I dreamt that we were going home. Everybody was tense. Everybody was in war mode.
Some stranger standing next to me. A young man Another middle-aged stranger sitting in front of me. The middle-aged man suddenly started to shout at the young man, accusing him of taking pictures of him. In mandarin.
The young man started to laugh and plead to us in Cantonese. “The absurdity of it! This is what mainlanders are!” The middle-aged man has already stood up and there was physical contact. He was holding the young man’s arm and whatnot. Both my friend and I were shocked but motionless.
The young man eventually flung himself free and left.
The middle-aged man got off the train at the same station as I did, and followed me. My friend who remained on the train watched in fear. He implored me to stay safe. I said there was nothing to worry about.
The middle-aged man then approached me. And started to speak to me.
Turns out he’s a Korean. A Korean businessman.
We began a short, pleasant conversation.
He said the young man was taking pictures of him. Privacy was an issue.
I didn’t contradict him. Secretly I admired his willingness to resort to physical force.
I said to him you must forgive our discriminatory attitudes. These are tense and dangerous times.
He remarked that we Hongkongers have a problem with mandarin. I said yes. We do not like Mandarin. It is an enemy language. An unfriendly language.
He then commended my English. Insuitnating that I wasn’t like other Hongkongers.
I gave the standard reply: my accent is the least what 150 years of colonisation gave us.
He then talked about his nephew, who apparently was part of some local university student council. He implored his nephew to not go to the protests. He then proceeded to say that while it is good that young people have idealism, they shall also recognise and come into terms with the fact that Hong Kong is now part of China. And nothing will change that.
I then said to him: your ancestors would strongly and furiously disagree with that. Pardon me for drawing similarities but when the Japanese Empire colonised Korea, and had your people’s language oppressed, your script eradicated, your surnames changed, your jobs taken, your industries annexed, your politics ousted, your popular will frustrated, your women raped, your people forced to wage war against your own kin, did the Koreans not burn with murderous rage? Did your people not go into the streets and protest that which has already happened and that which was presumably inevitable? Did the Koreans not organize themselves into a militia to assassinate their colonial overlords? And when the Japanese were ousted only to have a dictatorship replaced, did the Koreans not hurl petrol-bombs with every ounce of fervour they had?
Silence overcame him and an embarrassing grin overtook him.
