Moon River

When I first landed in Hong Kong, the city didn’t welcome me, it swallowed me whole. The neon lights blinked like they had a secret to tell, and the air was thick with humidity and possibilities. I had barely unpacked when I realized I wasn’t just adjusting to a new city. I was stepping into a new version of myself.

Back in Sweden, life had a rhythm, a cool, effortless, almost cinematic flow. Here, the pace was frantic, a never-ending rush of clattering trams, hurried footsteps, and the occasional profanity shouted in Cantonese (a language I had yet to master, but I could already sense when I was being cursed at).

Every morning, I woke up to the city’s chaos, the hum of life outside my apartment window, the distant wail of a ferry horn, the scent of fresh dim sum wafting from the cha chaan teng downstairs. I traded my slow Scandinavian mornings for quick sips of milk tea on my way to work, dodging umbrella-wielding aunties like it was an Olympic sport.

Hong Kong didn’t hold my hand; it pushed me into the deep end. I got lost in Central Station more times than I care to admit, learned the hard way that you never, ever stand on the left side of an escalator, and discovered that nothing in this city waits for you, not even the tram.

But then, something shifted.

One evening, I found myself walking along the Victoria Harbour promenade. The skyline shimmered in front of me, a dizzying display of steel and ambition. I was alone, yet I wasn’t lonely. It hit me then, this city doesn’t wait because it isn’t waiting. It’s already tomorrow. And if I wanted to keep up, I had to stop hesitating and start moving.

So, I did.

I started filling my nights with rooftop drinks and conversations in a mix of English, Cantonese, and the universal language of expats trying to make a home out of a place they barely understand. I let the city surprise me, an impromptu hike up Dragon’s Back, a hidden speakeasy behind a noodle shop, a stranger who became a friend over a shared plate of roast goose.

And maybe, just maybe, I wasn’t swallowed whole after all. Maybe I was becoming a part of it.

Because if there’s one thing Hong Kong teaches me, it’s this: you don’t wait for life to happen. You run with it.