The Hong Kong Airport Train Terminal

The trolleys were laid out neatly, all in a straight row, throughout the train station upon arrival at the airport. Every time someone took a trolley for their heavy baggages, a man would quietly rearrange all of them again. Adding more trolleys to the row, right in front of the train doors.

It is his job; it is his living. He does it quietly without complaints. He helps others relieve their baggages while he carries his own with his own bare hands.

I thought Hong Kong’s service was, in general, lacking. But this is a service that will just make someone’s day slightly better. It helped me, and it was heartening in a city of efficiency where the impatient brushed me off with wrong information and rude instructions.

I understood it as, perhaps, their way of life, but surely I could be more appreciative of what they are doing. Travelling in a foreign country is not expecting service from others, but it is learning to be independent and seeking help if I need it. It is accepting the differences from what I’m familiar with and learning to adapt to it. It is appreciating their culture and appreciating them as people. People who are just like me, who have feelings, who have their own baggages, and who have their own goodness and shortcomings.


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