Fleeting Scenes, Fleeing Thoughts

The Only Living Boy in Hong Kong

He has spent so long living in the shadows of what he could have been and he should have been that he had forgotten how to live in the light that is what he is.

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He tells his friends, I take photos because I am too shy to be in them.

He tells his interviewer, I take photos because that is my passion.

He tells his teachers, I take photos because I would like to give back to my community.

Mostly they are half truths.

He takes photos because the world is full of very nice moments that are sometimes better experienced as an observer, one eye closed. Each photo is a fragment of time frozen in .CR2 form. A photo is more reliable my memory, less distortable by time, truthful to the subject.

The shutters opens and closes.

A photo is a heartbeat's worth of humanity. A .jpeg doesn't lie. Doesn't fade. 10 years on, looking back, a photo will still be there, even if the memories may no longer stay.

Photography is the most interactive spectator sport.

-

She says, "Sometimes I think you are the only living boy in Hong Kong."

And he says, "Maybe."

She doesn't look at him when he talks. He likes that more.

-

They call him by his brother's name. His teachers, mostly. But sometimes older kids. And sometimes his parents.

He doesn't correct them unless if they correct themselves first. Because he is polite.

And also because somewhere, lingering in the back of his head, there is something that tells him: Maybe it would be easier if you were your brother. Or could amount to as much as him. And the first step to getting there is letting them call you by his name.

So he smiles. And waits for them to correct themselves. And when they don't, he accepts.

He always accepts. It made him likeable.

-

His best friend tells him, "Maybe you're trying too hard."

Continues, "Sometimes, you can relax. And be less that what you are."

And he says, "I guess I should."

-

What does it mean to make something out of yourself?

-

At an awards ceremony he is called up for a nomination, and his coach makes a quip, compares him to his older brother. He feels his face burn but he smiles for the camera that he wishes desperately he was holding.

Below the stage the crowd leers. He doesn't want to look at the lens or their eyes, so he looks at the laces of his shoes.

15 seconds for what he could never become. Nominee, but not recipient. Standing on the stage, cheering for someone else, he wonders if second place is all he's good for.

-

"I miss you," his brother texts one day, at 3AM in that timezone.

It takes him 20 minutes to come up with a response.

Option 1: I miss you too.

Option 2: Dad says he wants you home for Christmas. Are you coming to my concert?

Option 3: They compare me to you every time they get mad. Maybe I will only ever live in your shadow.

Option 4: Please come back. I want something to hide behind, I don't want to prove myself.

Option 5: Sometimes I feel like I'm staging my whole life for them to see.

He chooses option 1 and option 2. but by then it is too late and he waits for the entire afternoon for a response that does not come. That is alright, though. He is used to being ignored.

But he does get a response. In the evening. And it says, I am coming home. It says, don't worry.

It doesn't say, I am proud of you. But he sees it anyways. It glows in his chest for a week, and doesn't stop glowing when his parents yell at him, or when he is rejected again for a position, or when his ageing science teacher once again calls him by his brother's name.

-

Sometimes it is easier to hide behind the shadows of what could be. Sometimes that is easier to do than to face the light of what already is. It is nice to imagine.

But it is also nice to live.

And he sometimes, he can be the only living boy in Hong Kong.