Good Enough
“… I’ve lost count of the years …”
This day a year ago, during the launch of her published play Wild Boar, Candace Chong said this in passing. It hit me very hard, this shared sense of stagnation since 2020.
In the morning, it rained and shone intermittently. A burning stiffness and an orchestra of cicada calls enveloped us, a sensation that my body knew too well how to respond to. I came out in a long skirt and sandals, my vest glued to my sweaty back, joining my friend near an independent bookshop.
Before she started, Chong and the host opened with a disclaimer: they did not pick this date on purpose. It was “sheer coincidence” or a “trick preordained by history, if you will”.
With her typically witty jokes, Chong recounted the creation of Wild Boar ten years earlier. The project went quite smoothly, but; early on, the writing became hard. As an example, she cited a small drama production, which immediately rang a bell. It was the first artistic production about recent history I had seen that took a sentimental approach. Its mild tone left a deep impression on me. This backstory was nothing surprising, it even sounded clichéd, but the way it was interlaced with my long-buried memory made my mind go blank for a few minutes.
After we finished, we strolled down the night streets of Sham Shui Po and Prince Edward, reminiscing about what we used to do and what had happened there. It felt strange that almost everywhere in Hong Kong was now soaked in bits and pieces of memories. As we walked by a tong lau near the Flower Market, a young girl rushed down from one of the staircases in the same block where my friend used to take lessons, cursing loudly as she slammed and kicked the iron gate.
“See, she’s even more violent than us,” my friend murmured, half seriously, half self-deprecatingly.
My friend was right in a way. We’re no longer the angry youth we used to be. For four years, I’ve mused over what it means to be “content”, an idea I dismissed as complacent when I was younger. I thought I had to be quick to see flaws, if not to nit-pick, to be able to pursue further, as if things were within my control and my goodwill and effort would pay off. Now, when there is not much more left to do, I came to focus instead on what else we still have. I keep a diary, stick to a skincare routine, and take photos of the scenery when commuting so as to stay grounded in reality. I still miss the past, but more often, I learn to cope better and find another way of putting this idea into practice:
“It could always be better, but now it’s good enough.”
How to cite: Adler, Cleo. “Just Another Day: Cleo Adler.” Cha: An Asian Literary Journal, 4 Jun. 2023, chajournal.blog/2023/06/04/cleo-adler.
Cleo Adler writes poetry, essays, and reviews. Her works are published in Cha, Voice & Verse Poetry Magazine, Literary Shanghai, Mekong Review, and Canto Cutie, among others.
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