I. Bonham Road

 

       At the mention of the white number on the red tablet, everyone frowns. Oh, 103, isn’t that the roundabout route which makes people miserable?

 

     Every morning, I wearily wait on the sidewalk paved with leaves for this complicated transportation means. “Bonham Road to Kowloon Tong”: you can just imagine the distance, let alone the many roundabouts on the route. Yet I still feel grateful because, without it, I would be facing even bigger obstacles on my commute – cars, ferries, MTR, and a few minutes of walking…

 

     Bonham Road is not 103's first stop, but having waited there for some time, I tend to treat this breezy station as my own starting point. Of course, I feel the charm of Bonham Road. This road, surrounded by the mountains, connects the University of Hong Kong. Seeing many smart and confident faces going in and out of the university, I always recall my ten years of student life. The long escalator is moving towards wealth and fame, I know, but I can never forget the laughter, the love and the hatred I’ve had along the journey. If you tell a passerby, “there is no big difference between the inside and the outside. They are young people with ups and downs, happiness, and sadness, too,” nobody would believe it. Isn’t it a waste of taxpayers’ money and the exam-takers’ time? But I can't think of a better description. If that were not the reality, what would it be? What would be the drive for a boy who just took off his secondary school uniform, holding his new textbooks in his arms? Is it the energetic pair of sneakers or the solemn suit? I often think while I wait – the shade of vegetation gathers and disperses, the cicadas sing softly, the golden sunlight mixed with the blue sky brightens up the ground. I always see the 19-year-old boy with his wavy hair running down the long stairs. Holding his notes in one hand and a hockey stick in the other, he always reveals his talents with his bright and smiley face.  

 

     “Hey! Come early for the 3 pm match.” He shouts above the noise from the cars.

 

     “Sure! I’ll be there!” Someone responds excitedly.

 

The leaves turned green when I got on the bus. With these energetic children, there is no fall for Bonham Road, where I have buried my past... I looked up, the central building stood tall under the sunlight. The melody is so familiar, but I can’t determine if it is beautiful or haunting. The sky is sunny and blue. The silver bricks and the antique clock face the wind, face the sea, face the Lion Rock. The black hands on the white clock steal our time... Sometimes, I stare at it and ask myself, ‘is it working, is it really working?’ The subtle movement is never obvious, yet it is never a kind one. It secretly steals the days you thought you were holding tightly.

 

    I finally got on 103. Though leaving the past behind is miserable, the temptation ahead could not be resisted. Whenever I get on the bus with my dragging body, I can always find my place and locate myself. Long journeys, always weary people, but the 1-hour journey on 103 was exciting and enthusiastic. Buses drive to the east every morning, sunshine jumps through the windows, branches and leaves sometimes greet passengers by stretching on the bus. This sound always reminds me to notice the path of our life journey. I can’t keep staying in Bonham Road, despite my home and story there. Despite my nostalgia and the window opening towards the past, I know I should learn to love the ever-changing environment and seasons…

 

      And because of this, I observe every detail of the surroundings. A group of schoolgirls with blue cheongsam, reflect the morning brightness of their smooth hair; a young newspaper vendor gives newspapers to men rushing to work; a young mother holds her newborn baby in her arm, taking her to the child health centre for a regular check-up; the lady at the flower store sprays water on the rose buds…

 

    Turning to Caine Road, 103 enters another world. Passing by the court building that will disappear soon, I drew out my thought from the classic castle-like apartment, released it in the park in front of the reddish church-- swings swing, slides slide, with the footsteps of little kids injected. Tripping over is never an issue because grandma’s arms are always there. Elderly people gather here after the morning workout, they talk about how chubby their grandchildren are, talk about their new daughters-in-law... It seems that wherever sunshine reaches, 103 exists.

 

II. Causeway Bay

 

      Down to the Garden Road, the pert car winds through the slope that heads west with some turns to the east. It passes through Central, Admiralty and then arrives in Wan Chai and Causeway Bay. In only a dozen minutes, the thriving flowers and trees disappear and what fades in is the hustle and bustle. I go to the town with mixed feelings. Sometimes I miss the roads outside the town, hoping to stay in the mountains for good, to watch the reddish faces of children, to admire the movements of the fallen leaves lying on the roadside. However, we have to go on, and this is how it has to be, from the placid countryside to the agitated town, from pure joy to profound melancholy and revelry. Feeling scared and uncertain, I still open the window to let the breeze, sound, and view in.

 

      However, it has already been half an hour. It is getting late. The hurried minibusses, trams, and taxis are packed both in front of and behind the bus. It has been a bit difficult for the “robust” and “farsighted” 103 to walk smoothly already, it walks intermittently. It is stuck by the inflexible controlled traffic lights, or it has to escape from the small cars that keep moving or cutting in line. People are impatient with all the sluggish signals and disordered acts, however, more haste, less speed. I couldn’t help but recall the time when the bus walks smoothly and elegantly on the hills. I keep sweating and cleaning the glasses every time when the bus queuing in the crowded line. I am thinking about the work that awaits me on the desk.

 

      After a while, however, I gradually become calm and fling myself into the surrounding scenery. Although the steps of the pedestrians are fretful, the sound is sturdy, “cluck, cluck, cluck”. On the path that is packed, everyone wants to have a faster and strong pace? However, who can ever leave a footprint on the cement pathway? At the thought of this, I can’t help but feel sorry for the colorful boots and high heels. The sky is so blue that it seems as gorgeous as the one in Bonham Road, but people only look at the ground. I put my arm on the windowsill thinking of the reason why they walk with their heads down. If I were honest with myself, I should know the answer – because they are shy, sentimental, scared, and don’t want to look at each other. With all the beautiful appearances, who can imagine that all those alluring and well-dressed ladies passing by spent over an hour to hide behind the red lips, eyeshadows and Paris-styled attire?

 

      Sitting inside the window, I have to plan properly to shake hands and greet with passers-by. If the blueprint of our life can only have a glance for an encounter, why should we struggle to grasp a drop of water? The man who is chasing the bus left the business case hanging on his backflipping; the girl in a red apron who is selling cakes busily pulls the string apart from the cake box; the quarrel about the change that happens at the newspaper stand is settling down; people who stand in front of the bus stop are hurling abuse at the bus that is skipping the bus stop…

 

      My sense was swayed by the rhythm of the earth. Could I still look down and cover my ears intentionally, and imagine the harmony of birds and cicadas’ songs in Bonham Road after all? All those things could only last for a while, but the reason behind the sound and countenance was worth pondering and learning.

 

      The bus stopped again, the rapid and strong steps made the bus noisy. Some got off from the bus, some got to the upper deck. The alternate steps were like the sound of collision between coins. True, who could arrive at the destination without paying the bus fee? I, on one hand, am glad that I can sit comfortably; but on the other hand, I ask myself sometimes, why do I always sit in a good place? Is it because I get on the bus earlier, or is it because I come from Bonham Road, a dangerous height?

 

III. Cross-Harbour Tunnel

 

      After a long struggle, the bus finally leaves the long traffic queue and speeds straight to the bright sea. I imagine to submerge into the dark night of the water and to enjoy the fabulous views ahead after a turn, but the bus is driven back to the bustling downtown with turns made one after another. For no time wondering, it climbs to a flyover. Reaching the height is like flying high and I am drunk. Yet I don’t get time to spread my wings before I am pushed into the entrance of the tunnel by the naughty wheels. Oh, bus no.103, why don’t you let us know where you’re heading?

 

     The noise of the hustle and bustle is diminished and the lights in lines sweep through the tunnel. Am I in the deep sea already? If yes, why can’t I hear the waves pounding? Why can’t I see the fish swimming? If the concrete floor is the reality of the sea, it is acceptable for me. But I firmly believe that there is a more beautiful real world where light beams delve into the deep blue sea and a shoal of still I have a sense of security within the concealed corner of my mind. In an era based on evidence, I am still attracted to everything of the sea which catch my eyes, and therefore I am grateful for the situation I am in. All directions and currents are on the water surface and tranquility and peace lie in the sea deep below, who dares to say it is not true? If anyone exclaims that cross-harbour tunnel is equivalent to harbour, there’s nothing I can refute. Has anyone successfully explained anything to the bedevilling noise? Thus whenever I come across this point, I just sit or stand still, hold the handle or handrail tight and step on the ground stably, just like other passengers in the bus. At that moment, if anyone doesn’t pay attention to his or her own position to adapt to the speed of the bus or learn to understand others’ positions if anyone doesn’t learn to endure, the travelling would end in vain.

 

      The Cross-Harbour Tunnel has a hypnotic effect as I feel my ears are covered and my eyes are blindfolded every time the bus enters the tunnel. But I know I am clear-headed, just like a droplet glistening under the bright sunshine, it may not be noticeable among the early morning pearls of dew, but it has once attested its presence.

 

     Spending a long time in the cylinder-shaped tunnel is tedious, the passengers in the bus start to look in all directions. There is no strong wind or heavy rain, no blossoms or withering, no life or death. However, who doesn’t believe that there is a way out ahead when they enter? Looking out of the window, I realise that the tunnel is a one-way road, it’s not possible to go back. While feeling puzzled, the lights on both sides get dimmer, a beam of natural sunlight streams through the front windows, everything becomes clear at once. As long as I raise my head, I can see the crimson building of the Hong Kong Polytechnics standing upright on the waterfront ahead.

​

       I’ve all along respected the technical subjects. Though I love literature, I find those belittling these subjects as “cultural desert” abhorrent. The red building, brown glass, and thick pillars build a rampart of humanity to resist strong wind and heavy rain. It presents the aesthetics of geometry, although it doesn’t give us a feeling of nostalgia like the Clock Tower in Tsim Sha Tsui does. Under such a clear day with blue sky, I am reminded of a friendly saying “The existence of inclusiveness is for contrast and conflict…”

 

        I haven’t studied in the Hong Kong Polytechnics, but I still missed it when I left. At that moment, I recalled my memory of taking part in the joint-school swimming competitions here and I really miss those of my good friends who are now in different parts of the world. Chan had to each other and this seems more close comparing to the past. We can’t always be innocent and naive as the time goes by. Having gone through difficulties and hardships in life, we become tough and equipped with shield and spear. We were once as gentle and soft as water, but now we are as tough and strong as rocks. Although we have become rocks, there are still traces of water in us. learned navigation here and he is now having a sea voyage and encountering all the ups and downs; Chung had studied hard for six years here in order to enter university in England. The letters received are numerous and carry a question of the value of gaining a degree; Kong works as a senior director of arts in an advertising company. What he has learned is what he loves. In the past he spent all his spare time dealing with the red bricks, now he designs toys for children and loves to do so. The past was bittersweet, but the most unforgettable experience is all about the wonderful acquaintances during adolescence. If we meet others on the street one day, we will still smile at each other and this seems more close comparing to the past. We can’t always be innocent and naive as the time goes by. Having gone through difficulties and hardships in life, we become tough and equipped with shield and spear. We were once as gentle and soft as water, but now we are as tough and strong as rocks. Although we have become rocks, there are still traces of water in us.

 

IV. Kowloon

 

      When the bus is entering Kowloon Tong, I have to admit that I am a bit tired. Circling around from Bonham Road to Kowloon Tong, passing many zones and views, am I still that energetic pedestrian who gets up early?

 

      However, I accidentally become full of energy. After turning into Waterloo Road, the road in front of me becomes bright, just like the closing arms, suddenly open with a comfortable mind. There are not many tall buildings in Kowloon Tong. The roads are wide, making people far away hesitate to move forward, and their minds are anxious. The Lion Rock is opening its mouth, just like it is having its first stretching in the morning. Yes, it is still the morning, how can I be tired! The bus is moving rapidly again, the richness of the dawn is floating skillfully as a giant whale in the long river, swimming on the contrary to the north. At this moment, I recall the view of walking with difficulties in Causeway Bay. I suddenly understand what priority and retreat are. Why we have to relate to the history of this bus only? To what extent do they correlate to its speed and direction, what brand it is, where it comes from, when does it leave the factory, or whether its gadget maintenance is successful? Is it wrong? It is fast when the road is wide; it is slow when the river is shallow. The problem is that why it cannot suddenly arrive at Kowloon Tong from Bonham Road without passing the narrow crowded streets? How did it become like this, how did it become like this? Every experience life gives, should not be missed. I do not want to miss.

 

      In my childhood, I always thought that only rich people could enter Kowloon Tong. However, the idea changed as I came here many times. Wealthy people owned many houses, but their inner poverty was everywhere. A row of “villas” with opened doors exactly explained that this was a place with contradiction. Walking to the north was the MTR Station. It was described as the interchange station of the first Kowloon railway. It was the 8th station counting from the starting point and the destination as well. It was not important to know where the destination and the starting point were ---- the important thing was that the blue parking room did not bloom to the sky, but buried in the ground deeply. Inside here there are many sights and desires changing themselves. Wasn’t the connected nostalgia from KCR the most touching one?

 

    Kowloon Tong was wealthy at its surface; it also had its sadness hidden underneath the surface. I understood it after I started working at here. You would sometimes meet the singing girl who was slim and tall nearby. She was said to be around 20 years old, but she had been singing for more than ten years. She sang differently from the kids sitting on the grass, the birds from the trees and the people in the joy. She must sing behind the thick makeup on her face. More than ten years passed, the mother ironed the uniforms and the kids dressed them up. When they were buying the dragon beard candy beside the road secretly, she might need sleeping at the moment. She did not have time to drink a little water after removing the makeup, then she was falling down into the dark corner with her clothes…

 

    Suddenly, her radiance came, all spotlights were shooting at her. The kids were still wearing the uniforms and came, screaming, clapping hands and stamping.  Even they were crying because of her looking back to them gently. More than ten nights, her voice attracted hundreds of thousands of ears. In the dark night, she was as shiny as the sun---sometimes she cried on the stage, you said that was fake, but I said it was true---who dared to say that there was no several minutes thrill of revenge, no ingrained pains under that excited heart which was under the splendid necklace? She was only in her twenties, she achieved ten millions of people’s dreams. Upon the colourful, round hills of Kowloon Tong, nothing was impossible...

 

V.  The world at present
 

      But the glamorous round hill is not where I am attached to. My heart stays at the bottom of the hill, where it’s on the slope closer to the verdant grass and soil. Whenever the tireless 103 turns out from the Renfrew Road, placing me on a glimmering tarmacked road, I can tell I have returned to the real world: the morning training of the Barracks – powerful and piercing commands; the trees in dark and light colours; the tweets in high and low pitches. At this moment, my hair would flutter in the wind, caressing my cheek. Every winter, here is warmth amid the freeze, the morning sun guides us to narrow our eyes unconsciously, with a heart of delight.
 

     By this time, young people in sneakers would gradually appear beside me. They are holding notebooks, talking and walking at the same time, with one hand in the pocket or smoothing away a wisp of hair, adjusting the glasses on the nose. What are they laughing at- what a clear and resounding laughter! Walking among them gives me the feeling that I’m still walking in the sunlight of Bonham Road. But when I compose myself again, I recognise it’s not the fact – children are all wearing sneakers, plain and clean outfits, denim jeans in dark blue and light grey. It’s a big contrast to my meticulously matched clothing. They are the wealthiest people in the world, possessing a property called ‘19-year-old’. That day I was talking joyfully and singing softly on the other side, I understood without knowing; today I go back and learn about 19-year-old again, I know it without understanding.

 

 

      I remember while I was still studying, some of the students of the University of Hong Kong had participated in the activity striving equal social status for the students of the Hong Kong Baptist College (see footnote 1). Every time they came to convince me, I deliberately went swimming or playing ball games so as to hide inside the sports hall, ‘what is the meaning of it, just leave differences to be different,’ I thought. That kind of seemingly carefree but in fact arrogant and indolent attitude creates hard-feeling when I think about it. What did Hong Kong Baptist College mean to me in that era? It was not even a building it was just a concept. But now, walking on the breezy slope…

 

      ‘Ms Wu!’ a child called, white teeth and red cheek, the flapping hair edged the morning sun with a golden frame, she is such close, such concrete. A few feet from her, I could feel her body heat and that fast-beating heart after quick steps. My heart opens instantly. I am not those who learn and ready to acquire the knowledge, I am obstinate and stubborn, my rebellious ears would not be softened by all the kind words; fortunately, I am still one of those who learn from obstacles and failure (see footnote 2) Practical experience told me that I love these children. When I said good morning with a smile, I got complicated and churning emotions, but I am clear about one thing- on my mind if they want to get a fair status, they don’t have to fight for it: 19-year-old is 19-year-old, everyone has the unrivalled beauty at 19...

 

      It has been a whole decade for me, to walk from one group of year-one students to another group of year-one students, in just an hour drive. Has it already been so far? It doesn’t seem to be. Bus 103 loves taking a long way round, the route is all about twists and turns, climbing uphill and downhill; I don’t know how much it has moved forward, but I know it is not as much as we thought.

 

    Sometimes I think, if the Univerisity of Hong Kong is the territory of fairytales, Baptist is the boundless universe. Children growing up on the mid-level of Sai Ying Pun, looked as if they have walked into the fairyland, everything is fine, and there doesn’t seem to be attention-drawing billows in the future. There will be hidden a reef because they don’t know about the ocean. Once they start navigating society, they would complain about the iceberg here and the gush there. At Baptist, what I see is the countenance of the human world. The children have long been the daughters of billows; they stand in awe of the universe. Although it is the same 19-year-old, they are forced to grow up hastily. Sometimes a child would timidly open my office door and talk to me. He constantly keeps his head down and tells me how useless, how bad and unfortunate he is. I really don’t know how should I give a faithful account of the truth. The truth is: if he doesn’t look up, how could he see higher and further?

    

    The Hong Kong Baptist College stands on the hillside of the North Kowloon with a broad view. The classroom windows face toward the avenue, looking at the pedestrian, cars, and planes, which is different from another two universities (see footnote 3). Teachers sometimes complain that they need to compete with the noise, but if we bring to mind that it can be a kind of education. “A secluded heart secludes wherever you are” is the real tranquillity of our city. Moreover, in daily life, do not leave because of the hardship and do not isolate yourself to escape is the highest achievement; Do not throw yourself into the society in high profile because we are the society.

 

     Once I had lunch with my colleagues, my friend suddenly said, "Our students are very smart..."

     "They just lack self-confidence," another colleague replied.

     "But I think their learning attitude is very good."

     "Yes, most of them learn modestly and respect the teachers.”

     After a moment of silence, my colleague suddenly pounded on the table, and said loudly, "Well, I want them to be better than the  students of the University of Hong Kong and Chinese University of Hong Kong!!"

 

     Everyone was stunned. I understood his enthusiasm, but he was wrong.

If teachers cannot ignore these meaningless competitions, then how can we teach children to find their unique meaning and value? The two go down, how about Peking University, Tsinghua University, Cambridge University and Harvard University?

 

   We are the future social pillars, so how can we attach our value to other universities? Every time when I heard others saying that my students were “In the country of the blind, the one-eyed man is king”, I felt very puzzled. First, I don't understand why we need to compare. It is clear that they magnify against others.

 

    You are not aggressive if you are weak but do not work hard; You are arrogant if you are competent but complacent. I want to warn my students not to fall into the trap. These sayings make people jealous, arrogant and bring us to a standstill.

 

     At the moment, I am standing on the platform of the Baptist College. In the morning light, the view of north Kowloon is wide. Students pass through like fish, with a cheerful chatter. They head to the other side with various hopes. Life is full of possibilities, hope, and promises.