaesthesia. It was particularly queasy when the doctor pulled up my scalp to clean under it, even though it was not particularly painful. I could barely bear the feeling of the thread pulling my skin tightly together, 16 stitches in all. When it was done, roughly an hour later, I was soaked in my own sweat. 12 days later, the stitches were removed. That was how I got a 16 cm long scar in the shape of the profile of the Lion Rock on my forehead. Honest. My wife has been at my side throughout the whole ordeal, fighting for better, quicker treatment for me, looking after me in all aspects.
Many people, including doctors, told me I could have died. I am eternally grateful that I have so many guardian angels hovering around me, helping me pull through this ordeal. I feel that there must be something that God wants me to do before I actually die. I shall do my best to fulfil that responsibility.
