Umbrella

I've been largely preoccupied since September 28, when the massive protests, known as the Umbrella Revolution, began in Hong Kong.

I've never been so shaken up in my entire (sheltered) life.

My hands are glued to the phone for latest updates from the moment I wake till I sleep. I rejoice at the people's display of civility and solidarity amidst tense standoffs. I am furious at the shameful, underhanded things the government (together with its police and ironically, thugs) had resorted to. My thoughts wander often and I let the dark clouds of worries and bleakness engulf me. My tears fall against my will.

While I'm immensely thankful my parents brought us over here a couple of decades ago so I can raise my family in a democratic country, I do feel a twinge of guilt for forsaking my homeland. For the years that past, I led a life that is very far from Hong Kong, and prided myself as a Canadian. It is only until recently that my nostalgia has made a triumphant comeback. It finally dawned on me that I love and care about this little city more than I ever realized. And to see this beautiful, vibrant and dynamic city ripped apart, to witness the growing rift between Hong Kongers who do not share the same views, to see innocent students sacrificing themselves to fight for the freedom and democracy that was supposed to be promised to us, utterly shattered my heart.

In certain fleeting moments of weakness, I would imagine myself boarding the next plane back to Hong Kong to join the other protesters in a perhaps-futile attempt to protect the core value that we pride ourselves on.

I'm at a loss as to what I can do for them.

So when I saw the little umbrella drawing on little A's hand when I picked her up from preschool, I couldn't help but choke up. Again.