Everyday Movement by Gigi L. Leung

Author:Gigi L. Leung [Leung, Gigi L.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2026-02-10T00:00:00+00:00

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One evening in August 2008, when the phone rang, Hung Yi’s family was in front of the TV. Their eyes were glued to the opening ceremony of the Beijing Olympics. The domestic helper picked up the phone. She bent over and addressed Mom in a hushed voice: “Ma’am, there has been an incident with your sister.”

An hour later, Mom and twelve-year-old Hung Yi arrived at the Sham Shu Po Police Station to pick up Auntie Lan and Ah Mak. Hung Yi took a good look at the police station on her way out. The building spanned the junction of Yen Chow Street and Lai Chi Kok Road. It was low, wide, and long, more like a battleship than a police station, she thought.

Having grown up in one of the new towns, she’d always imagined government buildings as modern, towering skyscrapers, but wasn’t this building in front of her just like one of those old European museums she’d seen on travel shows? A columned portico with half-moon-shaped arcades. Low, closely spaced railings were installed just outside the windows. If this was in the afternoon, and you put a few tables and chairs there, it would be a perfect setting for a leisurely snack of French toast, soaking in the sun.

Mom tapped her head and shot her a look. Taking the cue, Hung Yi fished out two squashed buns from her pocket and offered them to her aunt and cousin. Auntie Lan and Mom were born from the same womb, so naturally, they were equally well-versed in the ways of the world. Auntie Lan accepted the bun with a smile. “Ah Mui is so thoughtful,” she praised Hung Yi. She thanked her profusely and apologized for the trouble. Mom cut in, feigning annoyance. “What’re you talking about? Don’t be so formal with us.”

Ah Mak leaned against a column. He was only three years older, but Hung Yi had always found him a little intimidating. When she offered him the other bun, he rejected it. “I’m not hungry,” he said. She held the squashed bun in midair, frozen in an awkward pose, unsure whether to keep insisting out of politeness or take the hint and pull back. Around her cousin Ah Mak, her usual sharp tongue never quite worked.

Every Sunday, Mom took her to visit Auntie Lan. The sisters usually retreated into a tiny room, sliding the folding door shut. They gossiped in their native Hakka, unintelligible to the kids. At such times, Ah Mak always cleared off the cluttered sofa, brushing away questionable dust and crumbs before gesturing for her to sit down. Their weekly ritual was to watch a TV program called Sunday Theatre. All afternoon, the cousins sat in solemn silence, as though they were attending a church service.

It was always the same few Hong Kong movies playing in rotation. Either cop-and-gangster shootouts or incongruous slapstick comedies. Either Bang bang bang! or Wah wah wah! Nevertheless, they watched them over and over again, picking up a bunch of swear words and slang.

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