Hong Kong Lights

Hong Kong after dark is vertical light. From the anchorage, towers climbed behind hills while ferries crossed in front, making the view feel arranged in layers of movement and height. Aircraft descended somewhere beyond the haze. I could not quite follow every part of it at once, which was perhaps the point. The city seemed comfortably beyond my capacity to take inventory.

The whole place looked plugged directly into the sea. Light gathered on the water in broken streaks, disturbed and remade as I watched. After so many evenings when darkness simply removed the view, this one supplied more than daylight often had. I stood looking towards the shore with no useful ambition beyond continuing to look at it for a while.

Priya came out after watch carrying two mugs of tea. The warmth of the mug settled into my hands, an ordinary comfort against an extraordinary background. She stood beside me, her attention on the city rather than on finding something to say about it. I appreciated that. There are views which improve when nobody feels obliged to provide a commentary or prove that they have understood them.

We stood without talking for a while, which is now something we are good at. Silence with another person can feel like work until, unexpectedly, it does not. The ferries continued crossing, the lights held above the hills, and the tea remained warm enough to sip slowly. I have spent many evenings trying to be interesting. This was considerably nicer, and required only that I stay where I was.