Stranger Than Fiction Magazine

It started by the escalator- outside. Elle and I were watching this woman with her umbrella open. She was going up this moving staircase, yet, the rain was drizzling on her. There was nothing between her and the natural elements. As she reached the top, she closed her umbrella and turned the corner into Dragon Center. 

We finished the cigarettes and followed that curious path. I looked as I escalated, down to the alley. There was nothing in place to keep me from falling over the railing, but here I was, peeping my head looking onto the bricked road, others just like us dragging cigarettes after cigarettes, just stinking up this joint; though, I wouldn’t even know this place if it didn’t taste of smoke.

How was it again that we arrived on the 7th? 

We took the left, passing by a little stall offering $7 haircuts. The joint had one stool and a clear plastic curtain shielding the patron from the heat blasting into the mall. We turned the left, just as the lady with the umbrella had, and was greeted by a figure with a beard. They call him Beard Papa, a little spot serving up cream puffs. It was an honest delight, a strange name, problematic one at that, but it was surely good. Though, he’s not who we were after. Straighten the path, and we came into the atrium. A circling space rising up all the way to the top floor. It was dizzying just looking up. Oddly symmetrical for a place that walks like a labyrinth. I was able to see the glass ceiling, letting little light break through the dusty top. There’s a murky way about the light. It’s bright. It feels bright. But it never really brightens. 

“Yeah, I see people in the elevator box.”

“No, you see those nets?”

I looked up to see a net right around the 3rd, and another one on the 7th floor. 

These two peculiar implications of safety or danger, almost invisible. Barely a sliver to the distant ceiling above the 9th- the top floor. It doesn’t lose its sense why there may be nets to catch people from falling, though, it’s not a common sight, not in commercial centers, normally, no matter how high the distance may be. Festival Walk has drops from their top floor all the way to the bottom. Similarly with IFC, K11 Musea, any of these major names. None of them have nets. 

It’s peculiar, that’s all. 

I was lining up, two steps from the store front, one foot on the sidewalk, about arms length from the tip-jar. It was just a tiny bar, and not in the common alcohol-establishment sense. In the literal, etymological sense. It was just a wooden bar, one high-chair in front of it, a large awning window above it, hiding a closet-sized space for a barista, at most two, to concoct a carefully brewed cup of cappuccino.

If you walked in straight, facing the store-space, the bar was to the left, and roughly 7 feet to the right, a chair- more like a wooden box, really- and two high tables that tightly fit in this roughly 100 square foot space. Deeper in wouldn’t be more room for the cafe. On the right end was a narrow corridor that led into a self-service laundromat, some claw machines; and directly in the middle was a staircase that led down into Solo, Wan Chai. Nestled on the left, with wooden frames “COFFEE” written on the side vertically, and one atop horizontally, sits Le Petit Salon. 

I was second in line. The lady was having a good chat with Benny, the veteran barista of LPS. I wasn’t in a rush. This was the kind of place to take your time with. Given the space, it’s not a place to linger, but strangely it’s also not a place to hurry. I sat myself and Sephy down at the wooden box and sipped coffee waiting for my girl, who was making her way home. Suddenly I see Benny pointing out the side window of the cafe, cuts the lady off mid-sentence, and remarks “喂，抄牌,” which translates to “hey, cops are writing up parking tickets.” That’s the kind of joint this was. That’s the kind of guy Benny was. Neighborhood cat, looking out for you. I couldn’t help but bust out laughing. It was a good moment. It was a happy moment. I love seeing these glimpses of humanity, where we are individuals in this collective, and we keep an eye for another. 

Benny and I became friendly. I’d walk Sephy in the mornings. We’d turn right, another right, down the block, then cross left at the intersection, then a few steps and Sephy would turn into the open store. No doors, not even in the evenings; people need to go in for the laundry. Pup would hop right in, and Benny the barista would say “喂. 大 Cap?” By now he knows, my drink of choice is a large cappuccino. I like it. Just enough of a flair, but not too much of a fuss. A cappuccino is not a latte. It’s not just putting some milk over espresso. There needs to be a cushion on the top of the drink. A foamy cap, if you will, that adds an airy texture to every sip you take until, at the end, you’re left with some bubbles on the bottom of the coffee cup. That’s a good cup of cappuccino that Benny makes. 

I’d sit at the bar, maybe just for 5 minutes, and we’d chat while he makes me my coffee. It was quite exquisite watching the guy work his craft. It’s fast, but it’s clear. It would be precise, while carefree. A whole conversation would go by and he’d hand me my drink. If it wasn’t too busy we may chat a little longer while Sephy stays on my lap, with her two front paws at the bar like she’s waiting for hers. If there’s a line behind me, I’d make my way to the wooden box and the two high tables, and Sephy would sit next to me while we wait for ol’ girl to make her way to us. If weren’t waiting, then we’d just grab the coffee and go on our way to another adventure.

Le Petit Salon translates, in French, to the little living room. A “living room” was described as such because it would be a room that was alive, that hosts, entertains - living. This little cafe offers that same feeling. It doesn’t boast maximalism; no TV, no magazines, books; but it’s simply a space that’s intimate, that’s warm, that forces people who dares walk up to it to have a conversation. I think that’s what it is, too, that the people who enter Le Petit Salon have to have the courage to make that approach. It demands you to ask for a coffee. No QR codes, no tablet menus, but truly look the maker, the artist, the creator, the barista in their face and ask for a coffee. The nature of this space carefully whittles away the ones who do not fit the essence, not in any intimidating manner, or explicit exclusion, but only because Le Petit Salon is what it is. There’s no other way it can be. It is full of passion, but placed in a tiny store, sharing it with two other establishments. In this way, I feel the essence of Hong Kong. A small little space full of life, movement, energy.

LPS first opened up in 2017, Benny said. He’d been with the cafe for 8 years; a veteran of the joint. The one Sephy and I have been accustomed to is located at Lockhart and Marsh. It is considered Wan Chai, but it’s where Causeway Bay begins to bleed through into Wan Chai. Time Square is only a block away. But technically there’s another LPS in the CWB neighborhood, so this one is called the Lockhart branch. LPS has 7 franchises: Stanley, inside the market; Tin Hau shop #1 at the Apple Mall; Causeway Bay 5 Hoi Ping road, opposite Lee Garden Three; Wan Chai, Lockhart road; Sai Ying Pun, Eastern street; Sham Shui Po, inside Dragon Center; Xiamen, The Bank Center, inside the lobby. Each of these have a flavor of its own. 

Benny explained that he would go to the branches, discover the neighborhood culture and cater the beans, the roast level, the coffee identity at each of them. Sham Shui Po is also one that I have gone to occasionally, and using that as an example he describes the difference between Lockhart and Sham Shui Po. In Wan Chai, he said, people like to drink nuttier, more chocolatey coffees. The area has more offices, and office workers are not seeking to taste specialty, or, more complex profiles of flavors, like floral, fruity, acidic notes. They tend to look for bolder flavors that “standard” coffees offer. Sham Shui Po patrons desire more floral, special blends that express more layers. He said these details are developed over time as a branch opens in a neighborhood. LPS takes care to build around its surroundings. 

“Good coffee is meant to be shared” it writes above the awning. Benny told me just the same. This cafe desires to shine a spotlight on what the art of coffee can be in Hong Kong. Sitting on the right side of the bar were 3 packs of Phoenix coffee beans, a local brand they were featuring the month of September; next to it, one large pack of Le Petit Salon’s own roasted beans. He told me their beans were produced by a former LPS employee who started his own bean production called Coffee Engineering which roast beans. While there’s passion, Benny does hope Hong Kong’s perspective of baristas can elevate, to grow the culture of coffee in the city where people can become professional baristas, and have the income to continue on elevating the culture of coffee in Hong Kong.

I was looking out the window at the cafe. My father and I each ordered a cappuccino. We were in Po Lam, the neighborhood I grew up in. They call it a satellite city, only a mountain-way, or a tunnel path out into more "downtown" of Hong Kong. I was looking out the window at the cafe, and we were surrounded by these residential skyscrapers that peaked a distinct memory. These blocks, so uniformed, so geometrically organized, shaped like plus signs from atop, oddly aligned.

My father was telling me about the Henderson building, about how it defined an era of audacious architecture. The sun would reflect upon its grandiose windows along the skyscraper. It would serve the people within the building well, deflecting the heat away from the Henderson, yet, it would unknowingly become the source of solar to everything surrounding the giant beast.

I begged the question of what life these buildings hold, whether each monument is itself a projection of the owner, the designer, the culture, the time. It was a strange thought, that these buildings expressed such strong personalities.

What is life but an expression to evoke a feeling out of other life? What of a person that does not make you feel? What of a building that does?

Those residential buildings in Po Lam, I played with people that grew up in those buildings. I learned of their path when they grew up, how that building shaped their subsequent life. Those buildings told me stories that's evolved the way I feel about it.

It's an interesting thought.

No, rather, with trains in mind.

A thought of retrospect, but not to its own independent experience, but to others that did it first.

As I rode the MTR from Po Lam to Tsing Yi this morning, I ponder this reality. How the city of Hong Kong had the delayed development that allowed for an infrastructure to be planned and built with efficiency in mind.

Certainly, any infrastructure was build with efficiency in mind, yet, what the secondary layer of efficiency, one that considers "what if this system was build with the larger scope of the city in mind?" simply because Hong Kong had a general developed city in existence prior to the development of the train system.

Take CTA for example, the train system in Chicago. It was named "The Loop" for it was only designed with the small framework of looping within the small-scope of downtown back in the early 20th century. Large parts of what we now consider part of the city, where retail and commercial may thrive where events may be, did not exist at the time when The Loop was established. The later transit system was build concurrently to the expansion of the city system throughout the 20th century. And arguably, the efficiency of the CTA compared to the MTR is simply lacking.

Beyond the geographic and physical design of the transit system, Hong Kong also made operating changes as well, making the transit system a huge commercial opportunity, but arguably to a fault.

Where I am fond of the CTA is that it is a public commute which is supposed to allow for Chicagoans the opportunity to get home. The blue and red line runs 24 hours. The cost is relatively affordable, nor does it fluctuate by distance, where as the MTR is a commerical system beast. The MTR company serves as the public transit for the masses, yet, it benefits hugely by having developed many entertainment, residential complexes, conveniently at their stations. This making it a highly insulated operation. You take their trains to their malls to spend at their stores. It is quite remarkable from a business standpoint. But it certainly begs the question of monopoly.

This has been the great question I've been dancing with since my return home. This observation of seeing my family accepting their simple role of being a cog in the machine, asking me to do the same. Appreciating the benefits of simply allowing a small few conglomerates to take all our earnings, but receiving their prizes of efficiency and ease. Thoughtless, but comfortable. Versus the fighting hands of the American landscape, one that demands for me to fight for what's mind, yet, when I do, it truly is, sincerely and genuinely mine. I still battle in my soul which idea befits me, befits this world, befits all of us?

Even more importantly is which do I trust more? The one that promises it'll take care of me, or one that blatantly says I'm on my own?

Kwun Tong Promenade/VESSEL/HKALPS

Underneath the lengthy highway, racing down the waterline is the Kwun Tong Promenade. It is a revamp of the former Kwun Tong Cargo Working Area under the Kai Tak Development, according to Hong Kong’s Leisure and Cultural Service Department. Remnants of the industrial still linger, literally hanging above from 161 Hoi Bun Road, an industrial bridge that once transported flour from the factory to the docks. 

In the middle of the promenade is the spaces VESSELS, operated by the HKALPS, an organization “who share the vision of creating a unique SPACE in the three sites underneath Kwun Tong Bypass for ARTS, LAND, and PEOPLE.” 

According to their website HKALPS is a registered charitable organization formed by a group of professionals with an array of sectors, which includes Arts, Social Enterprise, Sports, and Green. This is also representative of VESSELS’ claim to mission, written in on their “About” page, that they “aim to cultivate creative processes by means of art, culture, green living, sports, and community engagement.” 

VESSEL is a space operated by HKALPS. “The venue will be open to the public when there is no booking, vice versa, the venue only for hirer use when there is a booking from hirer,” HKALPS responded when asked whether it is a public or private space. 

This question is strange. It brought on more questions about how spaces in this city are defined. Kwun Tong Promenade is a part of EKEO’s Kai Tak Development (KTD) project. This is an on-going government revitalization of the Kai Tak, Kwun Tong neighborhood. 

“Kai Tak Development (KTD) is a huge and highly complex development project spanning a total planning area of over 320 hectares covering the ex-airport site together with the adjoining hinterland districts of Kowloon City, Wong Tai Sin and Kwun Tong,” as stated on KTD.gov.hk. 

The pursuit of redeveloped urban public space is widespread. Island side has beautified North Point piers, Wan Chai, Causeway Bay, East Coast Park Precinct etc. That begs the question of how do these spaces operate in Hong Kong? 

February 10th, 2025, Hong Kong National Ice Hockey team took to Harbin for the Asian Winter Games. The players dominated the scoreboard, winning the first two games 26-1, and 30-0. The Hong Kong team took to a third win, 5-1 against Turkmenistan, qualifying them to the quarter-finals. What caught headlines, though, was the attack after the third game when Hong Kong and Turkmenistan shook hands post-game. In hockey, it is an act of good graces and sportsmanship to skate down the center ice to shake hands with the opposing teams. To indicate “no hard feelings,” and “good game.” Yet, three players from Turkmenistan pulled one of Hong Kong’s players out of their line and began hitting him on the ground.

This incident sparked headlines from The Standard, SCMP, and video spreading over the internet.

The violence drew the crowd. Hockey has always had this reputation. It is the only sport (outside of combat sport) that allows fighting at the highest level of competition. NHL, hockey’s most competitive league, is notorious for “gloves-off,” when two players throw their gloves, signaling to one another, to the referees, and to the audience, that the fight is on. Until one of the players buckles over the referees can only observe as two players throw fists after fists at one another. 

Hockey is a violent sport. 

Even in gameplay, strong aggression is part of hockey. Players race towards one another in an attempt to halt the opposing team’s play. This is called checking. You can check someone with your shoulders, hips, chest; it only becomes a penalty when checking from behind. Using the sticks to trip or slash someone are penalties too. In North America, youth players are taught at Bantam (14+) how to start safely and correctly check one another. 

But hockey is not just violence. 

The actions Turkmenistan’s team made were out of line. What was an act of ceremonial sportsmanship became behaviors of un-sportsmanship. What was a show of good grace demonstrated disgrace. No matter how violent the game gets, how two players may check one another, or throw gloves in the middle of the game, the handshake is where animosity ends. .

I believe this is a misconception for any layperson. The culture of the sport revels in the hotblooded hits, the fast shots, the “gloves-off” moment. But the game has so much more nuances, skills, knowledge, and depth involved. 

The thrill of checking veils the grace of stick-to-stick passes. The big hits is merely a vain introduction to the magnificent breakouts that weave a line of three players left and right, right and left, and cycling the puck beautifully between the oppositions line of defense, until one great pass, and one sly deke slips the biscuit through the goalie’s five-hole. 

I remember 2016. Was it only a 9 years ago? This has been a strange almost-decade. Yet, here we are again. This was on Harrison & Racine, by the UIC Pavilion. In this round, 9 years after, he's now seated as the President of the United States, again.

Sincerely, a feat I thought it could only happen in jest.

it did only start in jest a grievous slight taken at a joust, of sorts. the white house correspondents dinner, of course! [Edit by: Elle Borje]

I saw a comment on a Youtube video in regards to Musk earlier this week. It read "How do we get back to the normal timeline from the villain timeline?" and over thousands of thumbs-up taking the comment to the top of the section where it would aggregate more comments and likes, maybe even dislikes, but engagement overall. Isn't that what this new world is about? Engagements? Regardless of goodness or bad, it is simply connected, valued, seen. Just as the new leaders show us, now. Poise and sophistication is no longer necessary; it may even be frowned upon. We are in a cultural agreement that those ideals mean lies. It means deceit. It means thought of to play you like a fiddle. That's why brash, harsh, and violent rhetoric, now, is praised for being raw and real. To be "honest," to be without thought, without motive.

Fair?

I disagree wholeheartedly.

I worry this state of misunderstanding is leading our world further down a path of pain. This feeling that intelligence and grace is an illusion, and therefore the truth lies in ruthlessness and brutality. As per the comment that pondered why we are trapped in the timeline of the villains. No longer do people believe in heroes. We see the stars hath fallen, and we've began to lose faith. The glitz and glamor have faded, and we are left with burnt-out rocks floating and raging through the empty void.

There exists another folly, that the stars we held above were the heroes we needed. We were tricked by the stories they told us through the silver screens, the television boxes, the highly intelligent phones. We bought into the narratives that they directed and acted, and so we believed in a false reality.

This is not the fault of these stars, these playmakers, these directors. The fault is in us to have become so lazy to remember the truth. I argue we as a society had fell to the sin of sloth, and allowed the world to feed us, rather than for us to hunt and consume. To find what we truly need to be better.

Even in these elections of leaders, we place our lives upon these characters, and we choose them from such simplistic views. We allow these cheap carnival games to feel like the hundreds we spent was worth that five dollar stuffed animal prize.

My name is Preston, and in anticipation for 2025, I'm starting a new lifestyle publication that will journal sports, entertainment, arts and culture events I will experience in Hong Kong and Chicago.

As I'm pivoting my career back to journalism, I hope to share the world with you all. Though, to preface, I will not be calling this traditional reporting as this will be the journey as Preston sees and hears it. These will be my experiences and how I feel about them.