“Fourteen days,” I requested.
“You are only allowed a maximum of 14 days per month. You’ve used all up up,” she pointed out inconsequentially.
“Seven days?” I bargained.
“You have already been given an SCL stamp,” she said
“What does SCL mean?”
“Short Conditional Landing.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s like a departure order.”
I felt the blood drain off my face. After six and a half years in Hong Kong, it all comes down to this – a work visa that wasn’t renewed in time for me to be able to stay or go as I choose to. Visa runs were clearly not an option, as I had found out a few days prior, when I was told upon re-entering from Macau that I wasn’t any more allowed to “just hang out in Hong Kong with my friends while I try to figure out what to do next.”
I should have relished the experience of having been apprehended as though I were a common criminal. It was pimp. Border guards, the interrogation room, the works. You can’t buy an experience like that. Why the fuck would you want to?? The only consolation was, the border guard assigned to interrogate me was tall, dark and handsome. Downside was, he’s young and eager – I’d guess about 25 – and had an ironclad belief in the rulebook as though it were the Holy Bible.
“How much money do you have?”
“A lot,” I snapped. I then realized that it probably wasn’t wise to antagonize a border guard – duh! – who alone had the power to either let me through or not.
“I have money,” I said a little more meekly. “It’s mostly in the bank but I do have some on me now.”
“Show me,” he challenged.
Lucky I had about HKD5,000 in bills stuffed in my wallet. So I showed him.
“Five days, then,” he said, making a note on a piece of paper.
But five days weren’t nearly enough, especially with the upcoming Christmas and New Year holidays. That’s why I had to make a pilgrimage to the Immigration Tower in Wan Chai to beg for a further extension so Chris and I could be together during the festive season.
“Five more days,” I pleaded the female officer who had been assigned to my case. “Please. I really just… want to be here for Christmas and New Year…” It was all I could say or do to stop myself from openly weeping at her feet.
For a hot second, I thought I saw cracks in her stony countenance.
“Three days,” she acquiesced gruffly, “so you and your girlfriend can have a Merry Christmas.” She smiled thinly. “Okay?”
Girlfriend?! I must have looked really butch with my desperate appeals for a visa extension.
“Okay…” I whispered with a measure of relief. I do get to spend Christmas with Chris but not New Year’s Day. “Thank you,” I said, smiling weakly back at her.
“Counter 28, other side,” she directed. “Just pay the visa extension fee.”
I was a mixed bag of emotions. All things considering, I think I was treated with kindness. At the border a few days ago, some mainland Chinese guys were full-on handcuffed during interrogation, same time as myself. They had full security watching over them. Meanwhile, I was pretty much left alone, pretending to nonchalantly read my trashy thriller paperback whilst my interrogating officer consulted with his peers on how to best treat my case. I’ve been a long-term resident, I’ve always paid my taxes on time, and they could plainly see on my passport that I do travel a lot. I knew I didn’t have any reason to be scared, but in that situation – at that very moment – I was practically nowhere.
And so that’s how it came to be that I am in The Cockpit. In many cockpits, in fact, as I lose myself all around Asia in order to (hopefully) find myself and, perhaps, find some sense of purpose and balance and renewed vigour for life, somewhere along the way.
