One half of me is
the high-rise buildings like bristles on a brush
and rows of gleaming neon signs.
A density more packed than a can of sardines,
or grains of rice in a bowl.
Hasty footsteps to catch the steadfast trains
synchronising with the speed of growing bamboo.
Skylines and countrysides
Not to mention sky-high prices.
Dried fish in wet markets and temples in offices
Bauhinias bloom with the Roses
Growing and thriving
at the Pearl of the Orient

The other half of me is
a bit faded than the other
and thirteen hour plane ride away
.
.
Weekend trips to the Netherlands,
tawny forests and castles
My grandmother’s buttercups,
apple pies and chocolate
My family of bakers
serving love on a plate
with bare feet in the earth.
Spiderwebs like a laundry line
a life slower than the paint
drying on the garden fences

Just like the Yuenyeung
three parts coffee and
seven parts tea
An import, a hybrid species
My Chinese half,
lost within the familiar
in a concrete maze called home
Grey within the monotone.
My Flemish half,
recalled through memories on film
and yellowing photo albums
A blurry summer daydream.
Who, or what am I?
I’ll never be a pure blend
But I taste sweet all the same