one of the corner of Kowloon
Sorry that this story have to wait, but since I am dragging into the feeling blue of this monday morning, it is good to remember things – good things – that has happened but it was not told yet, to raise my spirit up again. I was literally in Hongkong for four times, but it was only the fourth and because of my impulsiveness that finally brought me there.
It was in the gate of transit when I decided to turn my feet and ran in a rush into the immigration gate. Without knowing where I go, I stood and mumbled when the train staff asked where do I want to go. “Okay, you want to go to Hongkong or Kowloon?” Without waiting another second I finally said “Kowloon, of course!” Suddenly I realised how I remember very well about Stephen Chow’s and Jacky Chan’s that usually telling the funny stories in Kowloon.
So here I was becoming a backpacker again. I grabbed a map of Hongkong, read instantly of the maps of Kowloon and decided where I should go for the only 2 and half hours visits. A minute later, while I was still thinking where is the north and the south of the map, a lady who queued the train just besides me asked: “is this train going to Hongkong?”. I was about to say that I am not sure, but I found myself smiled and answered: “yes, it is. certainly!”
Kowloon is a Kowloon that is exactly like I watched in a Jacky Chan movie. It consists of old apartments that almost close the view of the sky. The street is very narrow and every street is like a china town (of course!). It is very busy, full of food and full of people. I bet everything can be found here. Approaching my two hours, I rushed into the Kowloon garden. It was a saturday afternoon and I remembered from the newspaper that many Indonesian migrant fellows usually gathered in the garden on weekeend. Without any intention, I expected to meet some of them. Well, who knows? may be I will meet my childhood friend who is now working there (it was my mother told me so).
I saw a girl with her handphone while I entered the garden. I heard that it was in Javanese. A minute later, I saw two groups of girls gathering with their lunchboxes. I appraoched them and say hello and suddenly we became friends. We talked in Javanese. The older girl said, ” I am from Surabaya.” The other girl said,” Malang”. Finally one of them said, “I am from Kediri.” We talked again. A Kampong conversation. After a while, one of them said to me shyly, “Mas, mas, you asked many things about me. Are you intending to marry me????.”
Glek! I paused a moment.
When the train brought me back to the airport, I looked at the outside of the window glass and looked at the ocean. I felt that I am very lucky. I could be one of them as I believe I and they are raised at the same poorness. East Java, include my hometown is one of the pouch of Indonesian migrant workers. What I heard is some of them was treated badly – and often back to their village as a dead body. Before the train reached the airport and when I kept myself stilll looking outside through the window, I found dried tears on my face, trying to get the answers.
Carpe Diem!
Ahmad Zae
