For 42 years, I lived directly beneath the flight path of Hong Kong's legendary Kai Tak Airport. Now 66 years old, I return to the places that shaped me:
Ma Tau Wai Estate, where the 6 AM plane was my alarm clock;
Munsang College, where as a boy I watched planes turn above the checkerboard hill;
and the faded red-and-white checkerboard itself – once a life-saving landmark for pilots, now a forgotten wall.

Through first-person testimony and quiet observation, I recall the roar of 747s, the silence after the airport closed in 1998, and the 1993 China Airlines crash, I witnessed from my window.  I visit Chek Lap Kok only when I must – but never to remember.

"I don't miss the noise, but I miss the person who thought that noise was normal."

A meditation on memory, infrastructure, and the sky that belonged to me.