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natalielinworks · 4 years

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Our City

International school students have always had an interesting relationship with Hong Kong.

The International schools we grew up in are essentially little colonies of the West. They import cargos of foreign teachers who dipped us in bleach and shaped us into little replicas of themselves. We grew up speaking English, consuming Western media, and learning the politics of the Kardashians more thoroughly than that of Hong Kong’s.

On top of going to a school that is international, our families are too. Most of them aren’t from the city and speak a language other than Cantonese or English. They have passports from other countries that we have as well - so when 2047 rolls around, everyone can scram the fuck out.

Because of our schooling and family background, we’ve been disconnected from the local community. When we are being loud and obnoxious on the MTR they think we are white-washed 鬼妹 and 鬼仔. When we order 叉燒飯 and 檸檬茶 you know they are judging us for our shitty Cantonese.

Although we did not live the local experience, we lived our own version of the Hong Kong experience. We were born and raised there too.

This is the city that lets you live that 鬼人 party-life, puke on the streets of LKF and still feel safe going home at midnight. This city lets you watch clips of Winnie the Pooh on John Oliver, and all the stupid youtube videos your heart can desire. This city let you go off to university abroad and pass for being Asian-American, while growing up with all the privileges of not being a minority in your own home.

Our international experience, which has subconsciously made us believe we can abandon Hong Kong, is ever more reason for us to preserve it. The degree of autonomy we had growing up is why there are so many, voices, cultures and nationalities, why we even arrived in the city to begin with. Our parents followed freedom and opportunity - and it led them to Hong Kong.

My parents are from Taiwan and Japan, but they were still able to share their culture - so basically their food - with my brother and I. We go out to Taiwanese restaurants my parents approvingly call 地道, where they can also speak to the staff in their mother tongue. At home we have Japanese breakfast with an array of ingredients easily accessed at nearby markets, even those nasty, slimy natto beans I will never eat. And at the end of the day, the international airport meant their home was always just one flight away.

The multicultural nature of Hong Kong is evident in the students at Northwestern too. This year I restarted Hong Kong Student Association because I wanted a space for students of our unique background to convene. We are all of all races and our parents are from different countries. Many of us have grown up in multiple cities or left to study abroad before coming to college.

Clearly there has been change in Hong Kong. This summer was the first time I felt unsafe in my own city, no longer a home open to the world. Much of the information about the protests came from the media. After dinner my family always watches the TVB news station in the living room, which I, in all honesty, never paid much attention before. Sue me Medill. This summer, however, I was obsessed with watching the news, clicking on every news site, constantly viewing people’s stories on the protests. I couldn’t believe the places I frequent, my childhood home, would show up in American media, on platforms I had never seen Hong Kong before. On top of the news, there’s always talk between people. You hear of students being beaten because they wore black into the MTR; others are being arrested because they were carrying shopping bags with a mask on; guards will look through you phone when you enter China and pull you aside if they find anything suspicious. Admittedly, the media is increasingly untrustworthy and talk between people is simply rumour. Regardless, paranoia has engulfed the city.

This summer, however, was also the first time I realised how much I love Hong Kong. I’d always thought of Hong Kong as a materialistic city obsessed with grades, money and prestige. When I sat at the airport, I realised how wrong I had been. Hundreds of people sat on the ground in peaceful protest, sitting in groups as friends or families. Aunties and uncles went through the crowds passing out masks as well as food drinks. There was a little girl who stood up every few minutes to rally the crowd - even though she will likely never have the same freedoms I had. People were willing to fight for something they believed in.

Since the summer the situation has only escalated. I don’t want to act like I know everything going on in Hong Kong because I don’t. I’ve had the privileged to be detached and live a separate life abroad. Since coming back to school, I’ve been approached by different publications who want my take on the protests, but I didn’t want to give it to them. I didn’t want it filtered through some daily dimwit reporter. Likewise, local students in Hong Kong wouldn’t want their story appropriated by the biggest dimwit: me. The kids out there actually on the streets, fighting for their only home, get to have their say. I can only offer what my experience is as an international student.

Many of us in the international community feel like we can pick up our bags and leave, that the issue of freedom is for locals to deal with. Some feel like we can condemn what’s been happening because we are unaffected by local struggles. We don’t want to go back home over the break, much less return there to launch their careers or start a family. Ultimately, we seem to have given up on our home. At the very least though, we can’t be silent, or we are accepting where Hong kong is headed. We are abroad, with the freedom of speech that our peers back home don’t, so we are going to speak. Just because we lived a international experience doesn’t mean we don’t stand up for Hong Kong. Hong Kong is our city too.

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