It’s been five days.
And after reading through the three mails prior I confirmed I covered all of the incidentals – tea notes, park observations and school reflections. I even had a call out from our first correspondence, in an attempt to make an in-joke. Maybe that was too much. But it was crafted painstakingly: barely weaved between the usual innocuous questions.
Still, five days after and of course it’s a tad absurd. It’s five days. Yet one’s inclined to pace around in silence, and pacing around, pacing around so one leans toward nuclear options. I learned a long time ago to never send a follow-up unless you want to go out with a bang. But it was hard not to, as I couldn’t think of anything else other than to wait in agony or delete everything.
So I, of course, twirled around the five tabs between music and incomplete documents. It’s impressive how much time passes desperately clicking through singles. If you listen deep enough you can forget and wonder why you even need to talk to anyone. Forget the work day too. I’d have the singers talk out thoughts for me, before “five days” inevitably surfaced back.
This correspondence started over a mutual interest in a history forum. Collecting artifacts of Hong Kong in its heyday specifically. Nodding in agreement so we’d state it’s surely an alternate world and bottomless: stirs an adventurous heart to which, we’d both suggest, shouldn’t be smothered in anyone.
So our adventure surely began, first in speculations! Perhaps a late 2020s renaissance pending and we’d be the first ones privy in our indifferent Western empires. Turning away we’d write the world to come and dangle virtual legs over an iconic bridge haze film scene. You’ll reignite a worldly love through email exchanges, it seems.
And as the emails accrued so determined we were to uncover cultural gold. To replenish today and days after, everything before: here’s our long-burn rebellion next to the Gmail branding. We both stoutly refused to look at the parking lot any longer; just a few more emails and we’d stumble into a parasol view. Together, maybe.
It was hard to imagine an alternative at the time. Because if it didn’t work then Hong Kong moves from a personal sanctuary to something deflated and graffiti’d with embarrassing memory. Lack of foresight.
I’m not sure why I risked Hong Kong to this person. I’m not sure why I suggested we go there together. This was turning into losing Japan all over again: to this day I pretend I’ve never known its railroad infrastructures and history therein.
After clicking around more I was convinced by then this was their answer. Silence certainly gets the point across. We shall correspond but bridge dangling reserves itself for virtual only, but another shuffle to a spectating slot.
So for a desperate relief from stress-picking at my face all bloodied I archived the three threads we built through the months. Three threads because it was a jab at the time to start it all again and pretend to be someone entirely new before returning to form. It would’ve been nice to merge them together in some respect of posterity, elevating to a proper digital tapestry to bury. In any case, I determined silence was my answer too. To reclaim some dignity, maybe.
But that’s the thing about correspondence. There’s no way to wipe away one’s incompetence in choice. Here was a promise squashed and I felt extraordinarily dumb to think this was anything other than a way to pass time. But I will staunchly defend this incompetence and assert that yes, it did, it did matter more than a cafe conversation.
Before losing myself in ideals again I opened the email archive as reminder and for distraction. The laptop screen rendered hundreds of long labeled tiles with off-white thread titles, courtesy of a browser extension to reduce white-point as my eyes were too dry anymore in staring. Each thread title, each lost correspondent handle attached.
Let’s be clear: each held a moment too, however diminished in that listing. I wondered if any of them sometimes visit the archive too. Whether on screen or in mind, maybe looking over their own parasol metal chair upon their choice of main street. But it’s more likely one deletes all traces instead.
Scrolling some more and building up the resolve to retire my interest in Hong Kong so I considered this was the last email I’d ever exchange. Maybe email wasn’t for me, but that doesn’t mean it can’t serve another one. Maybe my Hong Kong enthusiast would find better times if there was someone else writing. Maybe it was time to shift my interests toward Beijing and its Forbidden City.
At once the computer let out a chime and the sidebar held the coveted and highlighted, circled one. I darted the mouse over and so populated my fated Hong Kong friend’s response heading. My hand started shaking in anticipation so it took five faltered clicks to open the thread.
“Yes! Let’s plan a trip there someday!” was the first sentence in a six paragraph follow up. Tension vanished and a warmth flowed through its place, with a lean back for breath. I navigated back to the archive to reclaim our three threads, giving a solemn nod to the hundred prior attempts left behind this tab burial. This time was different. One hurdle scaled, only another fifty.
I scrolled to the top of our third thread together to begin once again, all in preparation of crafting my next response. With each half page scroll a consistency revealed itself: five days was the typical response time. In fact, we both took five days to respond usually. Well, five days as a maximum.
I just get a little antsy toward the minutes. That’s all.
“Well, what happened? Did you both go?” you may wonder.
Well, no, but that’s not the point. I was weaning off my interest in Hong Kong anyway. It’s just something I remembered while scrolling through the archive again. The now re-archived three-threader popped at me while I was preparing to delete my email with my Qing enthusiast next. But I got the chime again.
Everything is falling into place this time. You’ll see. This was purely a demonstration of my determination. Everything up to this point held its own moment, teachings, word rearranging, all infusing into my next response that will, this time, complete my rebellion. My life shall truly begin. I will suture together my destiny.
Our Qing dynasty is only the beginning; Sun Yat-sen smiles upon me.