Household Gods

April 12: I show Joyce’s mother this picture of Jerry. Her eyes flash. That’s the cover of his 2004 album. “I don’t like this picture, too open,” she says. His pose is too sexual. Sony, the label, made him do it. Evidently, Jerry (Jerry Yan or Yán Chéngxù, 言 承 旭) is a shy guy. She would know. She’s a “superfan” and travels across Asia with other Jerry-maniacs to adore the Taiwanese pop sensation.

In the dining room, an altar to Jerry nestles on a shelf above family photos and mementos. Pepsi cans bearing his face smile down on all family meals. He waves Oral B toothbrushes from promotional material. Out the window, onto the streets of South Horizons, he beams positive energy from a glued-together jigsaw puzzle.



Before arriving in Hong Kong, I read about the large quantity of temples and shrines throughout the city. The fact is reflected all over the city, where incense burners and small tributes crowd corners of giant buildings. I also read that Hong Kong’s spirituality is present in shrines to household gods.

Spirituality in Hong Kong takes many forms, from the innumerable Catholic and Protestant schools and 600,000-or-so Christians living in the city, to more than 600 Buddhist and Taoist temples in the Special Administrative Region, the schools of Confucius, roughly 80,000 Muslims and smaller pockets of Mormons and Orthodox Christians.

A statue of Guan Yin (觀 音), the Buddhist bodhisattva of compassion, sits in a glass cupboard full of precious family memorabilia, but Joyce says her once-Christian family doesn’t honor any household gods.

At least on her mother’s behalf, Jerry’s omni-present smile begs to differ.

Joyce finishes an essay in Chinese for a Chinese etymology class. She uses a writing pad to speed the tedious typing process. Maybe Jerry will bless her work, but she doesn't think so.