Rain lashed against the windows of my cramped office, mirroring the storm brewing outside. Here, in my little corner of Kowloon, rent was cheap and the walls were thin, perfect for the young activists who filled my apartments. They were the heart of this city, loud and passionate in their fight for democracy.
Just this morning, Mrs. Chow from 3B burst in, tears in her eyes, phone clutched tight. Her son, Kai, one of the brightest kids I knew, had been arrested. Apparently, another round-up. Disheartening wasn’t even the word. It was a constant weight on my chest.
Then came the news – two judges from the highest court resigned. A flicker of hope, then doubt. Was it a good sign or a bad one? These kids, they clung to every scrap of justice, every symbol of the Hong Kong they believed in. The news reports spun it both ways, but the worry in their eyes told the real story.
Later that evening, there were murmurs in the hallway. A gathering in the rooftop common area, they said. I climbed the creaky stairs, bracing myself for another night of whispered anxieties. Instead, I was met with a different kind of tension.There was anger, yes, but also a steely resolve. They were strategizing, their young voices determined.
One by one, they spoke. They were planning protests, petitions, using every avenue they could still access. They wouldn’t be silenced. Seeing them like that, a fierce defiance replacing their fear, gave me a sliver of hope. Maybe, just maybe,they could weather this storm too.
As they dispersed, a young woman named Mei lingered behind. “We’ll find a way, Mr. Lau,” she said, her voice firm.“Hong Kong is our home, and we won’t give up on it.”
Her words echoed in my head long after she left. These kids, they were the future of this city, and even in the face of despair, they held onto a flicker of hope. Maybe, just maybe, that flicker would be enough.
Two British judges resign from Hong Kong court. One cites the city’s ‘political situation’
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