Last year, I met a man through a mutual friend. He had moved to Shenzhen nearly a decade ago, living a reclusive, quiet life. His visits to Hong Kong were rare and fleeting.
Looking at his weathered face, it was hard to imagine that in his school days, he’d been a rock band frontman, or that he’d spent a year in Japan as an exchange student, dating a Japanese girlfriend. Later, he did the same in Korea—a year abroad and another relationship. By his early twenties, he had already bought his first car, a GTR. Eventually, he quit his job to pursue his dream of becoming a photographer. I’ve seen his work—black-and-white photographs with an undeniable warmth and texture.
I call him “Ga Hei,” a nickname he once used online over a decade ago. When pronounced in Mandarin, it sounds strikingly similar to his Cantonese name. (I wouldn’t be surprised if he’d had a Taiwanese girlfriend, too.)
Our friends know Ga Hei has depression. His condition waxes and wanes, and his appearances in our lives follow suit. Last New Year’s Eve, he showed up at 9 p.m., only to leave by 10—before we even counted down to midnight. Odd behaviour, but perfectly in character for Ga Hei.
I haven’t interacted with him much over the years. I’m a “new friend,” quiet by nature, and he is quieter still. But I’ve seen how deeply his childhood friends worry about him—about his lack of income, his uncertain housing situation, his dark thoughts, and the ever-present fear he might harm himself.
Yesterday, Ga Hei and I spoke one-on-one for the first time. I didn’t avoid sensitive topics because of his depression, and he, perhaps freed by my lack of connection to his past, spoke openly about his life in recent years. I mentioned my fondness for Tokyo, and he asked if I’d been to Kamakura. I told him I loved watching the sea at Enoshima. He asked if I’d seen Our Little Sister. I said I had, and I loved it. “Because of the beautiful women?” I teased.
Before long, the others arrived, and we found ourselves on a small balcony, smoking cigars. Ga Hei, who is a heavy smoker, casually mentioned he hadn’t smoked in a week. Excited, I asked if he was quitting. He shrugged and replied, “No, I was just curious to see what it felt like not to smoke. Turns out, it doesn’t feel like much.”
A cigar takes about half an hour to smoke. During that time, we talked about everything—films, music, travel, women. No subject was off-limits. At one point, he remarked how happy he felt the night before, though he attributed it to the nicotine. We made him promise to join us weekly for a cigar, and he agreed.
I was happy too, seeing a version of Ga Hei with a spark of enthusiasm for life. He even spoke of changing his habits and imagining a future—a shift from someone long resigned to their circumstances. We made plans to travel together, whether to places he knew well or new cities we could explore. As long as it brought him happiness, we’d feel at ease.
In some ways, I see parts of my former self in Ga Hei—my inner pessimism and negativity. And in him, I see the defiant, world-weary version of who I used to be. Perhaps that’s why we get along. Unlike his lifelong friends, I don’t tread carefully around his depression. When I was at my lowest, all I wanted was for people to treat me as they always had, without tiptoeing around me. Simple conversations, shared laughter, and human connection were the greatest comforts.
I adore Hirokazu Koreeda’s films (I’ll write about them properly one day), and Our Little Sister is undoubtedly in my top three. While the Kamakura sea is breathtaking, what truly resonates is the film’s portrayal of subtle, intricate human relationships. It’s about familial love, but as the film shows, family isn’t necessarily defined by blood.
I recall Koreeda saying in an interview, “Life, if it is incomplete, waits for others to fill the gaps.” Yesterday, in his own way, Ga Hei filled a gap in my life. I hope, even just a little, I helped to fill his.
I believe he’ll get better. He’ll find someone he loves and be happy.
Here’s a song about sharing: Lay It Down Slow by Spiritualized.
"If you’ve got pain in your heart, why don’t you share it with me?
And we’ll just wait and see, if it’s half what it used to be."
