Opinion / James Chambers
Behind bars
My one-bedroom apartment is a typical Hong Kong home: shoebox small with a security grille on the outside. These outer doors (similar to those pictured), often made of shiny wrought iron and shaped into decorative 1960s designs, normally feel like an unnecessary nuisance given the city’s low crime rates. However, since I’ve been under two-week mandatory quarantine, my second door has come in handy as a protective barrier between me and friends coming to drop off care packages and moral support (neither of which can really be ordered online).
These prison-like visitations start with my mask-wearing mates depositing a package on my doorstep, knocking nervously, retreating several metres back to the lift entrance and then having a muffled conversation with me through the bars while snapping photos of prisoner 25096 (my wristband ID number). Every visitor assumes that the bars are there to keep them safe but I end up feeling like the lucky one. While they have to brave the outside world, I get to stay inside and scoff home-baked banana bread and fresh croissants. This quarantine has been the first time in two months that I’ve felt free of any lingering fears of infection and the days have been whizzing by.
My release date is on Saturday. Until then I’m going to enjoy my last few days of freedom and be thankful that I didn’t take Marie Kondo’s advice and throw out my family photos or books. Our homes have become sanctuaries during this crazy time and I’ve learnt to appreciate mine a lot more – including the ugly security gate.