The sun is beginning its slow descent when I step out of my house, the last streaks of golden light filtering through the dense canopy that arches over Barker Road. The air is thick with the residue of the day’s humidity, but the first hints of evening’s coolness are creeping in. I take a deep breath, the mingling scents of damp earth and distant sea breeze familiar and grounding.
I step into my car and ease out of the driveway, my tyres rolling over the smooth asphalt with barely a sound. With the window slightly open, I navigate the familiar curves of Barker Road, glimpsing slivers of the city below through gaps in the trees. The harbour glows in the waning light, and Central’s towers begin their transformation, bathed in the first flickers of neon. There is something about this view from Barker Road—intimate yet distant, grand yet hushed.
But this is only the prelude. My true run begins elsewhere.
A short drive later, I pull up near Lugard Road, where the famed Peak Circle Walk begins—a track carved into the slopes of Victoria Peak, wrapping around it like a balcony overlooking the city. Stepping out, I stretch briefly, feeling the shift in temperature. Up here, the air is cooler, crisper, tinged with a freshness that does not reach the streets below.
I start at an easy pace, my shoes tapping against the pavement in steady rhythm. Almost immediately, the view unfolds before me, as if unveiling itself only to those who make the effort to come here. The city sprawls below in a breathtaking panorama—Central’s glass towers catching the last embers of daylight, the harbour shimmering in liquid gold, and Kowloon standing bold in the distance. Soon, the neon lights begin to flicker on, a constellation of artificial stars replacing the real ones that the city’s glow has long banished from the sky.
Running here is different from running anywhere else in Hong Kong. The path curves gently, neither too steep nor too flat, and each bend offers a new angle of the city—a quiet revelation with every stride. To my right, the metropolis pulses with life, a testament to human ambition; to my left, the mountain looms, ancient and unmoved, its dense greenery swallowing the last whispers of daylight.
I run not to chase distance but to chase a feeling. Here, above the chaos, the city feels almost like a painting, something to be admired from a distance. The streets that once felt suffocating now seem small, the worries of daily life insignificant when viewed from this altitude. There is something profoundly grounding about seeing the world from above.
I slow my pace as I reach the halfway mark, my breath steady, my heartbeat syncing with the gentle rhythm of the evening breeze. This, I remind myself, is why I come here—not just to run, but to reflect. To stand between the city and the sky, between ambition and stillness, and to feel, if only for a fleeting moment, like I belong to both.
Eventually, the loop brings me full circle. The city below has now fully transformed—its towers and roads traced in glowing amber, its harbour a mirror reflecting the neon shimmer. I return to my car, the engine purring to life once more as I navigate the winding descent back toward Barker Road.
By the time I pull into my driveway, the night has settled in. The run is over, but its echoes linger—a quiet exhilaration, a reminder that some distances are measured not in kilometres, but in perspective.
My younger brother Alex came towards me as I stepped out of the car, now dressed in a simple navy polo shirt, well-fitted chinos, and clean sneakers—casual, but put together enough for a nice dinner.
"Wanna go out for dinner?" he asked, leaning against the car door.
"Sure," I replied with a smile.
Without another word, I headed inside for a quick shower, letting the cool water wash away the remnants of my run.
By the time I emerged, refreshed and dressed, Alex was already waiting, scrolling idly on his phone. We got in the car and drove down to The Peak Lookout, one of our go-to restaurants—a heritage spot perched on the slopes, offering an elegant terrace overlooking the city.
A place with history, with charm—where the night stretched before us, slow and unhurried, as we sat beneath the warm glow of lanterns, savouring good food, good company, and the quiet understanding that moments like these didn’t need to be spoken about. They simply were.
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