There are too many restaurants in Chinatown. This is not to say there should be less, but that our system for picking one needs to be refined. Ours is not a complex system. It is one of habit: my brother went to Wan Chai Corner many years ago and he told us it was good. We’ve never even thought of going anywhere else for dim sum.
I’m not precious about this recommendation – it’s hardly a hidden gem. It sits proudly on the corner of Gerrard Street, opposite the fire station. It has three floors and as you walk up the stairs, there’s always a wind tunnel blowing cold air from the window at the top of each floor. This is as consistent and familiar as our order. Jasmine tea, sipped throughout, even by my dad. Chilli oil as requested by my mum upon sitting down, before the waiter gets a chance to ask if we want it. Always crystal prawn dumplings and the prawn dumplings with XO sauce. Lotus-wrapped rice for me. Wonton soup for the table – large, never small. Two portions of paper-wrapped prawns because they’re my dad’s favourites. And Vietnamese spring rolls. Recently, a new addition of Shanghai soup dumplings, which are salty and wobbly and perfect. We are a family who know what we like. Life is full of precarity and endless decisions; eliminating the paradox of choice when it comes to the pursuit of pleasure (and dumplings) simply feels like a relief.
I wake up to rain. The curtains are closed and the rain is heavy. A choice is made for me. Class cancelled. More relief.
I’ve streamlined many of the decisions in my life. I take my coffee black. I cook within my wheelhouse. I decide on recipes a few days beforehand not by constantly researching or looking, but by letting them stumble into my consciousness. I trust the restaurants I love, the bars with the best martinis, the friends with the right advice, sometimes myself for making these choices.
Perhaps this is why I’ve been forever hesitant to jump onto dating apps. Having worked in brands (and on one of these apps in particular), I’m aware of their positioning. One for relationships. One for casual hook ups. One for playing the field. Many will boost their chances by being all of them. Then when you arrive, you’re flooded by questions, prompts, invitations to record your voice, to sum up your life, to optimise your existence; and then come the endless options. I feel overwhelmed by choice and I clam up, resistant to the game, to the pursuit of tech-assisted romance, judgemental to my core, a constant swipe to the left (is that the one that means no?) and back to the beginning.
I’m sure it works for some. In fact, I know it does. And it possibly says more about me than anything else – that I am unwilling and stubborn and idealistic. But it’s happened to me before. In fact, it’s the only way it’s ever happened for me. I know how it can suddenly arrive, late one summer’s evening, on a bike, in a river, on a bench, sealed up in a flat.
“After that, I treated my body like a sieve – it all passed through me.”
We treat passivity with disdain. We’re told we must act, now. We are constantly doing, acting, running towards something, assessing, expecting, receiving, developing, understanding, processing. Sometimes it’s nice to let things come to you. I am least creative when I am greedy for inspiration – mining the internet, books, thoughts, experiences for it. Trying so hard to write. To come up with new ideas. My favourite meals have come from happening upon ingredients, eating a dish or hearing about it from someone else. We’re all so eager to take ownership of our lives, that sometimes we forget that we’re simply floating in the ether. Of course we need action. We need activism. We need to make change, shift perspectives, discover new things, challenge our thoughts, upgrade our experiences. But don’t you ever get exhausted of making choices? Don’t you just want to give into fate? Believe in kismet and let her take you for a ride?