notes from fragrant harbour (i)

Sick, again, already. My bouts of illness occur frequently enough that it’s become a common practice among my friends to inquire after my recent health like an old lady. Fortunately, there’s nothing seriously wrong with me this time around — just a sore throat and the exhaustion that usually accompanies it.

The frustration I feel with being poorly gets the better of me sometimes, though — I didn’t even do anything to warrant it this time: I’ve hardly been anywhere at all; I’ve been eating and resting properly; and I’ve even been careful to dress appropriately for the fluctuations in temperature — as little as possible when striding about in the humid heat outside, and with a warm, long-sleeved jacket for cover-up whenever indoors on account of the interminable air-conditioning. My only theories left are that I haven’t been drinking enough water — partly because the taste of Hong Kong boiled water nauseates me, and mostly because I get thirsty faster than it takes for boiling water to cool — or I haven’t got used to being under air-conditioning most of the time yet.

Speaking of a/c, the one in my room likes to spit at me. Little, black, hard pieces of something or another appear on one side of my bed some mornings. The a/c is an older kind controlled by a none-too-sensitive dial that has obviously never heard of the Buddha’s Middle Way, and blows either hot air that has me waking in a sweat or frigid air that leaves me curled up under my sheets. I’ve opted for huddling on one side of the bed to avoid inhaling random particles, but perhaps I’ve done it anyway.

The building we’re living in right now seems to be older than most of the ones my friends or I’ve lived in before, judging by the lift. The lift isn’t ancient, however — although much smaller than the ones you’ll find in newly-constructed apartment blocks, this one has all its buttons and automatic sliding door. Quite different to the one my friend was telling us about over Thai food, the one in her grandparents’ residential (or was it office?) block, one of the really old kind with a metal grille in place of a door. (Think Inception.)

Apparently, because nobody really knows how to use that kind of technology anymore, the building employs an old man to sit inside and run the lift. ‘Mo dim ah!’ he warns younger generations, as he pulls the grille across. An unnecessary warning, perhaps, as I don’t think anyone who doesn’t know how to handle a lift like that would want to touch anything. Then again, you never know with curiosity. I can imagine him sitting there beneath the column of lift buttons, shaking his head at young people these days, who are more likely to break than use the contraption he runs.

And I wonder, fifty years from now, will children stare askance at our iPods and laptop computers? Will they laugh at our outdated technology and handle their own new-fangled ones or will we even have much of a world left with which to feed our increasing consumerist hunger?

Either way, my internet time is up and I have to go back to bed. I have to say, it is nice to petted and cared for when sick. For once I have no immediate deadlines or readings to complete and I’m being fed without having to cook. Let’s see if I can make a record recovery!