Everyday movement, p.2
Everyday Movement, page 2
In the days that followed, she replayed the starkly different reactions in her mind: the child’s innocent elation, the mother’s fearful misgiving, and their own jittery anxiety. “Why did we panic and run away?” Ah Lei asked Panda. “Were we doing something wrong?”
“People who think too much usually aren’t very happy,” Panda said.
* * *
—
When Ah Lei returned to their dorm room, Panda had put on a new sleeveless sundress. She twirled in front of Ah Lei, asking if she looked good, and considered which pair of shoes would go well with it. The swish of the dress radiated such energy, Ah Lei thought. It was like a colorful little whirlpool.
In contrast, she was still in her wrinkled T-shirt, looking terribly disheveled. She felt barely human. It had been like this the entire summer break. Often, she stayed in and languished in bed all day, doomscrolling on her phone. She stopped meeting up with friends and skipped her part-time job shifts.
Panda, meanwhile, was as vivacious as ever. Every day she was out and about: going on dates, going to work, and going shopping. Everyone called her Panda, but she was really more like a fluttering, vibrant songbird. She seemed to be doing great—no, no, better not say “great,” which sounded too much like blame. Better to say “normal.” She ate three meals on time, followed a set routine, and kept track of everything. She even squeezed in beauty treatments at the salon now and then and invited Ah Lei to come along for a couple’s discount. Not that there was anything wrong with that.
Ah Lei couldn’t free herself from being preoccupied by the movement. The blood-soaked reality of it consumed her. Before going out, she needed hours to mentally prepare herself; after coming back, she needed another few hours to process it all. Ah Lei felt like a broken, lopsided spinning top. Just staying upright took everything she had.
Even though several days had passed, she was still unable to process what had happened on Sunday. Whenever she thought about it, the spinning top inside her tipped off-balance.
Watching Panda organize her handbag, Ah Lei said, half-mocking, “Be honest with me. When you walk by those boutiques in the mall, checking out the maxi dresses, don’t you ever think about the bloodied floor from that day?”
“It’s the bags that bring things together.” Panda pointed at a black backpack and a pink handbag in the wardrobe. “From the right, life looks soft pink, the black splotch an accidental smudge; from the left, the world appears solid black, the pink an indulgent swipe of lipstick. But is it really? The truth is, they’re just two different bags, sitting side by side on a shelf.”
“What if there’s only one bag, both black and pink, mixed together?” Ah Lei asked.
“Sure, but when you think about it, the colors don’t really go together. They kind of clash.”
“Like New Town Plaza last Sunday?”
“Like New Town Plaza today,” Panda said.
* * *
—
Last Sunday, Ah Lei and Panda were just going out for dinner. There were protests and clashes happening across the city, but they wanted to give themselves a day off from the movement. And so, they went to the nearest upscale mall—just two metro stops from campus—for a nice meal, a little window shopping, and maybe even a spontaneous movie.
Was a shopping mall supposed to be a haven for all? Back in mid-June, when the movement had just begun, a video clip went viral: several protesters, fleeing the police on a main road, suddenly darted around a corner and dashed into a nearby luxury mall. They stumbled straight into the bewildered gaze of shoppers and tourists. After a few steps, the protesters looked back and saw the police hadn’t followed them in. Instead, they clamored at the other side of the glass doors, hurling insults, trying to draw the protesters back onto the battlefield outside. The glass doors, it turned out, formed a sacred border.
From then on, many protesters developed guerilla tactics, strategizing for a game of hide-and-seek. These glossy halls of consumerism—malls, shopping centers, commercial complexes—became temporary ceasefire zones. No matter how desperately they ran on the sweltering streets, how the chase began to seem like a matter of life and death, if they could make it in time and fling open one of those glass doors before being caught, a blast of cold air would embrace them, chilling them inside and out.
That pleasant coolness meant safety.
Gradually, the open spaces in these shopping malls were transformed into miniature civic squares. Crowds gathered there to sing and chant; they put up slogans and posters on the wall. And so, people began to think that, somehow, capitalism protected them. Yet this sense of security was as fragile as those thin, crystal-clear doors, offering no real defense. A single flick, and they’d shatter.
That day at New Town, however, when Panda and Ah Lei emerged from one of the shops, they saw broken umbrellas, masks, and used first-aid supplies strewn across the floor. Screams and sobs were coming from all directions. In the distance, a mass of black-helmeted, heavily geared security officers closed in.
Ah Lei and Panda processed the new reality: Riot police had breached the mall.
Many shoppers were stunned. When they pulled themselves together to flee, some of them collapsed on the floor. Others tried to retreat into the individual shops for shelter, but the staffers swiftly hit the automated door buttons, and the shutters came crashing down, shattering everyone’s belief in their presumed protector.
As the police advanced, people scattered toward the exits. On the first floor, at least a dozen protesters in black shirts were pinned to the ground, their limbs twisted into grotesquely unnatural postures.
Multicolored spotlights illuminated the ornate displays of luxury goods. In a shop window, mannequins in evening gowns and cocktail dresses bestowed their smiles on two policemen as they jumped a guy in khaki shorts. One of them clenched the man’s shoulder, forcing him to kneel. When he struggled, the other cop held his head with both hands. His thumb dug at the poor man’s eye, as if ready to gouge it out.
Ah Lei, Panda, and a few concerned bystanders shouted for the officer to stop, begging for the man to be left alone. But it only made things worse. As if to demonstrate his authority, the officer pressed down harder. A struggle ensued.
All of a sudden, an ear-splitting, bone-chilling shriek drowned out the other noises, echoing through the almost empty, cavernous mall.
Everyone paused to look. The kneeling man was now let free, his eye red and swollen.
He spat out something. A bitten-off finger. The one that had thrust into the soft issues of his eye socket. Dripping with blood, it landed on the pristine marble floor.
* * *
—
That evening, the men and women in search of transactional happiness fled for their lives. Clutching the latest fashions, electronics, cosmetics, dried seafood, and herbal medicine, they rushed into the metro station connected to the plaza.
The mall had just betrayed them, so they shifted their faith to public transit. They needed to believe that there were still places of order in this city, places that were undisturbed by the chaos on the street, or the threats of crumbling society and an authoritarian takeover. If they managed to get there, maybe they could carry on as usual, pretending it was just like every weekend in the past, returning home with the spoils of their consumption.
Ah Lei and Panda had been among the first to duck past the metro turnstiles. Soon, the police officers came charging into the station, swinging their batons and shouting at the crowd. Their roars echoed throughout the space. Ah Lei and Panda saw the officers menacing the crowd outside the turnstiles like herders corralling livestock. The two of them hurried down to the platform. Ah Lei trembled as she gripped Panda’s hand. She could feel the soft fibers of her mask tickling her nose, but she didn’t dare lower it to scratch. Her body was all tense. Panda squeezed her hand, their palms damp with sweat. Ah Lei imagined that under the mask, Panda’s face must be pale, but she managed to whisper, “Don’t be afraid. We’ll be okay.” This gentle assurance triggered more grief. Ah Lei’s chest tightened. They both teared up.
More people surged toward the platform, nearly toppling over on the escalators, pushing one another. In this tumult, Ah Lei dropped her phone. When she picked it up, she saw the screen was shattered and the bunny charm from her sister was gone. They crammed into a full train car. A few passengers were holding the automatic doors open. The announcement repeated in Cantonese, Mandarin, and English: “Please stand back from the doors.” The doors began to shut like massive jaws. Inside, passengers clawed at the doors, shouting, “Wait! Many people haven’t made it on yet.”
The metro staffers on the platform kept reassuring the riders, almost pleading: another train was approaching. They just had to believe it and release the doors. This train needed to depart.
But Ah Lei didn’t believe it, nor did her fellow passengers. How could they trust any place anymore? She used to believe in the plaza, comfortable and stylish, full of people busy enjoying the cheer and peace of consumerism. Now the police had barged in here. They deployed pepper spray at the shoppers’ faces, slammed batons on their foreheads, and gouged a man’s eye. They left the mall bloodied and haunted by resounding wails. In the metro station just now, they prowled, like farm owners inspecting their livestock. No one could make it stop.
If Ah Lei and other passengers trusted the staff and let go of the doors, what would happen to those stranded on the platform?
In this city, was there any public place that she could feel safe in?
* * *
—
This was their first time back in New Town Plaza since Sunday night.
The place had been restored to its stylish and comfortable environment. The seven-story glass building was like a glistening gift box. Air-conditioned and showered in bright light, the plaza was oblivious to the shifting of the seasons, or day giving way to night. They walked across the spacious lobby toward the restaurant area in the back. It was lunchtime, and every corner of this global village—eateries serving Japanese ramen, Southeast Asian curry, Italian pizza, and Taiwanese hotpot—was packed with well-dressed diners, chatting, laughing, and eating with elegant manners.
When they arrived at the bistro, Ah Mak was already seated at a booth. Ah Mak had ordered for himself and was eating soup. His left forearm and half of his hand were wrapped in gauze. Panda greeted him and ordered risotto for herself and a cheddar cheeseburger for Ah Lei.
“How come you’re free on a weekday?” she asked Ah Mak.
He pointed to his arm. “Sick leave. I’m off for two days.”
“My cousin works maintenance at a train depot. He lives alone,” Panda said, winking at Ah Lei.
Ah Lei knew exactly why she added that last detail. Ah Mak had recently gone through a breakup. Apparently, it had something to do with the movement. Panda was scheming to fix them up. She was making things very awkward.
Ah Lei had only met Ah Mak once before, at a rally in early July. He’d been dressed head to toe in black, with a gas mask strapped on, looking like a member of the Valiant Faction—protesters willing to be on the front lines during clashes with the police. Normally, the mask should have protected him from the worst of the tear gas, but when he staggered over to the first-aid station, he was coughing uncontrollably. Ah Lei helped him sit down, and immediately she understood what was wrong. He had put the mask on clumsily without properly sealing the plastic rim tightly around his mouth and nose. The gap allowed the gas to seep in. He didn’t have much frontline experience after all, Ah Lei thought to herself.
As Ah Lei helped him take off his mask to flush his eyes, Panda exclaimed, “It’s you?” Ah Lei had no clue who he was, but she knew that calling out the name of someone you recognized at the scene was taboo. Without asking any questions, she instructed him to open his eyes wide, tilt his head, and keep blinking.
He was so quiet. No crying out in pain or putting up a struggle.
At the bistro, Ah Lei sat off to the side, listening as the cousins talked. Their conversation mostly revolved around Panda complaining about her mother while Ah Mak tried to gently defend his aunt, saying nice things about her and urging Panda to be understanding. This annoyed Panda so much that she barely touched her appetizer. “Of course you think she’s was nice. She never nags you,” she snapped at him. “As people say, it’s easy to be pleasant with people you only occasionally meet; a different story if you have to live together. You have no idea how I feel. Who gives you the right to play peacemaker?”
Ah Lei was taken aback. Panda was usually all jokes and grins, never taking anything too seriously. She rarely saw Panda lose her temper. Watching Panda and Ah Mak, Ah Lei thought of her older sister. In the months since the movement broke out, Ah Lei had spoken with her a few times over the phone. In those calls, Ah Lei went on about her fractured everyday life. “The bloodshed is real, but so is drinking beer and cracking jokes. The resistance is real, but so is the mundane routine of life,” she vented. “As the question goes, would you rather be a happy pig or a miserable Socrates? But right now, I feel like a miserable pig.”
Astute yet kind as always, Ah Lei’s sister comforted her. “When conflict becomes part of your daily life, it’s natural that you need some getting used to. You know, each person has their own way of coping, and not everyone can allow themselves to fall apart. Maybe maintaining order is the only way Panda knows how to survive.”
Their food arrived. Ah Lei cut off a piece of her burger and popped it into her mouth. Her eyes widened.
The pillowy bun was paired with a richly aromatic beef patty that was crispy on the outside, tender on the inside. Juice burst forth in her mouth. Ah Lei was suddenly awakened by the sensation. This must be the best burger in the world, she thought. She closed her eyes and swayed her head gently as if to prolong the pleasure.
Seeing Ah Lei’s reaction, Panda smiled smugly and patted her roommate on the shoulder. “Told you! I wouldn’t steer you wrong. That’s Angus beef. With food this good, haven’t you regained the will to live?”
Ah Lei glared at Panda, feeling a flash of self-contempt at being overcome by a mere burger. Nevertheless, she grabbed the rest of the burger, abandoning any care for etiquette, unconcerned with the strangers around her. Her nails dug into the soft bun, her fingers slick with grease. She opened her jaw wide to take a big bite and chewed it forcefully. Melted cheese and tomato juices dribbled down her fingers onto her wrists. It was a feral mess. But she didn’t care. She clutched this delicious burger like a drowning man hanging on to a piece of wood.
As she ate, her guilt lessened, and she felt like everything might be okay. Perhaps life was supposed to be this way. She, too, surrendered to material desires and cheap satisfaction.
* * *
—
After settling the bill, Ah Mak asked the women to be careful out there. “Auntie really does care about you. Go see her when you get a chance,” he told Panda. Not at all her usual cocky self, she responded with a hug, saying softly, “You’re the one who really needs to be careful.”
Briefly, Ah Lei met Ah Mak’s eyes. He still looked so calm. She was a little embarrassed. Ah Mak had paid for the meal, even though she had barely said a word to him. She had sheepishly accepted his generosity but was still struggling to justify it to herself. She found the courage to hand him a paper bag. It contained some dressings and a packet of pink antiseptic solution she had carried with her. Ah Mak nodded in thanks and waved goodbye.
Panda linked arms with Ah Lei, and they went to look for a new cell phone. Ah Lei tried to block out her memory from Sunday. The electronics store had been so quick to kick out customers and slam its shutters when things went down. It was now jam-packed with shoppers again. There was no trace of trauma.
On prominent display was the latest smartphone model. It was advertised to be sleek, ultra-thin, and featherlight. Its dual-lens camera promised crisp photos. It looked glossy and beautiful. Its price tag was nearly ten thousand Hong Kong dollars.
Ah Lei had never bought herself a new phone. In fact, she rarely spent money. Her sister’s hand-me-downs had served her well. She had never wanted bells and whistles on a phone. She wasn’t one for trendy extravagances. The salesman stopped by and patiently walked her through the merits of the new model: a wide screen, high-resolution photography, high-definition video playback. The camera even had a portrait mode. He snapped a shot of her for demonstration. In the photo, the background receded into blurriness, and Ah Lei looked striking and sharp.
Ten thousand was a serious sum, Ah Lei calculated. It was nearly a month’s pay when she hadn’t skipped her part-time job; enough for a decent trip. It could pay for laser eye surgery—well, probably just for one eye, anyway.
Nevertheless, an impulse overrode all these considerations. She ran her fingers over its shiny body, as if it would help her forget everything that had come before. She absolutely had to have this perfect phone.
Vendetta Train
A battered train rattled into the depot, looming before Ah Mak like a bloodied, dying figure straight out of a B movie. He had just arrived at work this Monday morning, and the sight of the rickety train lumbering forward gave him a jolt. Instinctively, he took a half step back.
After it came to a halt, he stepped inside. All the display screens had been shattered, and the CCTV cameras had been spray-painted black and bashed broken. Between the handrails, electrical wires dangled. They had been yanked out like entrails ripped out of a wounded body.
Taking care of the trains was Ah Mak’s job. On recent weekends, however, Ah Mak belonged with those who wrecked trains. For weeks on end, millions of people had marched in demonstrations, but the government barely responded. Many protesters became convinced that it was time to escalate their actions. This included damaging the metro system, which was partially publicly run.
