There was a time when Cyberport (數碼港) was little more than a well-kept secret, a pocket of modernity hidden away on the western edge of Hong Kong Island. Before the offices filled with tech start-ups and before The Arcade saw an influx of visitors, it was a quiet, almost forgotten place. And for a time, it was ours.
Every summer, when the heat shimmered off the pavements of Central and the crowds in Causeway Bay became unbearable, my younger brother Alex, our father, and I would retreat to Cyberport. It was a ritual of sorts—our Sunday escape from the city. A short drive of less than thirty minutes brought us from the familiar hum of home to an entirely different world, one where the air felt fresher, the horizon stretched wider, and time seemed to slow.
The Arcade at Cyberport, the shopping centre attached to the sprawling complex, never quite had the same bustling energy as other malls in Hong Kong. In the 2000s, long before it became a more recognised destination, it was often eerily quiet. The shops were few, the foot traffic sparse. And yet, we loved it for precisely that reason. It was one of the rare places where one could enjoy an afternoon without jostling against strangers, where a meal could be savoured without the clatter of overpacked tables, and where a film at the cinema felt like a private screening.
We would arrive after lunch, stepping into the cool, air-conditioned atrium, a stark contrast to the oppressive summer heat outside. Sometimes, we would catch a movie, sinking into the plush seats of the cinema, the kind of comfort that made the outside world feel even further away. Other times, we would roam the shops, wandering between the few retail outlets and the supermarket, picking up groceries that would last us the week. But the best part of these visits was never the shopping—it was the time spent together.
Our father was not a man of excess words, but there was something in those Sunday afternoons that spoke volumes. They were moments of quiet companionship, of simple joys found in choosing snacks for the week, sharing a meal, or watching the sea beyond the promenade. Cyberport, perched by the water, had one of the most underrated views in Hong Kong. The breeze, when it came, was a welcome relief from the sweltering heat, and the sight of the vast, open ocean was a reminder that the city, with all its noise and urgency, was never too far away but, in that moment, did not matter.
Years have passed, and Cyberport is no longer the quiet refuge it once was. The Arcade has found its patrons, the offices are abuzz with activity, and the once-empty walkways are now filled with families, couples, and workers on lunch breaks. But to me, Cyberport will always be the place of quiet Sundays, of unhurried meals, of sitting beside my father and my brother, watching the world move just a little slower for an afternoon.
A piece of our childhood lingers there, between the rows of empty seats in the cinema, in the quiet hum of the supermarket aisles, and in the endless blue stretching beyond the promenade. And though time moves on, I like to think that if I ever return on a hot summer's day, I might still find an echo of those afternoons—unrushed, unbothered, and entirely ours.12Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ61YuXRftGW
