Home in Glittering Hong Kong

The other night whilst walking home from Causeway Bay to Wanchai I passed a long row of shops selling trendy clothes and accessories. They were still open. It was midnight on a Monday. I hardly know of any other city in the world where one can find plenty of normal shops still open at midnight.

Hong Kong.

The name in Chinese translates to "fragrant harbour" in English. I always wondered why the word "fragrant" was picked, as Hong Kong does not seem to me to be particularly sweet-smelling, but according to Wikipedia the original area was one where fragrant wood products and fragrant incense were once traded! So much for growing up here!

It feels slightly strange to be home again. In one sense I feel as if I have never left the place at all, but in another it seems as foreign to me as any new city can be. I walk on the streets dodging hundreds of people who seem to all walk into one another in an organised chaotic fashion, I sit in dim sum restaurants hearing conversations the words of which I understand but the substance of which I don't, I wait for my friends in glamorous shopping malls watching every sort of character appear and disappear every two seconds. It seems all so familiar. Yet at times I feel like an external on-looker observing the buzzing city through Alice's amazing looking glass.

I was on the bus one morning. Looking out of the window in the air-conditioned double-decker I could see business people smartly dressed in the latest Armani suits waiting at the crossing (and checking their blackberries). Two people who are probably colleagues heading to the same meeting were silent and not talking to each other. They just stood there side-by-side, expressionless. Perhaps they just had an all-nighter? Further on the road I could see a newspaper hawker sitting on a stool about 10cm away from the pavement. He had probably been sitting there since 7am that morning and would not leave till at least 9pm.

My hairdresser was telling me that afternoon how his assistant often has lunch at 5pm because they are so busy. He himself was off sick the previous day because of his severe sinus. That day he didn't feel too well either but he was back at work, full-swing. In the evening I went to the fresh meat market with my mum. Whilst trying very carefully not to step in any puddle of fish blood as I had my pretty new shoes on, I saw many, many middle-aged butchers, men and women, wearing big black plastic aprons and gloves, smeared with blood, all furiously gutting the fish or chopping up the meat. They had probably worked like this at the stalls since their late teens.

I wouldn't normally say life is hard in Hong Kong, at least not compared to many parts of the world, but these days it struck me as pretty hard. Perhaps it's just a case of my being blind and oblivious to the lives of some who are not lawyers, bankers or accountants. Not that lawyers, bankers or accountants never work hard. They do (I'm tempted to use the word "we"!).

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Qn: Why do people work so hard?

Ans: They need to make a living.

But do people need to work this hard, so hard that one is physically and mentally exhausted, one's health gets compromised, one hardly has time to see his family etc etc?

I can see why in certain circumstances one must work this hard, as otherwise one simply may not be able to feed his family. But I think in the developed world, these cases are rare. My good friend pointed out to me that the gap between the rich and the poor in Hong Kong (and, I'm sure, many other booming cities) is widening, but I have to admit that I was quite shocked to see children living in government flats having the latest mobile phones, trendy clothes and enjoying a huge plasma TV at home. Maybe that is not common, or these families do not represent the poorest.

Nowadays it is a bit of a joke amongst my friends that I'm unemployed. But I did used to work hard. Some would say very hard. Often I was asked why I had to work so hard, to which I would reply with a combination of: (1) well, everyone (in law at least) worked this hard, (2) it is not always like this, and (3) if you want to move up you will need to work this hard. Never did it really occur to me to answer that working very hard (1) paid my bills (which were ever increasing in number and amount), (2) allowed me to have a comfortable (or some would say luxurious) lifestyle (which was ever getting more and more comfortable, or luxurious), and (3) afforded me the potential / dream of acquiring the many, many things I could have in the future, like a nice house, a nice car, a nice school for my children, even more nice holidays... (not that any of these reasons are wrong, or not good in themselves)

I think I was working hard apparently for one set of reasons but the other set of reasons were the real, subtle driving force behind my working hard. So you see, I was rather self-deceived. Or at least not very self-aware.

Is it at all possible to not work so hard and live a simpler and equally vibrant life, but with more time, energy and space? For family, friends, old and new hobbies, mother nature, health, rest, unread books, charitable causes...? Or is this only a luxury for the few with the freedom to choose? Or, do most of us actually have this freedom but somehow just don't see it?