Or “Fake Foreigner”, less literally translated, which has become my nickname to my floormates as of late.
They tell me it’s because they know I’m from America, so when they look at me they want to talk to me in English, and have to constantly remind themselves that I actually do know Cantonese. So I’m a foreigner to them, but not really.
Which has made me think. It’s not my goal to “be” a Hong Kong boy. I don’t need them to think of me as a local. I don’t need them to forget that I was born in America and am not fluent nor completely literate. It was a good feeling to know that these Hong Kong locals have accepted me as a floormate and more importantly, as a friend. They don’t care that I don’t know perfect Cantonese. I sense an appreciation from them for the fact that I care to learn, that I try to learn. I think they appreciate that I try to hang out with them, try to get to know them, and try to care about them as well. After all, they’re my friends too. And that’s what friends do, even if we come from different places.
Hong Kong isn’t a place I think I would choose to live in for a long period of time. I could get used to it here, I could “fit”, but I know that ultimately it’s not for me. That said, it excites me to know that I can still be here and make local friends that I would hope I can keep in contact with when I leave. For real. None of that “KIT stuff in yearbooks during high school.”
