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Seulgi had always been fascinated with hotels. They were a place of ephemerality, its flow of guests always constant yet never staying for long. Everything seemed painfully fleeting, like the relationships in her life. She checked into the Holiday Inn next to the Chungking Mansions, in room number twenty forty-six. She watched the housekeepers diligently pushing their squeaky carts down the plush brown carpet, knowing that the tear-stained white sheets would be washed away in the next laundry cycle, as if it had never been there.
At the same time, although the stains may have disappeared, the stories remained. Each person who once inhabited this space left something behind – fingerprints, a strand of hair on the carpet, a hairpin slipped beneath the nightstand – but it was their presence that was interwoven into the room’s history. Its dimly lit hallways were haunted by the tales of those who had come before. It was a building who had seen it all, a tight-lipped keeper of secrets.
The hotel was a liminal space where all clocks were frozen in time, as though the outside world was a different realm. Regardless of what hour it was, as one door was locked shut, another one opened. It was particularly evident in Hong Kong, bustling with civilians whose natural gait seemed to be vivace. If only she could stop time. Its rooms were a mere counterfeit of comfort and abode, but in truth it was anywhere but home.
There was a knock on the door – not a light, timid tap of a forbidden lover afraid to be caught lingering in the corridor for a second too long, nor a boisterous bang of a debtor intent on causing ruckus. It was an uneven, half-hearted knock on the oak door, followed by an exasperated sigh, “Delivery.”
“Aren’t you going to ask me for the Password?”
“What’s the password?” the delivery man with dark eye circles replied in a blasé manner. A password was not necessary for the delivery, and he had no time for such games.
“Love you for ten thousand years.”
He dropped the brown paper bag containing a can of expiring pineapples into her arms, and disappeared down the hallway.
It had become a nightly routine for Seulgi to visit the pubs and bars in Lan Kwai Fong, the cobble-stoned clubbing district. Tonight, she made a bet with herself to fall in love with the first woman who entered the bar. She waited patiently with a bottle of San Miguel, until she walked in. Incidentally, the honour belonged to a woman in a long baby pink wig and red-framed sunglasses. She sat by the bar and ordered whiskey, and then drew on the cigarette caught in her fingers. A long pinkish-white tulle skirt peeked out from beneath her tan trench coat, like a runaway bride.
“Is this seat taken?” she asked, first in English, then attempted in disjointed Cantonese, Mandarin, and then finally her native tongue – Korean.
The woman looked up at last, and responded with a curious mumble. “You’re from Korea?”
“Yes, my name is Seulgi. I’m a-” she caught her tongue and retracted the word aspiring quickly, “filmmaker.”
“Joohyun.” she replied. “How about we drop the honorifics?” Just for one night, they could be anybody, or nobody at the same time.
Seulgi clinked her glass to hers in agreement and took a shot. “You know, they say if a woman is wearing sunglasses indoors it usually means one of three things: one, she’s blind, two, she’s a poseur, or three, her eyes are swollen from crying after a breakup.”
“Oh? And which one do you take me for?” Joohyun asked.
“Second one.”
“You think I’m a poseur?” her lips quirked, amused.
“No. I know you’re not blind because I saw you reading the menu, and anyone fortunate enough to have been in a relationship with you would be the one crying about losing you, not the other way around,” Seulgi remarked.
A light chuckle escaped her pale pink lips. “Well, I do happen to be an actress. I was supposed to shoot a film here, but it was cancelled last minute. Budget issues, they said. But I’m here already.” She allowed another shot to burn her throat.
“Do you have any other plans tonight? I could show you around,” Seulgi suggested.
She took another drag from her cigarette and tilted her head contemplatively. “I suppose you could. Have you been here long?”
“Twenty eight days,” she replied frankly.
Seulgi had been keeping a tally of the days in her mind since she arrived in Hong Kong. On the tenth of January, her ex-girlfriend decided that they should take a break. As per her words, she was tired of Seulgi “bumming around”, and that her dreams of becoming a filmmaker were foolish. She also gave her an ultimatum; if she could not become a successful filmmaker or at the very least, “get a real job” in one month’s time, she would call it quits for good. However, one month from January tenth happened to be Seulgi’s birthday. To her surprise, her ex still maintained a shred of humanity in her, and extended the date to the next day. Ever since, Seulgi purchased a can of pineapples that would expire on February eleventh, clinging onto hopes of reconciliation.
As soon as they stepped outside, Seulgi took her to her second-hand motorcycle, which she refurbished from a junkyard. She slung her messenger bag containing her small video camera around her body and instructed the actress to hang on. They zipped through the night, what once was brightly lit by colourful neon signs was now illuminated by blinding billboards instead. The pictures on the screen danced and moved quickly to the pace of the changing times. Nevertheless, the neon signs were still around, one simply needed to know where to look. It was what Seulgi loved about this city; The dilapidated buildings with bamboo scaffolding and flickering signs persisted amidst the concrete jungle. She felt her slim arms slip around her waist tightly, and her head leaning on her back. Admittedly, she had missed the warmth of another body pressed against her as the wind caressed her face.
They stopped by an old record shop, filled with vintage knick-knacks and toys – everything from antique clocks to relics of the past, all worn out and used with love. Joohyun removed her shades and gazed around in bright-eyed awe, feeling as though she stepped into a snapshot from a postcard. Her eyes skirted around the piles of rusty copper birdcages, jade bracelets, and rusty rotary telephones. To another person, it would have been difficult to carve a path through what seemed like a hoarder’s room, but it was almost a second home for Seulgi at this point.
“We are closed- oh! It’s you, Wise Girl,” an elderly man called out.
The friendly old shopkeeper had difficulty remembering Seulgi’s name, and it had no equivalent in Chinese, but he remembered that it meant “Wisdom” in Korean.
“Hello, Mr. Wong. I hope it’s alright that I stop by,” she smiled.
“You are always welcome here. Is this the girlfriend? You won her back?” he grins at Joohyun behind her.
Seulgi blushed, and shook her head quickly. “Oh, no. This is Joohyun, a… new friend.”
“That’s lovely. You girls take your time,” he said, and returned to his newspaper.
Joohyun wandered over to a shelf of old-school eyeglass frames, trading her sunglasses for a new pair with an array of colours and styles. She studied her reflection in a red handheld mirror with a floral design etched on the frame. Unable to resist as the spark of inspiration called on her, Seulgi drew out her video camera and began filming the actress. Her soft, elegant beauty was born to grace the silver screen.
The actress caught her in the reflection, and uttered a soft, “Oh!”
“Just keep doing whatever you were doing,” Seulgi said.
She was uncertain of what the future held, but at least for tonight, Joohyun was her muse. There may not have been a screenplay to follow, but it did not matter, they could write their own story together.
Joohyun grabbed a dusty plush rabbit, its soft white fur now a sooty shade of grey.
“I had one just like it when I was a little girl,” she mused.
“What a coincidence, I had a bear like this,” Seulgi said, pointing at the brown teddy bear beside it on the shelf. It was missing an arm, and had a yellow button in the place of the right eye. “I named her kkomi .”
Joohyun’s eyes lit up with childlike wonder again. “Did you always want to be a filmmaker?”
Seulgi nodded. “Yes, my father showed me all sorts of old films.” She rifled through a case of old vinyls, many of which were classic movie soundtracks. “In fact, there were many Hong Kong films that inspired me,” she noted, showing Joohyun the cover. “How about you? Did you dream of becoming an actress?”
She smiled and shook her head, then pointed at the wall of vintage television sets. “I wanted to be an announcer. Well, that, or a flight attendant.”
“I think you would be excellent in anything you want to do.”
Next, Seulgi took her for a ride on the historic green tram, its brown wooden benches empty at this hour. She took her hand and led her to the upper deck, where her long pink tresses fluttered with the wind.
“You know, locals call this the ding ding , because of the sound it makes,” she said.
It evoked an airy giggle out of Joohyun, she laughed like a princess, or a fairy. She had discarded her trench coat to reveal a matching pink baby tee embellished with silver sequins, and tiny buttons to reveal her shoulder, just enough to tease her. Seulgi kept the camera rolling as Joohyun moved around in various spots, posing playfully.
“How about a shot over there? Alright… perfect,” she directed, one eye behind the camera.
“I’ll be your perfect ten,” Joohyun pouted, crouching by the front of the tram, and then blew a kiss at the lens.
Suddenly, they heard a low grumble coming from Joohyun’s stomach.
“Hungry?”
She nodded, cheeks flushing to the colour of her clothes.
Moments later, Seulgi took her hand again, and they ran through the streets with their noses following the trail of fresh-out-of-the-oven bubble waffles, aromatic curry fish balls and siu mai skewers coming from the stalls. As they ate beneath the neon lights, Joohyun’s gaze fell on the small splash of bright yellow curry stained the corner of Seulgi’s lips.
“Do I have something…?” she mumbled.
Joohyun was so close to her lips that she could almost taste the beer and fish balls on her breath. For a split second, she considered it – brushing the stain off with her glossy lips. Just then, somewhere in an alley, a dog barked and snapped her out of delirium. Instead, the actress took out a tissue from the small Tempo packet and wiped the taller woman’s face.
An air of silence hung between them, and Joohyun stared at her feet. Finally, she cleared her throat and said, “Thank you for tonight, I had a wonderful time. I should probably head back to my hotel now.”
Seulgi’s face faltered slightly, but nodded. “Right, it’s getting late.”
They waved for a red taxi, and watched the bright city skyline blur in motion before their eyes. Joohyun must have been more tired than Seulgi realized, as the actress had fallen into a light slumber on her shoulder. She was unmoving, still as a rock until they arrived in front of the Four Seasons.
Seulgi opened the car door for her, and then took one last, long look at her, as if she was capturing in her mind so she would not forget her. Sure, there was plenty of footage in her video camera for her to replay, but taking in her breathless beauty in the flesh was different.
“Will I ever see you again?” Seulgi asked.
They were now separated by a car door, with only an open window connecting them.
She gave her a melancholic smile, before the red taxi left her behind in the grey smoke from the exhaust. Seulgi craned her neck and took another look, but she already vanished.
February 11
Seulgi tapped her keycard and entered Room two zero four six again. As she reached to turn on the lights, caught a glimpse of the bright red letters on the alarm clock. Midnight. She dumped her now-expired pineapple cans from a tote bag and observed the pile onto the spare bed.
Before she knew it, a month had already passed. Everything had an expiration date, and her love, like the pineapples, had already gone stale. Seulgi wondered if her former lover thought of her as a can of pineapple too, something to be tossed out once it no longer served a purpose. What shall I do with them ? She wondered. Perhaps she could empty the contents and bring them to Mr. Wong, but she suspected that even he would not welcome it.
She laughed to herself and hooked her finger through the tin ring, and opened the first can of pineapple. Though they were no longer sweet and juicy, it filled her with a feeling of euphoria nonetheless. One by one, she tore them open, as though she was shredding away her past. She turned on an old film on the tv, and quickly fell asleep to the background din.
The next morning, Seulgi checked out of the Holiday Inn. She took one last look at the cream-coloured walls that sheltered her for the past month. It had witnessed her countless sleepless nights and tearful sobs into her mountains of pillows. Her story had been a new chapter in the hotel, and now it was time for it to turn the page. Another guest would check in, one with their own suitcase full of mystery.
On her way down the corridor, she brushed past a flight attendant in a crisp white uniform with a red bow, a round pair of shades hanging low on the bridge of her nose. She wondered where Joohyun was now, and whether she had returned to Korea already. For now, all that she had left of her were the memories etched in her mind, and the footage on the film reel in her suitcase. Yet, even film had an expiry date, and her memories would fade out in a similar manner eventually. That, she had come to acceptance with two nights prior.
Finally, she hailed a taxi to take her to the airport. The middle-aged driver turned on the radio, and a mellow ballad with a heartful guitar riff came on. She must have been subconsciously swaying her head along to the rhythm, as the driver turned up the volume, and gave a toothy grin. “You like it, the song?”
“Yes. What is it called?”
“愛你一萬年. It means Love you for ten thousand years.”