On the seventh day of the seventh lunar month
WHO: chinese_pearl and anyone that would like to join
WHEN: August 13, 1946; morning
WHERE: Around the building
WHAT: Hong Kong celebrates a traditional Chinese holiday, feeling particularly homesick.
If they were back home, Hong Kong knew, the streets would be bustling with young women looking their most beautiful, gossiping and flirting with young men and comparing silk dresses with their sisters. His own sisters might visit him, if they were well enough. This year, he thought, would be a good year for the Magpie Festival, because this year it would be such a sign of renewal such as they hadn't seen in many years. Under the Japanese, they hadn't celebrated it, though he knew that the Japanese had one very similar to China's festival; and he knew the English governors didn't like the festivals, but it kept the people happy, and so they over looked them.
It was strange of him to be partaking of the things that would normally be done by a woman during these festivals, but there was no one else to do them. He'd gotten up before dawn, putting on the very best clothes he had in his closet and brushing his hair out. He wrote in the journal he'd been given, just a little.
And then he began to cook. There were only so many things he could make, with a limited supply of traditional ingredients, but he cooked and cooked until he'd made enough to feed the whole building. After plating the dishes, he headed out to start putting down plates of bao and carved melon in front of each door.
WHEN: August 13, 1946; morning
WHERE: Around the building
WHAT: Hong Kong celebrates a traditional Chinese holiday, feeling particularly homesick.
If they were back home, Hong Kong knew, the streets would be bustling with young women looking their most beautiful, gossiping and flirting with young men and comparing silk dresses with their sisters. His own sisters might visit him, if they were well enough. This year, he thought, would be a good year for the Magpie Festival, because this year it would be such a sign of renewal such as they hadn't seen in many years. Under the Japanese, they hadn't celebrated it, though he knew that the Japanese had one very similar to China's festival; and he knew the English governors didn't like the festivals, but it kept the people happy, and so they over looked them.
It was strange of him to be partaking of the things that would normally be done by a woman during these festivals, but there was no one else to do them. He'd gotten up before dawn, putting on the very best clothes he had in his closet and brushing his hair out. He wrote in the journal he'd been given, just a little.
And then he began to cook. There were only so many things he could make, with a limited supply of traditional ingredients, but he cooked and cooked until he'd made enough to feed the whole building. After plating the dishes, he headed out to start putting down plates of bao and carved melon in front of each door.