“ The train to Diamond Hill is arriving”

Her eyes began to burn with tears as the story revealed itself through the printed characters. She read the Chinese text rapidly, her eyes darting downwards before moving to the next sequence of characters. Her fingers turned ghostly white as they clutched the novel as if it was a lifeline.

She was so used to the gentle roar of the MTR engines, the cool automatic voice that announced the arrivals and departures, the shuffling of feet  that echoed around her every time she waited for the train home that it was a simple task for her now, to close her mind to the cacophony of background noises.

Absent-mindedly she floated into the carriage before stepping into a corner, steadying herself with her left hand on a metal pole while her right supported the paperback.

After a few minutes of furious reading she slowly slipped the book away into her shoulder bag. Trying to blink back tears she sighed with content and let the images of the book’s many events revolve around her mind like the planets of the solar system.

 Her thoughts rested on the birthplace of her grandparents, the small island of Macau that was now a casino paradise. They still visited the island frequently due to her mother’s craving for Portuguese tarts. According to her mother, there was nowhere in Hong Kong that came close to producing the egg tarts with the same sweet quality. The soft pastry with its tongue-burning custard melted in your mouth and tasted heavenly.

Suddenly she became acutely aware that she was being stared at and she felt herself blush.

 Her insides melted as if she had just hungrily wolfed down a dozen of the freshly baked Portuguese tarts she had just been dreaming about.

He had been catching her train since last semester. A quick glance at his uniform indicated he went to the local boy’s school in the next district. This was not the first time they exchanged glances and as the doors opened she hoped his hand would brush past her blazer pocket and slip her a clandestine note exclaiming his undying love for her.

Later she would disappoint herself when she would grope around excitedly with her fingers only to find the usual discarded gum wrapper inside her pocket…

If only hot curdling custard could melt a shy soul.

It was a spectacular affair.

The restaurant was alive with colour. The red lanterns above on the banister swung merrily in tune with Chinese folk songs played from a dilapidated recorder in the corner. Different shades of red crape paper, the color of prosperity and good luck, were plastered around the four walls, giving the room an air of warmth and vibrancy.

The Mid Autumn Festival was always a joyful occasion.

Her mother had told her about the story since she was able to speak.

According to old folklore, during the first moon of the fifth month, a dragon would awake from its long sleep from Cloud Mountain in search for food to reduce his hunger. The creature detested the long winter and all the snow that would freeze its enormous tail and refuse it the liberty to stretch its wings. It would swoop on the inhabitants of the Earth, carrying a random handful of people in its wide jaws before eating them whole.

Ingeniously, the ancient people of China devised a plan to chase away the dragon. In an attempt to make as much noise as possible the villagers would run around wildly, shouting and hollering at the skies while banging their woks and pans repeatedly to scare away the loathsome creature. Bright lanterns was also made, their frames created from the tying together of bamboo sticks to frighten the dragon using light.

Her fingers fumbled hastily with her butterfly shaped lantern.

She had picked it herself. It had pretty wings that were fanned out in different shades of pink, curly feelers and two wobbly eyes.

Her brother had already lit his airplane-shaped one and was zooming around the room happily making engine noises.

Her Cousin came over and said “Here, I’ll light it for you”.

She held the lantern up to him gratefully. 

“Yes, the air is much more…. more breathy, if you know what I mean,” Aunt Trish stated enthusiastically.

The adults were talking about Australia, the land underneath. She never understood how people can walk upside down, but when she inspected her aunts at the airport, she was disappointed to find out that their hair did not stood on end, neither were their faces red from the building of capillaries in the head from their having to walk topsy turvy.

But she was fascinated with the descriptions of the isolated country her aunt presented to them, on their visits to Hong Kong. The beautiful weather, how the bats inhabited the tree next to their house and made a noisy racket every morning and how during summer the sun stays up as late as everyone else.

“Here you are,” her Cousin straightened up and flicked the match out. Her eyes widened at the bright lantern she now held in her hands.

“Can we go outside?” she asked and her Cousin nodded with a smile.

The air was quite cold but she did not mind. Holding her lantern aloft in the air, she poised herself like a dancer on the sidewalk. She felt a rush of excitement as she took off. Letting the wind whip through her jet-black hair she looked at her lantern and gasped in delight.

It seemed to be floating on its own accord. She stopped and watch it fly into the night, brighter than any of the artificial light bulbs emanating from the skyscrapers or the traffic lights perched around them. The only other light that was alike in brilliance was the round moon itself, shining like a bright gold coin in the night sky. It seemed to smile at her.

And she had never seen a sight lovelier in her life.