Dai pai dong owners in Fo Tan may face eviction by 2024 due to government plans.
By Victoria Fong
Jerry has been working in Tai Yuen Dai Pai Dong in Fo Tan for over 30 years. The stall is facing eviction by 2024 due to government plans to redevelop Fo Tan’s East and West Cooked Food Markets into a new government complex.
“Our latest rental contract with the Food and Environmental Hygiene Department (FEHD) ends in June 2023 and FEHD officers say we have to move by 2024, but many details are uncertain. We are unlikely to move to another place since it is difficult to find a space as big as our current site, where big groups can eat, chat and have a beer,” says Jerry, who declines to reveal his full name.
“Our contract is renewed every two to three years. We would love to renew our contract, but we do not know if the FEHD will offer us a renewal in June,” he says.
Jerry, who is the person-in-charge of Tai Yuen (泰源) in Fo Tan’s East and West Food Markets, has been working at the stall for more than 30 years.
A staff member serving hot dishes at Tai Yuen.
Tai Yuen is facing eviction by 2024 due to government plans to redevelop Fo Tan’s East and West Cooked Food Markets into a new government complex.
The FEHD announced in May 2021 that Fo Tan’s East and West Cooked Food Markets would be fully closed by 2024. The government plans to construct a new government complex at Shan Mei Street in Fo Tan, which is about 60 metres away from the cooked food markets.
According to a joint response from the Government Property Agency (GPA) and the FEHD to questions raised by the Sha Tin District Council in January 2022, stalls at Fo Tan’s East and West Cooked Food Markets would not be relocated to the new government complex, citing that there are plenty of restaurants for workers and residents to choose from in that area.
The new government complex will mainly be used for “recreational, cultural, medical and health, social welfare and education facilities, government offices and car parks”, according to GPA’s response to Legislative Council member Michael Lee Chun-keung in May 2022.
But the government building’s plan was not revealed to Jerry during his meeting with FEHD officers.
“Stall owners do not have much say if the government decides they no longer need dai pai dongs when chain restaurants are opening across the city. It is completely out of our control. It is true that we are not as tech-savvy as chain restaurants. We do not have digital ordering systems, but I think we still have an edge,” Jerry says.
“Students from the Chinese University of Hong Kong (CUHK) often come during orientation camps and ‘dem beat’ (perform chants) in the open space nearby. You don’t get to do that at regular restaurants because they’re usually more restrictive. Our food also tastes better than chain restaurants because of the ‘wok hei’,” he says, referring to the smoky flavours of dishes that can only be achieved by cooking under intense heat with a cooking wok.
'Wok hei', meaning 'breath of wok', can only be achieved under conditions of intense heat with dai pai dong's cooking range.
Handwritten menus are one of the features of dai pai dongs in Hong Kong.
A staff member of a dai pai dong organizing hand-written records of customers’ orders.
Professor Chong Yuk-sik, who published a book about dai pai dongs in Hong Kong in 2011, thinks that dai pai dongs like Tai Yuen carry social value in Hong Kong.
“Dai pai dongs are freer than indoor restaurants. There is more interaction between customers and stall owners than chain restaurants,” says Chong, who is a research associate at the Hong Kong Institute of Asia-Pacific Studies in CUHK.
Customers having lunch outdoors at a dai pai dong in Sham Shui Po.
A cooking area of a dai pai dong in Sham Shui Po.
“The government is not keen on conserving dai pai dongs. They mainly focus on conserving dai pai dongs that can promote tourism, like the ones on Stanley Street in Central. For cooked food bazaars, they may halt renewal plans when encountering resistance, but eventually, they will go on with their plans,” she says.
Edited by Gabriella Lynn Sub-edited by Chaelim Kim
Many university students are feeling anxious and hesitant because of too many club affairs.
By Christine Tang
Amy Chan*, a student at the Chinese University of Hong Kong (CUHK), quit a service club that aims at nurturing tertiary students into future leaders, due to a mismatch between expectations and reality.
“I would warn freshmen to consider seriously before getting involved in any societies at university. Hold realistic expectations that even if you go along with your friends happily, you can still end up in distress yourself,” the Year Two student says.
“I once thought we could organise what we wanted freely with much financial support and few limitations,” the former public relation officer of the club adds.
“There were way too many meetings, most frequently twice a week lasting for two hours for my post. The aim of the meetings was usually to achieve consensus between students and advisors in organising activities. Sometimes, I had to join meetings over the phone because there was a time clash between the club’s work and my personal life,” she says.
“Other than meetings, off-campus training with other universities’ units, which aimed to build up leadership skills, lasted even longer, like for the whole day long or even overnight when the pandemic was not that serious,” Chan adds.
It is even harder in event execution, as students had to gain approval from the unit’s advisor every time in deciding what and how events should be like. For example, even the name of events, graphics and texts of social media posts had to be approved by the advisor, limiting students’ freedom in event planning and execution.
While the experience of organising event is not what Chan imagined, the friendships with her friends have also been adversely affected due to personal matters. They are no longer close now.
The student later found out that the experience was not as expected.
“Of course, I do feel a bit remorseful as I left my friends behind. But overall speaking, the benefits outweigh the loss, as I am now mentally less stressed. Back then, my schedule was so packed that I could hardly enjoy university life,” Chan says.
“Luckily, the process of quitting was smooth as other members and the advisor show their understanding of my situation,” Chan says.
Another university student, Chloe Lau*, quit a service club because of her mental health.
“They got mad at me because I was not involved much in designing products, while they never understood my situation as I was having depression at that time due to the social movement,” the Year Four student at CUHK says.
“Differences in value judgment drove us apart. I was way more concerned about the socio-political situation of Hong Kong than they were. I did not think it was worth all the hassle to make souvenirs to be put on campus. To me, obviously, the social unrest was a more pressing issue,” the former design officer of the club adds.
Lau got involved in the club in Year One in the hope of serving the community and making new friends, as she had a good experience doing voluntary service back in secondary school.
But none of her expectations were met.
“I realized we were not true friends as they did not even care about my mental health but the work. After quitting, I gradually got better emotionally and concluded that birds of different feathers do not flock together,” Lau says.
Despite the dissatisfactory experience, she realises her passion and values in being part of another society after two years. She finds her values in promoting public awareness about sex and gender.
Wellness and Counselling Centre (WACC) of the Office of the Student Affairs (Photo from CUHK Website).
“I would strongly encourage people to get counselling service on campus when necessary as it is free of charge when you are still a CUHK student. It is rare to have people listening to you without judgment while being very supportive, ” Lau says.
“I had insomnia problems back then and got diagnosed with depression very soon. Then, I was prescribed antidepressant from the university health service,” Lau adds.
Another university student, Celine Pang*, also quit a society for her own good.
Pang, once an exco-member of a debating team at CUHK, decided to quit after being in the team for two years.
“We got three-hour meetings twice a week and on top of that I had to join competitions which would usually take up an entire weekend. At times, I had to multitask to get prepared for my mid-term and final exams,” the Year Three student says.
“Especially now I do not live in dorm, it started to take up a lot of time and I also started to get a lot busier with schoolwork, so I decided it was not really worth it to join a society anymore” Pang says.
Students take part in club activities for different reasons. One of the common reasons for CUHK students to live on campus is to earn enough hostel points in a bid to retain a bed place at the dormitory.
While joining the society was a bigger commitment than she initially expected and realised, other underlying factors, including interpersonal problems, also led her quitting the team.
“Sometimes it would take up a lot of my emotional strength as I cried several times. It also took me time to deal with major disagreements within the committee members,” she says.
“It was just troublesome and draining to deal with, though it was mostly just differences in opinions arising due to different people being in the same team,” she says.
According to a written reply provided by Megan Tsang, one of the supervisory staff members at Office of Student Affairs, CUHK promotes whole-person development and encourages students to enrich their university life.
“CUHK promotes whole-person development and encourages students to enrich their university life.”
“CUHK students could join different student organizations or participate in diverse student programmes. Students join activities according to their own interests. For example, some may wish to learn from operating a student society by being ExCo members; some may participate in other interest clubs or social service teams,” the head of Student Development and Resources Section says in her reply.
She notes that while students could learn from joining non-formal activities, they are reminded that time management and striking a balance between academic study and activities are also important.
Huang filming a vlog.
(Photo courtesy of Huang Yu Hui)
Taiwanese girl Huang Yu Hui decides to settle down in Hong Kong when Hongkongers are leaving the city.
By Yika Ng
When most Hong Kong people are leaving the city, Taiwanese Cynthia Huang Yu Hui came to the city in 2019 and is now working in a content creator agency.
Huang is a manager of three Hong Kong social media influencers. She is also running her own YouTube vlogging channel which has 155,000 subscribers.
“Hong Kong is the place where I first taste happiness in my life and I find satisfaction from my work here. This place is full of opportunities and potential which makes me want to stay and see what the future holds for me in Hong Kong,” Huang says.
“Hong Kong is the place where I first taste happiness in my life and I find satisfaction from my work here.”
“I did not think much when my boss offered me this job in Hong Kong, I quickly made my decision to come because I do not want to regret,” she says.
Huang first came to Hong Kong in March 2019, a few months before the social unrest sparked by the proposed extradition bill.
“When I first came to Hong Kong, my first impression was I always got yelled at by waiters in restaurants. The impression has changed during the social movement when I saw Hong Kong people stayed united to fight for freedom,” Huang recalls.
Despite the change of impression, Huang struggled to adjust to working pace in Hong Kong.
“I remember crying in my office alone as I had no friends here. I had to communicate with Hong Kong clients but I did not understand a word in Cantonese and the culture here is so different from Taiwan,” Huang recalls.
The 28-year-old social media influencer manager spent two years working in Hong Kong alone because the company was still in its infant stage.
Huang is now able to understand Cantonese after coming to HK for three years.
“Now I have Hong Kong colleagues, and I have picked up Cantonese,” Huang says.
The 10-year Eating Disorder Journey
Though Huang now has rich experience working and living abroad independently, she struggled with eating disorder for 10 years.
She was a ballet and contemporary dancer since her childhood to her teenage years and having a slim figure affected her health.
“At 15, I wanted to be admitted to my dream school, which was a boarding school for dancers in Taiwan. My teachers told me that if I lost a couple of kilograms, I would be able to get in. So, I followed all different kinds of weight loss recipes I found online which set me off to my eating disorder journey,” Huang recalls.
She once weighed 44.5 kilograms with a height of 163 centimeters.
“I felt weak all the time and lost my period for a year and a half. I even fainted once in a convenient store,” Huang says.
Huang was admitted to her dream school, but her health condition continued to deteriorate.
“I was surrounded by girls and boys with perfect figure at that time. They had long legs, and they were skinny with perfect flexibility and physical ability. I felt very insecure when I compared myself with them,” Huang recalls.
“When I was sixteen, my doctor told me that I must eat or else my period would stop forever. I ate and then threw up hoping that I would get nutrition I need but not calories,” Huang says.
With support from her friends, she recovered from eating disorder and regained her health and self-confidence when she was 17.
Huang then decided to give up on dancing and went to the University of California, Berkeley to continue her tertiary studies as a business major student.
Huang graduated from University of California, Berkeley in 2016.
“I gave up dancing because I did not think that I could be a professional dancer. I wanted to explore my other possibilities,” she says.
But her eating disorder relapsed after she graduated from university.
“I broke up with my boyfriend and I didn’t know where to go after university. I went to fast food drive-throughs and wolf down foods until my stomach started to hurt,” Huang says.
After struggling with bulimia for four years, Huang decided to step out of the vicious cycle by doing Yoga. She later learnt a new perspective towards body image.
“In America people embrace all types of body shapes. I learnt to be more confident in my own skin. Also, Yoga helps me become more grounded and confident about how I feel. I no longer feel ashamed of wearing a size M or L,” she says.
Huang teaching a yoga class in the US. (Photo courtesy of Huang Yu Hui)
Winning battle against eating disorder, Huang managed to be back on the saddle again and started holding podcasts to talk about life in 2020.
“I believe that everyone is living different lives with different problems and difficulties. I hope my sharing in vlogs and podcasts can resonate with my audience and inspire them that no matter what they are going through, do not stop trying to find bits of joy in life,” she says.
“Happiness is simple. I feel happy when I find out my favorite yogurt is on sale,” she adds.
Huang shares she does not think much about her future and will just go with the flow.
“From giving up my 15-year dream to become a dancer, to studying business, to coming to Hong Kong, I do not regret any decision I have made. I follow my instincts. It’s never a right or wrong decision, but the best decision that has been made at that critical time,” Huang says.
Mainland students experience phone scams in Hong Kong.
By Lily Wang
Elisa Yang was swindled out of HKD25,000(USD3,212.5) in a phone scam in August 2022 and is still waiting for news from the Hong Kong and Mainland police officers after reporting her case. The traumatized university student now only uses WeChat Pay, Alipay, and cash in payment.
The phone fraudster impersonating a Department of Health employee claimed that Yang’s Leave Home Save App records showed she stayed somewhere in Tsim Sha Tsui with many confirmed COVID-19 cases reported on August 26th. Yang was told that she would be sent to a quarantine place, and she had to pay HKD25,000 as a deposit for the use of quarantine facilities with her credit card. Though she had no detail about where she would be sent, she gave the scammer her mainland credit card number.
Victims are often asked to provide their credit card information.
“I received the phone call on August 27 afternoon. I was so nervous about issues related to COVID-19. I used to regularly receive messages checking my situation from Health Department when I was in Mainland China,” says Yang.
The year two student only arrived in Hong Kong for a few days when the case occurred. Because of the pandemic, she did most of the classes through Zoom after being admitted to the Chinese University of Hong Kong.
The police record after Elisa was scammed by the phone.
“I shared my fear of going to a government quarantine facility with my friends one day after receiving the phone call. Then I realized that this could be a phone fraud,” Yang adds.
“Now all my cards are frozen as the mainland bank freezes my account. I rely only on WeChat Pay, Alipay, and a limited amount of cash for my daily expenses,” the Chinese University student says.
“Since then, I doubt every decision I make. I fear that I might have become a laughingstock among my peers. Would they think I am a stupid girl, as I could easily be scammed? I wonder if they look down on me and do not want to be friends?” Yang says.
Another university student Mike Yang also received a similar phone scam but managed to spot and protect himself.
Yang received the call on October 11. The fraudster impersonated an officer from the High Court of Hong Kong, claiming that the Chinese University student had to settle a credit card bill of HKD 38,800 (USD4,985.8) within a week or else he would be sent to jail.
“He told me that I consumed that bill on August 7 in Harbor City,” he recalled.
“I was generally a cautious person. Though I was nervous, I kept asking the scammer questions such as which shop exactly I spent the money in and what the credit card number was,” the 18-year-old student recalled.
He argued with the first scammer and the call was transferred to another fraudster posing as a senior officer from the High Court.
“The senior one made up a credit card number for me and stressed the seriousness of the crime. I almost believed in their trick. I gave the scammer my Hong Kong Identity Card number and the last four digits of my credit card number and asked them to check the bill again,” the student says.
After the first call, the fraudsters called him several times urging him to settle the payment. He then realized that this might be a phone scam.
“I still feel worried now. I don’t know whether the information I gave them will cause me trouble later,” Yang says, adding that he has not suffered any losses so far.
Regarding Elisa Yang’s case, police said in an email dated December 22 that the case is still under investigation.
“Telephone deception is a cross-jurisdictional syndicated criminal activity. Swindlers made scam calls outside Hong Kong, sometimes with VoIP technology or prepaid SIM card. Part of the deceived money was deposited or transferred to bank accounts outside Hong Kong and dissipated instantly, making it difficult for fund tracing and police investigation,” the reply to states.
The number of deception cases recorded increased from 648 to 1687 from 2019 to 2022. Police handled 906 “pretending officials” cases in the first nine months of 2022 with a total loss of HKD 721 million (USD92million).
The reply also states that “the excuses made by fraudsters are unusually closely relating to current affairs. For instance, during the pandemic, the fraudster used excuses related to illegal delivery of vaccine or violation of quarantine order at the outset and duped victims into divulging their personal or financial information.”
Police set up Anti-Deception Coordination Center in July 2017 to help monitor deception trends, implement combating strategies, and collaborate with the banking industry and oversea law enforcement agencies to intercept the proceeds of crime.
Anti-fraud posters displayed by the Hong Kong police.
The public should be aware of phone calls asking for money, personal information, and downloading unknown software, according to police.
On avoiding phone scams, here are a few tips from police:
1 DO NOT transfer money to strangers’ bank accounts.
2 DO NOT install any unknown software or suspicious application on mobile phones or computers.
3 DO NOT input personal information into any unknown website or application.
4 DO NOT disclose your personal information to strangers.
5 “Three Dos” against telephone deception – “Hang Up,” “Verify,” and “Get Help”.
6 Remind your relatives and friends to stay alert against deception, and if in doubt, please call the Anti-Scam Helpline 18222.
Looking back on his music journey, Chris Polanco considers it to be a long haul. (Photo Courtesy of Tai Wei-chien)
A Hong Kong-based Dominican music composer who has recently gained popularity wants to heal Hong Kong people despite physical limitations brought by COVID-19.
By Charmaine Choi
“Okay, sing this with me! Jat Cai Coeng!”
Does this line sound familiar to you? Such an iconic line is the opening of music composer Chris Polanco’s viral Instagram Reels challenge #JamWithPolanco. It has become the catchphrase of the 44-year-old Hong Kong-based Dominican musician that has been heard by tens of thousands of netizens.
“If I want to engage with Hongkongers, what better way to start the videos than with their native tongue and sing songs that they are familiar with?” Polanco says.
Despite not speaking the most perfect Cantonese, Polanco has filmed over 160 short videos on Instagram since April 2022, hoping to bring positive energy to Hong Kong people during the current difficult time.
Also known as Instagram Reels, Polanco’s short videos invite netizens to duet with him on songs in different languages including Cantonese, Mandarin, English and Spanish. His videos have attracted over 10 million views on the platform in seven months.
Ever since he started putting out Instagram Reels, Polanco has received dozens of heart-warming messages from fans, thanking him for inspiring and encouraging them to share their singing and enjoy the music.
Screenshot of Chris Polanco’s Instagram Reel
“If it were not for you, I would not have had the courage to share my singing on social media in front of a camera. I have not sung my heart out like this for a very long time,” a message from the musician’s fan reads.
When walking around the city even with a mask on, people still recognise him. “It feels so surreal when people come up to me on the street, saying the exact catchphrase,” he adds.
The viral success of his videos came as a total surprise to Polanco. It all stemmed from a simple idea from his manager, Bonnie Chan Hei-man, who urged him to keep putting out content and creating even when the city was hit hard by the pandemic.
His Instagram followers have grown from 3,800 to more than 86,00 since the first Reel. Polanco confessed that he had doubts whether local audiences would find the singing of a middle-aged, brown-skinned man in sunglasses with a piano keyboard interesting.
“My manager kept telling me to ‘Si Ha La’ (Give it a try) and I thought why not? Look at how far we have come now!” he adds.
Having stayed in Hong Kong since 2000, the 44-year-old has spent more than half of his life creating and performing music in this city.
Under the spotlight, Chris Polanco was performing alongside his bandmates in a concert. (Photo Courtesy of Chris Polanco)
Though many performances and events were cancelled because of the pandemic, as an active performer, Polanco did not cease to create. Unable to perform live, he grabbed a phone, set up a tripod, sat in front of a table, placed a piano keyboard on top and started recording these 30 to 60 seconds of music snippets.
Polanco is thrilled by Hong Kong people’s musical talents.
“No matter the race, gender, religion or age, people are joined together because of the music. I hope to share this love, passion and care with my Reels, and also to encourage people to do the same, it is my mission in life,” he adds.
A Fascination Since Childhood
Growing up in the Dominican Republic, the nation that is known to be flooded by dance and music everywhere, Polanco has been fascinated by Latin music since small.
As a church kid, Polanco loved singing along to hymns and was deeply charmed by the performers.
“When those musicians were performing on stage, there were beams of happiness radiating from within. The joy and positivity was contagious,” he adds.
While other kids were out playing with their peers, young Polanco would sit next to his grandfather and listen to classic folk songs like Bésame Mucho from ballad group Trio Los Panchos on vinyl.
Calling himself the “writing machine”, Polanco has been writing and composing songs since 13. He debuted with an amateur piece, “Gracias Mama”, dedicated to his mom for bringing him so much joy and happiness. He also wrote jingles for radio and commercials.
“My voice was always on the radio stations and TV as I would sing short tunes for shows or advertisements,” Polanco says.
Polanco is not only a composer, but also a performer. He picked up various music gigs and shows. His performance at Sheraton Hotel at Santo Domingo caught the eye of French recruiter Beatrice Zessac. He was invited to fly all the way to Hong Kong to work for the Ocean Park.
“They want to cheer the crowd up with some upbeat and catchy music before the dolphin starts jumping. Fast-paced and cheerful Latin music is the perfect choice for that,” Polanco says.
“My mission in life is to spread good vibes and bring people together with my music. I feel like performing in Hong Kong is a great opportunity to spread Latin music to a broader audience,” he continues.
When Polanco came to Hong Kong, he barely knew any Cantonese or English, but he quickly picked up some essential greeting phrases like “Daai Ga Hou” (Hello everyone) and “Fun Ying Daai Ga” (Welcome everyone) to engage with the crowd from his fellow colleagues.
Despite the language barriers, Polanco and his band managed to break through cultural differences with devoted efforts and shared the joy and vibrancy of Latin music with the local audience.
Polanco recalled that when the audience left the auditorium after the dolphin show, some of them were still humming and dancing to the melody that they had just performed.
“My mission in life is to spread good vibes and bring people together with my music.”
Spreading Joy Through Music
Polanco left the Park after the six-month contract ended for an IT position at the Dominican Republic embassy in Hong Kong and continued pursuing his music career after work. The musician formed a band, Azucar Latina, and started playing gigs and band performances at local bars in Lan Kwai Fong and even at Sands Casino in Macau.
“I want to be remarkable as a musician and I feel appreciated for my talents in Hong Kong. I know that I want to continue bringing more of this (joyful) energy to Hong Kong people,” Polanco continues.
The band was very well-received and Polanco’s performance gained the attention of singer Maria Codero and musician Jun Kung, which sparked off a series of collaborations with various celebrities on tours, including Sandy Lam Yik-lin, Eason Chan Yik-Shun, the Grasshoppers and Joey Yung Cho-yee since 2010.
Chris Polanco frequently collaborates and creates music with singer Eason Chan. (Photo Courtesy of Chris Polanco)
Having been on tours and performing worldwide for over a decade, Polanco desperately needed a creative outlet to continue his mission of sharing music when the fifth wave of the pandemic hit Hong Kong in April 2022.
Creating videos becomes his lifeline.
“During the gloomy times, I want to cheer people up with my music, I do not want to stop creating,” Polanco says.
“Humans are created to share, especially in moments of sadness. When people join together with friends and family to duet with my Reels, sharing the love and happiness, my mission and purpose are fulfilled,” he continues.
Speaking of his unexpected rise to fame on Instagram, the musician believed appreciation is crucial.
“Appreciation is what keeps me going. Once you appreciate the things you have, no matter how big or small that is, everything becomes valuable,” Polanco says.
“There are a lot of opportunities given to anyone on a daily basis, you just need to have an open heart. The pandemic has created this golden opportunity to elevate my career,” Polanco adds.
With his career stretching across two decades in Hong Kong, Polanco describes his music journey in Hong Kong as a “bus ride”.
“It is quite a long haul, just like a bus ride. You can take a faster route by the MTR, but with a bus, you get to enjoy the scenery along the ride. Coming to Hong Kong is the best decision that I have made and I enjoy every encounter that I have made along the way.”
James Shea at a poetry reading event co-organized by One City One Book, OutLoud Hong Kong and Peel Street Poetry.
OutLoud Hong Kong, a poetry collective, is trying to revive the local literary scene through open-mic poetry.
By Victoria Fong
Jason Lee Eng-hun meets his fellow poets at the Aftermath bar in Central every Wednesday to read poems.
OutLoud Hong Kong is an open-mic poetry collective that has been running since 1998. Lee has become a co-organizer of OutLoud since 2018 after core members Kate Rogers left Hong Kong and David McKirdy stepped back to allow fresh blood to take over.
“We offer a free, open, neutral, safe space for artistic expression in Hong Kong. We respect the autonomy and the dignity of both the readers and the people that they are addressing,” says Lee, who is a lecturer at the Department of English Language and Literature at the Faculty of Arts at Hong Kong Baptist University.
Jason Lee Eng-hun has been regularly attending poetry nights since 2006.
Since the social movements in 2014 and 2019, Lee has observed a shift in the demographic of poets and content read at OutLoud.
“I think many younger group members have started to write about the Hong Kong community (since the social movements). We have started to see more young people coming (to poetry nights) since 2014, and even more in the past three years,” he says.
While OutLoud runs on the first Wednesday of every month, its sister poetry group, Peel Street Poetry, is held on every Wednesday except for the first week to avoid time clash. Lee says he has been trying to distinguish OutLoud from Peel Street Poetry by featuring more local representation in the collective.
“Hong Kong has so much to offer culturally, but the literary scene never seems to be adequately celebrated. We have a logo which also includes the Chinese equivalent of our name (隨言香港), which represents ‘speaking out loud’ or ‘speaking freely, Hong Kong’,” he says.
Regular participants are invited to be part of OutLoud’s team. One of them is Louise Leung Fung-yee, who went to her first OutLoud event in the summer of 2019 after taking a poetry course taught by Peter Kennedy, an associate professor at the School of English at the University of Hong Kong (HKU).
“It is important for people to freely express themselves, even though the poems might not be perfect, especially during times like 2019. People need a safe space to share their thoughts and emotions,” says Leung, whose poems can be found on platforms including Cha: An Asian Literary Journal, Voice and Verse Poetry Magazine, and Vermont-based art and literature zine Canto Cutie.
She has plans to grow the local audience by including Kongish—a form of English influenced by Hong Kong Cantonese—in English-language poetry.
“There are only a handful of local Hong Kong people attending poetry nights regularly. Most of the participants are highly educated, like university students or lecturers and professors,” says the graduate of HKU.
“Many people are intimidated by English-language poetry because they think their English is not good enough or poetry must follow a certain structure. Kongish poetry is unconventional, and everyone can have fun with it,” Leung adds.
The logo of OutLoud Hong Kong is designed by Louise Leung Fung-yee and Felix Chow Yue-ching. (Photo courtesy of OutLoud Hong Kong)
Another regular participant Felix Chow Yue-ching also shares Leung’s view about making English-language poetry more approachable to locals.
“Hong Kong people may be reluctant to attend English-language poetry reading events when they see that most participants are expatriates or fluent English speakers. It is important to have a local presence in poetry nights to show that these events also welcome Hongkongers,” says Chow.
“We have thought about holding Konglish or Hong Kong-themed poetry workshops at independent bookshops in Kowloon to attract people like secondary school students who don’t usually go to English-language poetry events,” the MPhil student at HKU adds.
Check out OutLoud’s Facebook page OutLoud Hong Kong 隨言香港 or their Instagram account @outloud_hk for updates and announcements for themed poetry nights.
Students from mainland China protested against the country's strict Covid restrictions, a rare scene since 1989
Chinese students took to streets holding blank sheets of paper to voice out anger against “Zero-Covid”.
By Cynthia Chan and Eve Qiao
On the night of November 28, Lu Lin* held a blank sheet of paper on the Chinese University of Hong Kong campus. The act was to express her anger over COVID-19 restrictions and measures in mainland China, which were blamed for delaying firefighters from reaching victims in a deadly fire in Xinjiang.
“I participated in demonstrations in Hong Kong in 2018. I wanted to join protests but did not get a chance back then in mainland China. I saw how well-organised a demonstration was in Hong Kong in 2018 by seeing how the Hong Kong police maintained order. But I am worried about being arrested by the police now. It was safer when there was no National Security Law in Hong Kong,” Lu says.
“But fear is not a reason for not speaking up. It is the responsibility of a university student to care about society,” the year four social science major student says.
Lu Lin* and other students protested in the central campus of the Chinese University of Hong Kong at 7 p.m..
Lu and other students organised a candlelight vigil on November 28, four days after the deadly fire in Xinjiang. According to media reports and videos circulated on various social media platforms, the fire broke out on November 24 in a residential building in Urumqi reportedly. It killed more than 10 people, including four children, as firefighters were not able to rescue the residents because of lockdown measures in the area.
Around 50 to 60 students joined the candlelight vigil as Lu recalls. They sang songs like “Do You Hear the People Sing” and “The Internationale” and chanted slogans such as “We do not want PCR tests! We want freedom!” and “We want to watch films and dine out!”
“I wanted to cry when I heard those slogans. It reminded me of suppression under the party’s rule when I stayed in the mainland,” Lu says.
“I have prepared for the worst. I am ready to face arrests or to run away from the site anytime. We also contacted some lawyers beforehand in case we were arrested,” she adds.
Blanks sheets of A4 white papers held by students symbolise a lack of freedom of speech, as posts and articles deemed “sensitive” were wiped from China’s internet by the country’s censorship apparatus.
Waves of protests erupted in different cities in China such as Beijing, Shanghai, Nanjing, Chongqing, Xiamen. Citizens and students took to streets and protested on university campuses to voice out their anger against the Chinese government’s COVID-19 restrictions.
The Chinese government announced relaxation of epidemic control policies in a statement released by the State Council on December 7, two weeks after the people took to the street. Measures such as compulsory quarantine arrangement for those tested positive cases were lifted and negative PCR test results to travel across cities were no longer required.
“My father in Chengdu does not need to do daily PCR testing anymore. He had been doing that every day for more than two months before the change of policy came,” Lu says.
“Relaxation of restrictions came all of a sudden. The government has exhausted most medical resources after three years and now it has no choice but to lift the ban. I organised a mass gathering in Hong Kong to fight for freedom and democracy. But these values can not coexist with their version of patriotism in China as the Chinese government gives no room for those values,” she says.
Sherry Zeng* lit up candles to commemorate the tragedy in Xinjiang happened on November 24. (Photo courtesy of Sherry Zeng)
Another university student Sherry Zeng*, who is studying in Hong Kong, also took part in a candlelight vigil on the Chinese University of Hong Kong campus on November 27 to vent her anger and grief about the tragedy in Xinjiang. This is her first time taking part in such an event.
“I felt pain when I first read about the fire in Urumqi on social media…but I dare not to attend mass gatherings as I am afraid of being caught. I want to graduate on time,” Zeng says.
“Lighting up candles is the safest way to express my feelings. I want to fight for freedom of speech and thoughts. I love China but not the government. My actions are expressions of my love for my country,” she adds.
Zeng, who is from Shenzhen, says local authorities announced that COVID-19 restrictions would be relaxed on December 8. Negative PCR test results are no longer required before entering indoor premises, and infected patients can be quarantined at home.
“I think the change in policy has something to do with protests in China,” she says.
Posters related to the fire in Xinjiang were posted on Chen Heitou’s university campus. (Photo courtesy of Chen Heitou)
University student Chen Heitou* witnessed a protest organised by his classmates at the university campus on November 27 for the first time.
“I learnt about the gathering from our hostel’s WeChat group. I went there with my camera,” says Chen, who is studying in Guangdong.
Standing at the front of the crowd with his camera, Chen took video of five students holding blank sheets of white paper and chanting slogans like ‘Why do we need to seek approval for seeing doctors outside school?’ and ‘Why are our opinions ignored?’ to vent their anger and frustration about the school policy.
“Some asked party leaders to step down. One girl shouted ‘My university life is ruined,’ with a crying voice,” he recalls.
Chen says the school has relaxed some restrictions, such as allowing more students to leave the campus a few days after the protest. Students leaving the campus needed to submit hard-passed applications from August to November in 2022.
Restrictions in Chen’s hometown, Haikou, Hainan have also been relaxed.
“Hainan is a tourist attraction and now tourists from other provinces are not required to undergo mandatory quarantine,” he says.
Chen thinks the protest may be one of the reasons that helps push for the change of policy.
“I think (the protest) may have contributed to the relaxation of restrictions, but it did not play a big role because I believe the state has its own considerations. It is impossible to make such a big change based on the opinions of some groups,” he says.
Chen says he and his schoolmates do not use the word “protest” to describe the action. They use words such as “that night” and “make your voice heard” when they refer to the night when they protested on campus.
“Before the protest, I understood ‘protest’ as a fierce confrontation between people and government and only happens outside China. But after that night, I feel like that protest is about people who have suffered and want to get an explanation of the unreasonable restrictions,” Chen says.
“To me, the protest is a way to vent out our long-accumulated dissatisfactions since the outbreak of the pandemic,” he says.
*Names changed at interviewees’ requests.
Edited by Ella Lang and Ryan Li Sub-edited by Chaelim Kim
Some students in mainland China spend money to secure internship opportunities.
By Fiona Dongye
Year Three student Zhong Qingya of Soochow University paid an agency RMB ¥35,000 (US $4,900) to get an internship this summer. She was worried that the pandemic, which has greatly weakened the economy, will make her job hunt difficult when she graduates next year.
Zhong came across the job-seeking agency on the social media platform WeChat in June 2022 when she failed to secure a summer internship, while some of her friends had gotten one or two offers.
“I feel really anxious. If I do not have any work experience in my resume this year, I will not be able to compete with others when I have to hunt for a job after graduation. Although the price was expensive for me, I paid without hesitation,” she says.
The agency helped Zhong secure a three-month online internship opportunity at ByteDance—the mother company of Chinese-version Tik Tok—lasting from June 1 to September 1.
“The agency told me that the internship would give me the opportunity to participate in Douyin’s community operation. I would have a chance to work with well-known creators, conduct user research, and improve the review and recommendation systems,” Zhong says.
“If I do not have any work experience in my resume this year, i will not be able to compete with others.”
A man claiming to be a ByteDance employee added Zhong on WeChat after she paid the agency.
“He told me that he was my mentor. Then he assigned work such as proofreading articles and copying and pasting data into excel sheets to me. The job’s nature was completely different from what the agency told me. I did not have a chance to get to know other people in the company or learn about the operation of the company,” she says.
After the internship, the agency gave her a certificate issued by Bytedance.
“But I later found out that this internship cannot pass background checks, which means if someone checks with Bytedance about my internship, no record can be found. So if I put this internship record in my resume, it is likely to be considered a fraud,” Zhong says.
A job or a scam?
Li Lan has been running a job-seeking agency that helps students like Zhong to find internships since 2016.
“When I first started my agency, students who sought help were usually incompetent students,” Li says.
“It is becoming more difficult to hunt for jobs due to the pandemic, so more and more students from top universities also seek help from us to look for internships, especially after 2020,” she says.
According to data from China’s Ministry of Education, the total number of college graduates was 9.09 million in 2021, up 350,000 from 2020.
Li says her agency usually has a network of employees working for tech giants such as Bytedance and Tencent. The agency pays these employees for referring students to work at their companies as interns.
“But now many companies have stricter management on internship referral. Some employees have been fired for selling internship opportunities to job agencies, so it is getting harder and harder for job-seeking agencies to sell internship opportunities to students. Some agencies scam students by asking someone to act as employees of certain companies to cheat on students,” she says.
“More and more students from top universities also seek help from us to look for internships.”
Li lan, a job-seeking agency
Li warns it is difficult to tell which job agencies are reliable.
“Some students encounter refund disputes when trying to get internships through agencies. Students should read contracts carefully to avoid troubles,” Li adds.
Alice Zhao is a career counselor at Nanjing University of Aeronautics and Astronautics.
“Students usually can find internship information from career centres of universities. Our school, for example, holds an internship-sharing session every year before the summer break. We also invite senior students and companies to give talks and some companies even recruit interns on campus,” Zhao says.
But Zhao says sharing sessions and talks have been canceled in the past three years due to the pandemic. “This makes it easy for students to be scammed,” she says.
“Many universities have increased their enrollment, resulting in more and more graduates in recent years. At the same time, the epidemic has affected the development of many industries, leaving fewer jobs for college students in the labour market,” Zhao says.
A gentleman attending the 2021 Suit Walk in Taipei, Taiwan. (Photo courtesy of Tai Wei-chien)
Photographers from Hong Kong and Taiwan take street snaps to capture fashion inspiration from passers-by.
By Carrie Lock
Many street-style photographers around the world are shooting people’s streetwear as they believe one’s unique identity, character and attitude towards life are shown through their clothes. Hong Kong street photographer Stacey Li* is one of them.
“Seeing people dressing up stylishly, I can feel that they are enjoying their lives. I want to make records for future generations so that they know how Hongkongers in the 2020s dress up,” she says.
Li started doing style snaps in the summer of 2021 and has been posting nearly 500 Hong Kong people in their trendy outfits on her Instagram account named @streetsnap.portrait with more than 730,000 followers.
From her experience, the photographer points out that pedestrians of different districts have distinctive styles of observation.
“Black, grey and white colours are prevalent among white-collar pedestrians in Central. Luxury brand logos may not appear in everyone’s outfit, but most of them care about styling details. For example, their shirts are beautifully ironed and accessories are used to present personal style,” Li says.
“People walking in Mongkok show their characteristics by choosing bold colours, whereas pedestrians in Causeway Bay have a good understanding of brands. They look stylish even in t-shirts and jeans,” she continues.
She observes that the personal traits of Hongkongers are showcased through accessories, hairstyle, use of colours and tattoos.
“Yet, compared with cities like New York and Tokyo, Hong Kong lacks diversity in looks mainly because of our climate. It limits people’s exploration in styling,” the photographer says.
Modern styles captured by Stacey Li at Mong Kok and Central. (Photo courtesy of Stacey Li)
Li regards Hong Kong as an unfriendly place to do on-the-street snaps.
“Although Hong Kong does not recognise portrait rights, street photographers are often attacked and accused of clandestine photo-taking, especially photographers like me who are not well-known by the public,” Li says, adding that it is the reason why she declines to reveal her full name.
“Also, Hongkongers are sensitive to cameras and walk so fast that I often fail to take a snap of their outfits,” she adds.
Despite all these, Li wishes to convey the message of love through her lens.
“One day I bumped into an elderly couple at IFC. Their moves caught my eyes so I went closer to observe them,” she shares.
“At first, I thought the husband was reminding his wife to wear her mask properly as she was covering her mouth. In fact, he said to his wife that he is going to buy her a lipstick. Later, I saw them holding each other’s hand and entering a makeup store,” she continues.
A heart-warming moment captured by Stacey Li at IFC. (Photo courtesy of Stacey Li)
In Li’s pictures, the couple is looking into each other’s eyes and holding hands. “I enjoy capturing moments about love, but not necessarily romantic relationships. People can feel the warmth of the photos,” she adds.
Street Style Snaps in Taiwan
Beyond Hong Kong, street photographer Kevin Tai Wei-chien in Taiwan also snaps pictures of the city’s most stylish.
“For me, street photography is an observation of people’s lives. I want to combine photography with something related to people’s lives, and what first came into my mind was outfit snap,” Tai, who developed an interest in fashion photography when reading his first GQ magazine as a kid, says.
He started street fashion photography when he was studying at university. Later, his work was recognised by GQ Taiwan.
“Having met and exchanged contact with the chief editor of GQ Taiwan at a brand function, I later contacted him and requested an opportunity to take snaps at Taipei Suit Walk organised by the publication,” he says.
Tai Wei-chien is a 26-year-old Taiwanese street photographer. (Photo courtesy of Tai Wei-chien)
After the event, he was invited to write style blogs for the magazine. “I still remember how excited I was at that time,” he continues.
He thinks it’s impossible to define the fashion style of the Taiwanese in general. But he can recognise cultural symbols shared by the local people from their outfits.
“What I mean by cultural symbol can be a certain fashion item which is popular across the country, it’s part of our collective memory. These days, when you see people wearing merch T-shirts with the Chinese name of a local restaurant, they must be Taiwanese because only Taiwanese know that restaurant and the inside joke,” the 26-year-old photographer says.
When taking snapshots, Tai picks pedestrians who look confident about their looks. To capture the best moment, he always stands behind a lamppost at the side of a crosswalk.
“It’s a covert spot for me to take quick snaps. The targets usually do not know they are shot as most of them are looking at the front or their destination,” he continues.
Similar to the situation in Hong Kong, only a few can make a living as full-time street photographers in Taiwan. Tai is a full-time fashion photographer working for several publications.
“Many street-style photographers need to do freelance jobs for their living. Other than taking snapshots on the street, we take photos for huge fashion events,” he says.
Stylish pedestrians on the street of Taipei City. (Photo courtesy of Tai Wei-chien)
Tai points out that fashion activities are widely available in Taiwan. Taipei Fashion Week and Taipei Suit Walk are some of the examples. And fashionistas show up whereas photographers can record their outfits outside the venue.
“Fashion event attendees tend to wear non-mainstream or uncommon items, which are not well-accepted by the public, as other attendees are able to appreciate their unique style,” he says.
The Culture of Street Style Photography
Street outfit snaps are by-products derived from fashion week, as Katherine Ho, senior fashion editor of Vogue Hong Kong notes.
“Street-style photography was present before the internet and social media. Fashion magazines reported and published street style during fashion week,” Ho says.
She says that style snaps can give outfit inspiration to ordinary people.
“Models and fashion icons are tall and skinny, they are too perfect while street snaps showcase what people of different body shapes and colours are wearing. They are more relatable and applicable to ordinary people,” she says.
Ho also observes that street-style photography is not popular in Hong Kong because of the lack of local fashion activities.
“There are a number of big fashion events in other countries which attract fashionistas to attend. So they provide more working opportunities for overseas street-style photographers,” she points out.
Only a few fashion events are held in the city like the annual fashion week organised by the Hong Kong Trade Development Council, where fashionistas can dress up and show up every year but people know little about them, according to the fashion editor.
“If more fashion activities are held in the city, the culture of street style photography may flourish,” she continues.
2022 was a difficult year for the entire world, and we are still running into obstacles and resistance as the pandemic develops. In this issue of Varsity, our reporters have written about people who suffered greatly and other numerous touching stories.
In the periscope section, Varsity reporters interviewed women from Iran and those who protested mainland China’s harsh “Zero-Covid” policy. They struggle for independence and freedom in their own nations. The screams and roars of the victims in the stories are a testament to bravery.
The footsteps of artists were never stopped by the pandemic. No matter the street photographer Stacey Li or Charlotte Lui who draws sketches on the metro, they are chasing their goals in a special way. These Stories are available in our lifestyle and people section.
This issue of Varsity also featured other social topics. For example, recent government papers related to city hygiene problems are pushing scavengers to the corner. They already survive in the lowest level of Hong Kong society and now their living space is even more limited. Ice factories supplying one third of the daily ice demand of the whole city are facing the risk of being shut down due to the change of land use by the government.
Aristotle once said, “Courage is the first of human qualities, because it is the quality which guarantees the others.” I sincerely hope the stories in the December issue can bring courage and hope to our audience. There are people struggling but never give up fighting.
Jerry, who is the person-in-charge of Tai Yuen (泰源) in Fo Tan’s East and West Food Markets, has been working at the stall for more than 30 years.
'Wok hei', meaning 'breath of wok', can only be achieved under conditions of intense heat with dai pai dong's cooking range.
Customers having lunch outdoors at a dai pai dong in Sham Shui Po.
