As 2023 just reached its end, Hong Kong's film industry, which began to rebound in the latter part of the previous year, has seen a notable increase in both quality and quantity of productions throughout the year. I counted a total of 45 Hong Kong films released in 2023. I've seen 14 of them in theaters, the last one being Elegies. This is less than one-third of the total releases, a bit low for my liking. I hope to support more Hong Kong films in theaters this year.
Another significant change this year is that out of the Hong Kong films I watched, 5 were private screenings. Had it not been for the suppression and cancellation of the private screening of To Be Continued in June, there would have been 6, almost half of the total. This number surpasses the sum of all the previous decades. Whether 2024 will offer more opportunities for private screenings is uncertain, especially since any film other than The Founding of a Republic might get suppressed under the guise of “soft resistance”.
The last private screening I attended this year was for Time Still Turns the Pages, the audience's choice for Best Film at the Golden Horse Awards. The post-film sharing was led by the winner of the Best New Director at the Golden Horse Awards, Nick Cheuk. He spoke about his journey and struggles in creating Time Still Turns the Pages following the suicide of a friend more than a decade ago. His words were heartfelt and impactful. The film, dealing with the heavy subject of student suicide, made me hesitant about writing on it at the end of the year. However, I realized there's never a “right” time to discuss death, so it might be better to address it sooner rather than later, with the hope of finding closure.
Last week, I talked with a friend who experienced profound personal loss about our thoughts and feelings after watching a film. My friend's sister took her life in 2008, and the family has spent over a decade learning to live with the pain. I initially felt that my experiences paled in comparison to my friend's, and moreover, I had long sealed away my own memories, continuing life as normal. However, when asked, I tried to recall and found that the memories were still vivid. It seems to be true that you don’t remember when forgetting is hard. I remember the night I went to see Dayo Wong's performance, how I brushed off a call for help from my final year project partner who ended their life that same day. I remember colleagues and schoolmates silently suffering from mental illness, eventually choosing to end their lives, all while I was oblivious.
My friend asked if these events had changed me, I couldn't answer. I'm not like Director Cheuk, who spent a decade processing a friend's death and created a film to offer solace to those left behind. I just kept my head down and carried on with life. But to say that numerous partings, losses and regrets have had no effect on me would also be untrue. I recall being more cheerful in my youth, not inherently expressionless as I am now. Whether that was just my perception or if others have always seen me this way, only my old friends would know.
As per the conversation my friend, I was simultaneously organizing the manuscript for The Road of Games for re-publication. Rereading the preface I wrote then, I coincidentally found some traces of these thoughts. If I were to pinpoint any change these experiences brought, it would be that I've gradually cared less and less about many things, especially materialistic ones. Even if it makes me seem tasteless or unkempt, it doesn't bother me. However, for the few things I truly care about, I am incredibly meticulous and do my utmost.
I don't want to dwell on this too much, so let this serve as a reminder to myself as 2023 has passed, and as a memory of those who've passed.
I wish the rest of us a peaceful New Year.
Preface to The Road of Games
In June 1997, I was traveling in the United States. Every American I met invariably asked about my feelings on Hong Kong's handover. However, before I could delve into my thoughts, they would often launch into their own lengthy opinions, assuming these were also my views.
In my professional life, I occasionally deal with venture capitalists. Investors always pose a direct, probing question: "What is your ultimate goal with entrepreneurship?" It appears to be an open-ended question, but the implied choices are limited to either "selling at a high price" or "cashing out through an IPO". The option of "neither" seems to be non-existent. Moreover, the rapid pace of life turns every conversation into something like an elevator pitch, even when we're not in an elevator.
I'm not adept at this modern mode of communication and would probably be considered lacking in communication skills by teachers and supervisors. I don't have a burning desire for others to hear me speak, but when asked, I don't want to respond like a suspect in a TV drama on the stand, merely answering 'yes' or 'no'. Either I don't express myself at all, or I wish to articulate my ideas clearly and concisely.
This essentially is the genesis of The Road of Games.
The book is divided into three sections. The second chapter compiles some of the articles I wrote for the Communication Page of the Hong Kong Economic Journal between 2003 and 2004. Revisiting them, I sometimes cringe at my past views and writing style, but for the sake of authenticity, I've only corrected typographical errors. The third chapter recounts anecdotes from my time in Beijing since 2006, including some writings not fit for refined company.
The first chapter was written over the past year specifically for this book. During its composition, several of my relatives passed away, making me acutely aware of life's impermanence. There was a period when I felt a profound emptiness. It is said that one should "live like there's no tomorrow". I truly felt that, learning to be grateful, yet unable to comprehend what my actions meant under this premise. Thus, many articles in the first chapter were crafted amidst a whirlwind of work duties and personal stresses. However, as I wrote, I found solace and came to understand that my insignificant self, still fortunate to be alive, should do something meaningful for those who have passed and for the wider world. This realization fuelled my determination to complete this modest work.
Every article in The Road of Games can be found online, allowing friends from all walks of life to leave their footprints or comments. In this sense, the book is somewhat redundant and largely lacks market value. But the world isn't entirely online yet – at least, my parents aren't netizens. Moreover, everyone, to some extent, hopes to leave something behind in this world. Having been digital for a decade or two, this time I wanted to try something analog.
This book is the first in Hong Kong to use a Creative Commons license. As long as there are no modifications and the source is cited, anyone can use it for non-commercial purposes, including copying, printing, or distributing electronic versions. To conserve trees, the complete electronic version of the book is available for free download on my website. If you wish to have a hard copy, consider purchasing one. The royalties will be donated to the Lakoo Social Fund to benefit society. If purchased directly through my website, the entire amount will be donated.
Finally, I want to thank every friend who has contributed to this book, including those who have journeyed with me over the past decade and those who have occasionally visited Chungkin Express. Ideally, I would list everyone, but there are simply too many. I'll refrain, as I believe those reading will know they are included in my gratitude.
September 2009
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