Disclaimer: If Axis Powers Hetalia were mine, I wouldn't need to write fanfics. If any of these songs were mine, I wouldn't be writing fanfics.
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Minimal fluff 09!
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It is in a young person's nature to disdain the old; hold respect for them, yes, but consider their times and situation as the prominent one compared to the ancients. There is no one who considers progress a bad thing – compared to the uniform, collective ages, the present is fresh-faced and divisive. No one bothers to consider how later on, the present will be clumped together with the relics of old.
Hong Kong cannot bring himself to consider himself a separate entity to China. There is a sacredness that comes with the oldest nation to date, and to break from it would be to break what is right and wrong with the world. He speaks with his southern twang and prays for difference.
What a nation China would be if he was the entirety of the eastern world! But tumors broke away, turning into the isolationist Japan, worrisome Taiwan, Korea, Vietnam. Elders are forced to watch as traditional acceptances are twisted to fit the times; China looks down and smiles for himself as his words are broken into sounds of Japanese, Taiwanese, Korean, Vietnamese…
And what of dialects? Hong Kong is sure he can come up with his own slang, Cantonese somehow, perhaps, maybe becoming his own language. He is an island, just like Japan. He could. But China keeps him tightly bound to him, smiling, pleading (but not begging nor groveling). Patience is a virtue that the older have been granted, one the youth have yet to learn. Hong Kong hates the patient tone. He can grow up. He will grow up.
Hong Kong keeps his harbors open. He can walk down any street and see his people with a flash of America, England. Tradition blurs as Chinglish takes over the streets, misspelled letters of 'I want hold you back' on shirts, walls. Even in error, Hong Kong walks proudly. This is what he has become, a fresh new branch off the gnarled old tree. Someday, maybe.
He am his own. There is an almost stinging hurt when America considers him as China's brother. Siblings, maybe, but he is his own entity. He can't afford to upset a world power and sits outside the World Conference by himself. His is not quite like Sealand, an unofficial nation. Special Administration Region. Hong Kong doesn't quite know what that means.
Hong Kong is a gateway, a watering hole for visitors who might not want to venture into the red zone (better dead than red) or who cannot afford to go further north to enjoy Japan's company. He carries knockoffs, cheap bootlegs, but he makes it because there is a thrill in going to those kinds of places. It is a gamer's paradise, an otaku heaven. Hong Kong bows his head, lets the girls slide the kitty ear hat over his tousled hair.
When he opens his mouth, a strange mix of the old language and the foreign 'hullo' accent slides out, smooth as silk sliding across porcelain skin. Victim of westernization, haunted with how they all used to be together. Hong Kong says all their names how England taught him, sliding his fingers over the old portrait, one of the remaining ones of all the East together in their orient glory. He was a colony, of the same old status as America; Hong Kong remembers when England pretended he was America once. A small island doesn't match up to a big nation.
But as what other nations have, Hong Kong doesn't have much but he has the important asset: pride.
Pride is determination to move forward.
Moving forward is changing.
Hong Kong feverishly breezes past old technology, clothes, books as he takes in help from Japan, the States. He will be a hybrid East. He is the girl with amber rimmed glasses and jean skirt, leggings, waiting for the bus but plugged into her music player. He is the man rushing to catch the underground subway to keep the family alive. He is the pack of elementary school boys with their crisp dress shirts, knit sweaters with the school logo, and short uniform slacks, scampering away from the local 7/11 after spending a small fortune on snacks. He is the grandmother walking down the street slowly, always looking for a good deal, but sometimes walking down to the harbor to enjoy the sea breeze before heading home to tend to her widening brood.
Clothing, fashion, technology move West and soon the English speakers experience what Hong Kong has grown used to for months. China comes visiting in a strange mix of modern clothing, looking like quite the adult who attempts to dress like their child. Hong Kong stares at him, over the steam of the barbequed pork buns.
"Why are you like this?"
China smiles anciently. "I can be young and cool too, Hong Kong, aru."
But there is an undertone, a If I lose you too, I've lost them all. Macau will follow you away. I can't handle empty nest syndrome, Hong Kong, aru. I am a parent nation. I will always love my children. So I will wear your young clothing, speak your awkward slang, listen to your new music. Because I don't want you to leave too.
And Hong Kong understands, but I would like to experience nationhood too. You tie me down. But whatever I say, whatever I do, I am still your child, and I will always need you in a certain way. I'll grow old and we'll both wonder where the time went. But I'm not old enough to dwell about these senior moments. He smiles a nearly straight line.
"Dim sum?"
"I will, xie xie."
Owari
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Note: …okay, I admit it. I wanted to appeal to the Hong Kong readers. First, the shirt…I honestly saw this at Sogo. Alas, I couldn't snap a picture of it. I have an intense intensity toward Hong Kong, if you haven't already noticed. Second…Chinese doesn't quite translate into England. I feel like such an Awkward Andy trying to figure out the pinyin for words. I didn't even try. That's how my life goes, it just slithers along. I suppose I could have thrown in typhoon season, but that doesn't really scream 'family' like teenage rebelling. Review, seriously, if you're a Hong Konger. I can't tell if I relate.