I am in Hong Kong working, taking over a maternity leave. Maternity leaves are generally quite short - only 6 weeks here- but the woman I am filling in for is taking longer (four and a half months). Her last day was supposed to be on Friday. When she was getting ready to leave the office on Thursday, we were talking about an outstanding project that needed to be completed. She said, "Don't worry - I'll be here tomorrow." I just knew when she said it, she wouldn't be, she would be having her baby. And you guessed it - the next morning I got an email from her saying that she was in labour and that the baby was on her way early.
Yesterday, as I was wrapping up my weekend, I took a cab up the very steep road all the way up to the Peak to visit her and her husband and their new addition. This was not a typical Canadian style hospital. First, it was a private hospital. BIG difference. The views from the hospital were unbelievable and were probably the best I've seen since coming to Hong Kong. My friend and I donned masks as we entered the hospital, which is normal practice. *As an aside, it is very common for people to wear masks in public here. Ever since SARS hit this city in 2002 there is very little tolerance for spreading germs. * The hospital was gorgeous and looked more like a hotel. The balcony of their room had lounge chairs to lay out in, and their dinner menu was complete with steak and salmon - a far cry from the food in our Canadian hospitals. I visited the very small (but sturdy) newborn boy who had only been in the world two days. He slept peacefully the entire time and I reflected on the fact that this little wonder had his whole life ahead of him. A clear and bright path.
Today, I got to experience another part of life in Hong Kong. Over Chinese New Year my new friend's father died. It was especially traumatic for her as she had only arrived in Hong Kong a month ago to spend more time with her family. Despite the fact that her parents live here, she is very much "Canadian". She doesn't speak Cantonese, nor does she know all the in's and out's of Hong Kong yet. Her father had been ill, but his death was sudden. Funeral homes aren't pleasant at the best of times, but in Hong Kong they are known for being especially sterile. The building was huge with many rooms hosting different visitations. I travelled up to the third floor, where the smell of lilies mixed with incense took my breath away. As I approached the room, I could hear the chimes of a Buddhist funeral taking place down the hall. Monks lined the stark, tiled hallway, swaying in their brown robes. I paid my respects to my friend, met her mother and sat in the funeral home staring at the hundreds of flowers - all white - in the room. I felt for my friend. Here she is in this land that is so familiar to her, but so foreign. When her father died she didn't even know that you don't call 911 here. It's 999. I would have never ever known that. How was she to know that? She told me that there are only four morgues in Hong Kong, so they get over crowded and can't always refrigerate, making identifying bodies (everyone has to do it here) very difficult and traumatic. She told me that there are so many people in Hong Kong that you have to book a cremation slot - sometimes is takes six weeks. She told me that it was hard for her. Hard for her because she can't speak the language. Hard for her because she doesn't know how to navigate through the bureaucracy. Hard for her because her dad just died. And all I could do, all I was meant to do, was to just listen. She told me that usually it is Chinese custom to place a somber picture of the deceased at the from of the visitation room- her family had chosen a smiling picture of their father...enjoying life. The picture was taken of him smiling on the ferry on the way to Lantau island. As I left the room, I looked over at the Buddhist mourners down the hall and I realized that they weren't mourning in the way we might think of traditional mourning, because they don't believe in death. They believe in life. Reincarnation is life, and life carries on. This blog is not meant as a forum for my political or religious beliefs, although I suppose they are bound to seep in, but I looked at the Buddhists engaged in the celebration of life, and it reaffirmed my belief in the never ending circle of life. It was comforting, and in such a sterile place, in such a crazy, chaotic city, it brought me warmth and peace.
The circle continues in Hong Kong for the cherished newborn son, and for the beloved father.
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