“I used to be a wild girl at school”. I stopped and stared at Monetter. “I was the leader of my friends’ circle. I tried a lot of things.”
Yes, this woman, in a photo long kept private, demonstrates perfectly how playful Monetter was. A company gathering in 1994. Short-haired Monetter is in the middle of two men. She has a pair of circular black sunglasses on, like a blind man. She has three necklaces: pearl, crystal floral, and golden. On top of the brown cotton dress is a long black coat. Her waist has a black wide strap on, looking like a flat waist bag. Her right hand holds a white fabric. Dark red nails stand out. A black strap watch is on her right wrist. Her left hand points at herself, holds a strand that separates into two threads. Earphones probably. Perfect white teeth are exposed beneath the lip. The man on the right is smiling at the camera while the one on the left is looking at Monetter’s waist bag or the earphone.
Monetter rings a doorbell at 6:45pm. She gets off work from a small printing company, Glamour, located about 7-minutes down by mini-bus ride. My younger brother or I open the door and we greet her. She nods and steps into the house. In the kitchen she swiftly puts down two white and two red plastic bags. One of the white bags holds two onions and the other white bag holds a jin (equivalent to half a kilogram) of choi sum. The red bags hold fifteen-dollars of minced pork and a fourfinger threadfin. She moves to the living room and puts down her medium-sized blue handbag. In the kitchen she performs kitchen stuff. I hear her getting changed in her room.
Shuffling plastic sounds and metals clinking sounds, in a distance. It all goes quiet, relatively quiet. Or I just don’t know what she is doing. After an hour, or 45 minutes, I hear an announcement: “help me set up the table”.
Monetter is the best cook. Others either have put too much salt or done the wrong kitchen stuff. She never boasts about her cooking in her family. Monetter and her second oldest brother went to the same primary school. She followed him in the back to school every day. They crossed roads and went up and down hills. Her brother did not like that. Was it his solitary character? Did he dislike Monetter? Or was it a big brother thing?
In the autumn of 1993, Monetter leads her Sunday school’s class to a beach for fun. They play a game of catch. The game is about an eagle catching little chickens. Mother-chicken stands in front of the line to protect her little chickens. Curl pixie hair cut-Monetter stands in front of the line. Hands and legs open in a gesture that is about to kick out whoever will come in the way. About 8 medium-length hairstyled girls put their hands on the shoulders in front, lining up, smiling and peeking at whoever is trying to catch them. The one behind Monetter puts her hands on Monetter’s waist and hides behind her back. Most of them are wearing light blue jeans. All are wearing innocent white T-shirts while Monetter wears a buttoned-up light blue shirt with a cartoon mark on the left. Monetter is going to protect her students. She won’t let anything get to them.
On Saturdays I go up twenty-two floors and dine with her side of family. Grandpa used to cook dinner for us. Monetter’s oldest brother and sister cook after grandpa passed away. Monetter never cooks there. She does not know how to cook there. On the dining table, often she enquiries on how to do this or that kitchen stuff. “Papa, how do you manage to cook the pork to this softness?” “Brother, where did you purchase this beef plate? Which store?” “Little brother, how much cream do you put into the carbonara?” This is how she excels in cooking.
With my father’s side of family, she is the chef. She turns out to be the one being enquired of. A little salt, soy sauce, a little sugar, and cook it for three minutes. It’s very easy, she replies. I don’t know much, actually, she often adds at the end.
Monetter was a popular girl in 1970s. She played bowling with friends after class. She played badminton on the weekends. She danced in the hallway. The class once had a picnic in rural Fanling. Green mountains, farmland and bikes were all. Two people rode on one bike. A boy paired up with a girl. Monetter picked Peter, a good-looking one in the class. Peter rode at front while Monetter sat at the back of the bike. How beautiful is this picture to me! A handsome teenage boy rides a bike with his paired-up pretty girl on the back. Peter and Monetter zig-zagged on the soil. I imagine Peter. Carrying a satisfied expression. Contemplating topics of conversation with Monetter, whether she has been here before, and the weather today. Monetter saw a big brown cow, she said, crossing in front of their bike. She shouted from the back. Peter got his mind back. Peter pressed down hand brakes and leaned back from the cow right in front of him. Monetter leaned back when Peter leaned into her direction.
Monetter falls to the ground, with only her hands supporting her, up a bit, from the sand in the autumn of 1993. She can’t get back up, for she is laughing hard. Maybe she has just tripped, when protecting her little chicken. I know she will get back up. When she exerts a little force to her hands, she will be able to pull herself up and continue the game.
The bike wheels were not prepared for the sudden shock, an instant shift of heavy weight to the back. The front wheel was too surprised for the missing weight and the back wheel was too shocked to receive two teenagers’ weight suddenly. The back wheel stood fixed on the ground while the front tilted upward, pointing to the clear sky. The bike turned upside down. Monetter fell. Peter followed, falling.
Falling.
The green leaves that have not grown mature enough, appearing like grass and branches instead, fall on my notebook and left bent leg. This unexpected arrival of nature gets me to look up from writing. The sun is still on my right. I drop my head to avoid staring straight into the sun. A faded-yellow leaf is running towards me. Walking, jumping and skipping towards me. I just watch her approaching, dreaming if she would lie beside me.
At 12 am, I jump onto Monetter’s bed. “Again?! Get off my bed! I need to sleep!” I want to chat with her. She asks why I didn’t chat earlier, but has to pick the bedtime hour every day.
The leaf stops moving. Two meters left between the leaf and me. I wait for the leaf a few more seconds.
Monetter’s second oldest brother was the prefect in school and he was strict. One rainy day, crossing the road at the top of a slope, her brother fell down in the middle of the road. Monetter had already crossed to the other end. “That was dangerous, extremely dangerous,” Monetter recalled. Nothing bad happened then either. The driver screamed at the brother “Hey kid! Gather up and move!”
She became the oldest sibling in the house at 15. Her two older brothers, including the second oldest brother, had left to sail for a living. She switched to attending night-school. She started secondary school all over again. She worked, borrowing her sister’s ID card. Her older sister lived with their grandmother when her family moved from Tsz Wan Shan to Wah Fu. It turned out she was the eldest, with four younger siblings. Responsibilities at home became hers. She helped to pay for the household and supported her siblings.
7pm on a Saturday night. I’ll go first and see if there is anything I can do to help. Don’t be late for dinner, Monetter informed my father, brother and me.
Monetter’s mother often praised her for contributing to the family. Monetter bought beige cashmere sweaters, bright red lipsticks, black purses and all necessities that her mother did not buy for herself. “You’re a good daughter, buying for your mother,” I said. “I was the only sibling working in the house,” Monetter stated.
Monetter got her first job at a Tokyo eyewear company, because of Rashid Mohammad. Rashid was Monetter’s neighbour in Wah Fu. Neighbours in public housing at that time were close. Rashid was like a big brother. He was approximately ten years older than Monetter. Rashid introduced her to the eyewear company, where he worked. The company had mostly male salesmen and only two female workers. She stood as a cashier in the basement and sat as a clerk in the upstairs office.
Monetter stood at the cashier, smiling into the air. Around her were transparent glass boxes containing numerous models of eyeglasses. A pair of circular glasses with a golden thin frame. The same model with a black frame. On the left, a pair of square glasses. The glasses were big enough to cover half of Monetter’s face. It had a thicker frame in yellowish brown. Some pairs in red, some pairs in blue. Some were for the sun, some for presbyopia. Monetter stared at the road in front, 50 meters out of reach, separated by the glass entrance door of shop. A tram crawled across, “ding-ding.” Only three or four people had passed by, at the front. They wore suits and ties, probably heading back to the Hang Send Bank next door. Ten more minutes, and still no one had visited the shop. Monetter turned to organize the shelves behind her. Not much to organize, but still. She turned back to the cash machine and lowered her head to organize the glasses inside the transparent drawer. She started moving the glasses left and right. She did not know what she could do when there were no customers and she, as the cashier, looked best to stay near the cash machine.
Apart from the routine cashier duties, Monetter’s cashier position brought her to board of exchange rates, from behind. From time to time, Japanese customers would visit and purchase glasses. These customers used Japanese yen. It was acceptable, since the company was a Japanese company. The marked prices were in Hong Kong dollars. Monetter needed to turn and check the exchange rate and then calculate the price in yen, and take the Japanese yen from the customers. Sometimes, a customer’s choice of glasses was absent from the showcase in the transparent boxes. Monetter needed to take the lift up to the 13th floor of the same building. The 13th floor was an office and storage space. Monetter looked for what the customer required from the stock. Finding the right pair and making sure the pair was fine, she took the lift down to the ground floor of shop.
At 7:20pm, my father, brother and I arrive on the 24th floor. Monetter’s oldest sister greets us while opening the door. Monetter smiles at us, walks towards us and indicates to sit on the sofa. There was not yet any others to greet at except the Indonesian helper in the flat.
On some days of the week, Monetter did not have to stand around on the ground floor of the eyewear shop, but she remained in the same building, on the 13th floor.
Monetter was swinging her swivel chair out of boredom at her desk. Her chair had a high tensile strength. Her back pushed the back of the chair. The chair revolved back into its place. She did it again and again. She swung herself back, but the chair wheels could no longer stand the pressure. The wheels on the back fixed onto the ground while the front ones flew upward, pointing to ceiling. The swivel chair turned upside down. Monetter’s back and head were lying on the ground with her legs stretched up to the ceiling. She was wearing a long red skirt. Monetter got up and glanced around her. No one had seen her. She sighed with relief.
“Did Rashid take care of you in work?” I inquired. Monetter replies that Rashid had left the company soon after. He moved out from Wah Fu. They have had no contact since then. Social media was not there yet. Monetter suggested that Rashid did quite well afterwards. He seemed to have been an officer at a Correctional Services Department. “You should have contacted him, maybe with the social media” I recommended. “Actually, I am not sure if he is alive,” Monetter stated. I looked up. He was ten years older than me. “Who know if he’s alive now?” Monetter uttered. I looked back down with my lips pressed together.
Six days per week in her first year of work, she stayed in Realty House in Central. When she stood in the shop, staring at the trams passing by, was she also taken away by the trams? Were her thoughts? Did the limited space of walking, the boundaries, shape her for society? With Rashid bringing her into the building, and with him very quickly leaving the building, did she feel left out? Was she more excited, to explore things by herself?
The eyewear office had a “workshop room” for the staff’s breaks. The workshop room and the office were separated by only a fabric cover. Monetter was walking to the workshop room after a day of work. She lifted up the cover. Peter or Paul was zipping up his trousers. He finished the zipping at once. “What’re you doing here?” he’d exclaimed. Monetter opened her mouth, blushed, turned away and walked back to the office. “That was a common area,” she shrugged.
At 7:45pm, Monetter waved her left hand, after I told her to come and sit at the wooden oval brown table in the living room of the 24th floor. “I am fine standing to eat,” Monetter assured. “Here, here, little brother, you sit.”
“Crazy! One of my friends said she is heading back to visit her Canadian relatives and friends. Then, the other friend said she is going to Canada too!” I turn my head looking at Monetter speaking to my father. She comes back from a meet up in Gold Coast Residences. She met with two friends from primary school. She said they have never really lost contact. One day in Facebook they found each other and connected back. I am glad she gets some connections. “For a marathon,” she continues. “She goes all the way to Canada for a marathon. People are taking airplanes, like taking a bus. As if Canada is right next to Hong Kong.” “You can do it too, go visit our relatives,” I chime in. Tickets are cheap nowadays, around two-thousand dollars only. “Isn’t two thousand money?” she exclaims.
She appears to care about money very much, at least more than any of us in the family. She is the one who asks, “How much?” When we talk about vacations and travelling, a discussion only, she is the first to challenge, “How much is the ticket? Is it free?” Her sarcasm for money has no end. I sometimes think she never wants to go travelling and she overthinks. Money is earned for spending, isn’t it?
“I am going,” Monetter said.
“Huh? Where’re you going?”
“I am going to the market to buy chicken wings for tonight.” Oh. Her cousin’s family is coming and we need more food. Oh. She went off the door, after returning home from her half-day of work.
She knows someone has to be the first. Someone has to take the initiative. She always reminds me to send seasonal greetings to previous teachers and friends, to show that I remember and care about them. I know she does it too. She is willing to be the first to contribute, as she grumbles along.
Once Monetter agrees to travel, or accepts the fact that I will be travelling, she is the one who spends money the quickest to get the itinerary, insurance and stuff done. Don’t know when, perhaps during work, she will already have checked so much, and she can explain to you all the options and pros and cons about each service or product of the travels.
She looked up insurance, the plane ticket and bank for me. My credit card bills her. She usually sighs when I use the credit card, “Who is paying the bill, after all?” I usually laugh and fool around to avoid answering, “you”.
At 9pm, we were all watching a food program on TV beside the wooden oval brown table, and at the dining table. The helper emerged to clean the dining table. Monetter handed the helper some glasses. The table was clear. The food program ended and a charity show began. Singing performances, by local singers and a collaboration with the sponsored party. An advertisement break. I eyed my dad. My dad rose from the table and said in a low voice to Monetter, “let’s leave”. Monetter looked at me and my brother, standing up. She rose and called out, “Right, sister, we will leave first.”
Monetter uses a tablet in bed, right before sleep. I have told her not to, for health reasons, but that has become her habit. I can’t really rebuke, when that is almost her only leisure time in the day.
Sometimes when I get up to go for toilet breaks at 6am she is sitting on sofa, watching TV or scrolling on her mobile phone, without any lights turned on. I might have labelled her addicted to social media, if I do not know about her work and cooking.
Monetter queued up for the mini-bus for me and my brother during secondary school. She stood there waving from outside the entrance gate while I took the escalator in Kwun Tong MTR station. She smiled while waving.
She asks for the same confirmation and compliment on her cooking, almost every day. She vacuums and cleans when I refuse to do. She buys unlimitedly for us. She is harder on herself. She seldom purchases for herself, unless we encourage, hard. When our whole family takes a bus, she usually walks upstairs to sit, and reassures us that her legs are fine. She loves us by her actions, if not by her words.
On this Saturday afternoon, I look at the photo kept privately, again. Sunglasses, three necklaces, a waist bag and a fabric…they do not make sense. A game? They were happy. What is this strand, which separates into two threads? Probably earphones.
