In AutoCAD, a computer-aided design and drafting software, xrefs are external references to supporting files that are linked to the main or active drawing. One drawing can reference many other files, layer and display them as if they are one.
Here, xref is a collection of digital images taken during my local and global travels from the past decade, juxtaposed and interspersed with short stories of fragmented “home” memories that had occurred at different times and spaces than the ones captured in the visual elements.
Actual locations of where events or experiences take place are irrelevant. We are the active component that assign meanings to places, connecting the dots between memories and spaces we occupy. A space merely provides us with sensorial clues, provoking our thoughts and memories. In fact “home” can be anywhere; it is the subtle details at each place that remind us of familiarity or something from the past. Even if we fail to draw parallels or resonate, fragments of “home” can often be found internally within ourselves.
On the weekends, my parents often brought me to various recital, dance, and theatre performances at the Hong Kong Cultural Center in Tsim Tsa Tsui. Despite my mom requesting that I should hold onto her hands always, I loved roaming around the wide low rising stairs and running my fingers through the undulating bumps of the pale pink textured tiles. If I behaved well, we would visit the quirky gift shop tucked at the corner.
The grand atrium was a fascinating place with endless curiosities for my 6 year old self.
Being barely awake, I got hurried by our Filipino nanny Fay to change into the perfectly ironed white cotton uniform with the little blue tie and plastic belt. Soon after she handed the aubergine Jansport backpack to me.
Surrounded by high rise residential towers along the northern slope of Mount Parker, we climbed uphill and waited at the designated paved plaza for my school bus’s arrival. Other kids, heading to the same primary school, were also half-awakened standing and whining at their caregivers.
Why would that car think they could make it before a streetcar stops and opens the doors? Also was that person trying to jaywalk to catch this ride? There was literally another streetcar two lights behind, coming in a few minutes.
There used to be a gravel parking lot with a few painted tree trunks along the sidewalk for photo op, and now it turned into a yellow brick MEC store. Thankfully, Peter Pan was still around. Queen West really changed every time I passed by.
Sandwiched between two movable yet heavy white partitions on the loft of a former silk mill and current architecture school in Galt, it was nerve wracking to have my first design critique with guest lecturers. The project was to design a small learning centre with overnight accommodation at a site along the Grand River.
As I explained my ideas away with drawings featuring elements of elevated exterior walkways, sliding doors, and framed views, a prof in the panel suggested looking into Katsura Imperial Villa as a reference.
Later in the library, I blankly stared at the black and white plans and pixelated photos from the old musky hardcover book. As a first year student, I didn’t quite understand at the time.
Ah por held my toddler hands as we picked up groceries and daily necessities in the neighbourhood, a public housing complex which apparently was once visited, or blessed in her words, by Queen Elizabeth II and Margaret Thatcher in the 70s.
Numerous little booths and long narrow shops lined up at podium level below housing units, offering all sorts of goodies for families: freshly made tofu blocks and bean curds, curry fish balls and cheung fun with lots of peanut butter sesame sauce (my fav!), as well as miscellaneous affordable household goods such as melamine chopsticks and plastic washing tubs.
Waiting for a friend to finish their psychotherapy appointment, I idled on a pedestrian bridge hovering above Des Voeux Road Central and spent the time observing people and traffic. Ding dings passed by periodically beneath, causing a minor vibration on the elevated crossing. The handful of pedestrians, likely couriers in their brightly coloured vests and bluetooth ear-pieces, raced along speeding double-deckers to their destinations.
It was weird and extremely eerie to see such a quiet financial hub on a weekday afternoon. I supposed the bankers were too important and busy to grab afternoon tea. How did they survive skipping meals? What about the obnoxious affluent shoppers at IFC? Were they perhaps, afraid of the water-like protesters followed by indoctrinated riot police and infamous tear gas?
Still in our JK light blue sailor uniforms with white socks and black loafers, we hopped on the Nishitetsu local train at Ijiri Station, heading off to my friend’s home after school.
Okāsan lightly greased the hot plate, scooping and placing a ladle full of pale yellow okonomiyaki batter on the sizzling surface. I still remembered her asking me whether I like bacon and enthusiastically I replied “hai, daisuki desu!” She added a few thin pork slices then cracked an egg on top, and flipped over the thick cabbage pancake. Topped with brown okonomi sauce, mayonnaise, and powdered seaweed, it was heaven. I thanked them for treating and having me over before returning home.
Wearing my t-shirt printed with rainbow coloured round beads, black skinny jeans, and comfortable Converse boots, I wandered on Church Street stopping by different booths for pride swag. As the Dyke March would be starting soon, the group of us eventually settled at a spot south of Carleton and west of the Maple Leaf Gardens. We waved and screamed to our other friends who were marching with ACAS in the parade.
Being born and having spent most of my childhood in Hong Kong, a city of disappearance but also a city of despair now, subconsciously I do not want to associate this once “home” with negative feelings. Perhaps by instinct, I deliberately chose to revisit positive memories and idealize those realities through photographs from another space and time. As of this moment, I am still not fully sure if I am attempting to find belonging elsewhere from other cultures, using distraction and selective forgetting as a coping mechanism… because it is heartbreaking and traumatic to think of “home”.
With backgrounds in architecture, critical sexuality, and gender studies, Amy Poon is a wayfinding/signage designer and a masters student in the York-Ryerson Joint Graduate Program in Communication and Culture. Her research interests include cultural studies, experiential design, intersectional identities, and urban environments. She enjoys documenting her surrounding and translating lived experiences through sketching, photography, and graphic design. Her iphonetography can be found at @threequartertranslation.
Inspired by personal experiences of living as a queer identified East Asian cis-female in cities under various stages of (post)coloniality and/or globalization since childhood, Amy is currently exploring visual/spatial representations of “home” through this research project.