Dear Mr. Net,
Greetings.
Yesterday. All my troubles seemed so far away.
Not.
Yesterday was horrible. Bloody painful.
I attended a cell group leader training course at church in Shatin along with Keung and Gary, my fellow brothers from my church. After the course Gary and I went for a snack at the "infamous" KFC at City One Shatin (a major housing estate here in Shatin, comprising 52 blocks of 27 to 32-storey apartment buildings that, according to the local estate agency firm Centaline Property Agency Limited's website www.centanet.com, have an adjusted unit price of HK$3041 per square feet as of 30th December, 2005).
Gary and I talked about how I'm getting along with others in my cell group.
"You've got anyone you can talk to in your cell group?" He asked.
Good question.
Answer to myself? Yes and no.
My mood just plummeted.
I got home. Parents were there.
Went into the kitchen.
Got a carton of Tropicana Pure Premium® (www.tropicana.com) orange juice out of the fridge.
Poured myself a cup.
Went out and sat down at the dining table.
Had several gulps of the sweet and sour juice.
I broke into tears.
Dad asked me what happened. Mom tried to get me talking. Dad stopped Mom.
More gulps.
More tears.
Ran back into my cell. Picked up the cordless phone. Dialed a number.
"Hello," answered Matt, my former pastor/counselor/friend.
We talked for a while. He asked me to call him back after 10:30 pm.
We haven't talked for quite a long while. Maybe at least a year. The last time we met was at my friend Gavin's wedding.
Around 10:30 pm I took a shower, took my bike, and got out. I rode along the Shing Mun River ( http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Shing_Mun_River ). Crossed a bridge. Picked a spot near Sha Tin Racecourse to stop.
Around 11:00 pm I got out my cellphone and dialed the number again.
We talked. Actually, I talked more. I just talked and talked and talked, babbling a lot of times. I talked about myself feeling depressed, stressed out, and hopeless. I talked about how I spent numerous evenings wandering, going to the cinemas, staying up late watching TV at night or even throughout the night till 5:00 am or 6:00 am early in the morning.
"Wow, you're really lonely," Matt giggled, which made me feel terrible, even though that might be a fact.
I talked about my wrongdoings. My sinful behaviour. My indulgence.
I raised my voice. I yelled. I complained. I slashed out. I paused.
There's lot of pent-up anger towards myself.
Towards dad.
Towards God.
And after one and a half hours, Matt finally struck out.
"I got nothing to say. What you said was more or less the same as what I heard from you two years ago. Pardon me, since I'm not the kind of person who'd say that I appreciate your sharing of your feelings. But, know this, that what you talked about. . . this. . . self-hatred. . .self-pity. . . was. . .
boring.
You know, when my friends and I chat about things, my friends will provide some new insights," spoke Matt bluntly.
Boring?
I was so shocked.
Bludgeoned.
Squashed.
I appreciated his frankness, and I knew that's him. He's Matt, and Matt's like that.
But it hurt.
A lot.
"Hope that next time when I talk to you, something more interesting will come up," said Matt.
And that was it.
That was the conversation I've looked forward to since we last talked.
I was soured.
I got on my bike and slowly paddled home with this fatigue in my soul.
I thought to myself, "boring, eh?
Boring, am I?
Is that what I am?
A boring bugger.
A whining wanker.
A juvenile jerk.
What if Matt's right?
What if Matt's right about what I talked about and how I talked?
Boring.
What if he's right?"
I just assumed away.
Excruciatingly.
I just assumed that Matt's just telling the truth, spilling it out.
Maybe he's got a point.
Honestly, who will like to befriend a whiner?
Still, it hurt.
A lot.
Back home, I went to bed.
I prayed, reflecting on the time and money I squandered.
I thought about how I got my parents worried.
God.Do you see me as a whiner?
And what if you do?
Then what?
What am I gonna do about it?
Yours sincerely,
B. H.
Dear Mr. Net,
Greetings.
Reporting "live" from Market Centric Limited, an advertising agency where my sister Joyce's working as an assistant art director, here on the second floor of a building called The WorkStation located on 43 Lyndhurst Terrace, Central, I'm here sitting at her colleague's desk, using his/her pc to, once again, write about how I've been living my life here in Hong Kong.
Around six in the evening I took the 87D bus to Tsim Sha Tsui sitting at the front on the upper deck. Got off on Middle Road near the Chungking Mansions. Walked across Nathan Road. Went down a tunnel and came back up to the ground at 1 Peking Road. Reached a crossing on Canton Road. Spotted two "ordinary," casually-dressed young men busily cleaning the display at a Dior shop, working in such a narrow space between the huge glass panels and the logos.
Passed the Grand Ocean cinema, noticing that a worker's setting up a red carpet for tonight's premiere of Johnny To's "Exiled." Walked to the ferry pier. Crossed the harbour. Got off the ferry. Walked down into a tunnel again. Came up at the Edinburgh Place right infront of the Hong Kong office of HSBC. Got some cash at an ATM machine. Strolled down Queen's Road Central. Passed the Landmark Mandarin Oriental, Harvey Nichols. Went up to a 7-11 on D'Aguilar Street to add value to my Octopus.
Gave my sister a call. She came down from her office, and we hit for supper at Wang Fu, a Chinese restaurant serving Beijing cuisine. We ordered dumplings, sour cabbage, roast shredded pork served with Chinese tortilla-like bread, and Wang Fu hors d'oeuvre.Yours sincerely,B. H.
Benjamin, Op. 3000 Premiering at the Carnetoon Netwall at 7pm on Friday, November 3rd, 2006
