I don’t remember when exactly I learned to feel comfortable around strangers. Perhaps it is something gleaned from the kindnesses shown to me by so many. But last month I found that instinct being called upon afresh when a Hong Kong refugee arrived in my living room early one morning, straight from Heathrow.
As I was going to bed the previous night, a WhatsApp message had jumped into view: “My friend in London needs place to stay,” it read, followed by a row of face-palm emojis. The text was sent by a young artist-waitress I’d met during a year working in Hong Kong. She wanted to know if the unnamed man could crash on my sofa for a night – maybe more – while she searched for others to support him during his asylum application process.
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