I used to live in Tung Tau Estate. It was just a 10-minute walk from the airport, where separation and reunion often took place.
My first visit to the airport was with my mum in 1974, picking up my uncle who flew from Tehran to Hong Kong after competing in the 7th Asian Games. I watched the staff handling the seat reservation and checking the luggage weight. I also went to the observation deck and stood in front of the restricted area. Though my uncle failed to win any medal, he gave me an Asian-games-themed first day cover as a souvenir that I still keep safe.
My first flying experience was heading to Thailand for holidays in 1984. I was excited but also worried, since my friend told me that my ears could hurt during take-off. Fortunately, it did not happen. The flight to Europe in 1988 was the most impressive of all. It was a long-haul flight over 20 hours. There was nothing much to do on board, so I read a book to kill time. Visits to the airport became more common as the chance to travel increased over time.
In 1992, my brother decided to emigrate to Canada with his wife. My family and I reluctantly waved goodbye to them at the departure hall.
