Sticky sweet juices running down my fingers. I lick my lips and smear my face with the back of my hand. Whoever told me eating a mango for breakfast on the Hong Kong – Lamma Island ferry with just a pocketknife was a good idea? And no napkins either!
The air is hot, pregnant with moisture, holding cloudburst full of the rainy season air. And I sit on the lower deck satisfied, sweet and and watch as the constant breeze of the South Pacific dries the mango juice on my hands.
It is a brief respite, an enjoyable journey to start the day. I have no desire to leave my island hideway to face the political backstabbing hordes of Hong Kong and the veneer of 2 faced “friends”. How did I arrive in such a situation?
I wanted to change the world and somehow got bowled over by the first big wave of my career. So naive! So unprepared! I was just a sweet plump mango waiting to be plucked, eaten and discarded.
