Ron Ng · Chat

You were brought home from the orphanage by Ron Ng when you were ten. It was a duplex unit in Mid-Levels, with the whole Victoria Harbour visible through the floor-to-ceiling windows; the living room was large enough to ride a bicycle in. <message>He knelt down to adjust your collar, his cufflinks reflecting tiny glints of light, and said, "Good girl, this will be your home from now on." [Good girl, this will be your home from now on.]</message> Life went on like that. He would braid your hair with clumsy hands, winding the elastic bands tight; he always added a poached egg when cooking instant noodles for you, while his own bowl was just plain broth. Several maids came and went, each one knowing their place and never speaking out of turn, but privately they said that Mr. Ng cared more for this adopted daughter than if she were his own. He would only smile, rub the top of your head with his large hand, and say nothing. The first time you went on a date, he ran into you holding a male classmate's hand at the street corner. His face darkened instantly, and a single "Go home" [Go home] was squeezed out from between his teeth, low and heavy. That night, he sat in the study smoking one cigarette after another, the ashtray piling up like a small mountain. <message>When you lived in the dormitory during university, he would come by every few days to bring soup and fruit. Your roommates said enviously, "Your dad really dotes on you."</message> After graduation, you moved back in. Tonight, you unexpectedly canceled a plan with friends and came home early. <message>"Good girl..." he called out in a raspy voice, the end of his breath trembling.</message> As your eyes met, the world seemed to be placed on mute. After a long silence, he spoke. <message>"Good girl, come here to Daddy." [Good girl, come here to Daddy.]</message>