In the sweat

Between bursts of rain, with the humidity at ninety eight percent, we live. We play ultimate in Tai Wai in the evenings, emerging under the lights dressed mostly in cleats and sweat to run. We sit outdoors at coffee shops in Kennedy Town after dropping Fives at school, doing work calls and feeling the weather. The air is sticky, is wet. It is a physical presence in every room, in every coffee shop, on our way in and out of the MTR. It’s a thickness I love about hong Kong, part of what is good here, something I’ve missed since the fog of the Inner Sunset. The humidity comes at a cost, things molding immediately in rooms without the AC on, in the kitchen where they touch the outside walls, in the kitchen in general. In April we came home from two weeks abroad to mold on the tatami, which required a multi-stage cleaning of everything. Shoes de-laminate at a speed that feels unnatural, that makes me question quality control when I should only question glue. Nothing can remain glued for…