I Hope to Film till I Die

December 18, 2020

Director Chow Kwun-wai discusses his two popular films, Beyond the Dream and Ten Years, his strong character, and his lifelong goals as a filmmaker.

By Isaiah Hui

Beyond the Dream’s total box office exceeded HK $15 million and won Best Adapted Screenplay at Taiwan’s Golden Horse Awards – dubbed the Chinese-language “Oscars”. Despite these achievements, its director, Kiwi Chow Kwun-wai, thinks it is a difficult time for the film industry.

Chow says the pandemic greatly impacted the box office of Beyond the Dream as cinemas were temporarily closed because of the deadly coronavirus.

“The release dates of Beyond the Dream were suspended, and we had merely released our film for thirteen days. That period was crucial for promotion. When the cinemas were reopened after nearly one and a half months, the heat of promotion had already faded,” Chow says.

“Not only my film, but also other films’ box offices have been affected. Everything is interrelated. If my film’s box office is bad, it would affect me in the future if I want to find people to invest in my film. Those impacts exist,” the 41-year-old man says.

The director says impacts brought by the pandemic to film industry are a global issue, and people must wait for the end of the pandemic.

“Unless you want to film a recent story, when you film a street view and find that all passengers are wearing a mask, this kind of shot (could be problematic). I have also heard that some crews had infection cases, and quarantine was needed. So, many films haven’t resumed their works. They don’t dare to. They delay,” he says.

Director Chow Kwun-wai with the background of a poster of *Beyond the Dream*.

Ten Years

Chow is famous for directing one of the five short stories in Ten Years, a Hong Kong film depicting a dystopian future of the city, which was released in 2015 and quickly garnered international attention.

“The resistance is larger, so is the suppression.”

Five years after its release, Chow says the situation today is very close to the film’s prediction, “the resistance is larger, so is the suppression.”

“At that time (when Ten Years was filmed), we were arguing whether the scene of riot police beating people was exaggerated, but it turns out to be the norm today,” Chow sighs.

Despite this, Chow says it is encouraging to see many people are prepared to go onto the street although situation in Hong Kong was miserable last year.

“They are willing to sacrifice for Hong Kong. The film Ten Years uses the role of a self-immolator to ask a question about sacrifice: Someone is willing to self-immolate, how much do you want to sacrifice for Hong Kong?” Chow says the social movement in 2019 has given him an answer that further motivates him.

Chow, who is a keen Christian, says audience could hardly spot the Christian elements in Ten Years, “Most of the public screenings took place at churches and divine schools, and Jesus is actually another kind of self-immolator.”

He adds that he deliberately included the element of suffering in the ideology of both Beyond the Dream and Ten Years.

Chow is also determined that, as a film producer, he is obliged to film Ten Years.

“First, I have a religious belief and I am not scared. Second, I know I am not alone.” Chow attributes his determination to his own religion and the social movement in 2019.

Determination

“I hate examinations, but I asked myself whether I was willing to study for the sake of cinematography.”

Chow’s path to be a director is not a smooth one. Failed the English subject in the Hong Kong Certificate of Education Examination, he was forced to start working at an early age. He worked as a coolie, a CD shop worker, a mooncake factory worker and an ice-cream store worker before he decided to retake the public examination.

“I thought I could be a self-taught movie master, but I failed. I hate examinations, but I asked myself whether I was willing to study for the sake of cinematography,” Chow explains why he retook the exam twice in order to enter the Hong Kong Academy for Performing Arts (HKAPA).

“I remember the days in HKAPA when we had to do a film project with a limited budget. I was so determined that we must have a scene decorated like a household that I went to the waste station to pick out the suitable furniture,” Chow reminisces.

“Until last week, my parents still thought that my job as a freelance movie director was not stable, and they persuaded me to change to a full-time occupation. I didn’t listen to them as I really want to make movies. I even rejected an offer to work as a lecturer,” Chow says.

Chow is always determined in doing what he has decided.

Future

Chow is pessimistic about the future of film production as the freedom of local film production has been limited since the advent of national security law. He describes this as “a future that we don’t want to see”, a line used in Ten Years.

Chow thinks that the room for creativity is narrowing, “The Office for Film, Newspaper and Article Administration asked the Inside the Red Brick Wall to open with a warning that its content ‘may be unverified or misleading’. Maybe it is just a start. Maybe more films will be banned because of political censorship,” Chow says.

The film documenting last year’s siege of the Hong Kong Polytechnic University was made by a collective of anonymous directors.

For movies produced in Hong Kong, Chow says they can be categorised into movies co-produced by Hong Kong and mainland film production companies and movies produced by local Hong Kong companies.

Chan fears that even films funded entirely by Hong Kong people would also cater to the taste of the Chinese market.

“Co-production film caters to the mainland market, and it has experienced (political) censorship; whereas local film doesn’t need to be censored. I felt that they have been merged as China wants ‘one country, one system’. I felt the risk of the ‘fusion’ of both movie types, a bad fusion,” Chow says that the inferior currency is now supplanting the superior one.

Speaking of his coming project, Chow says his next film will be about education.

“I am planning for a film about the education system. As what I have said, my childhood was rebellious. I resisted the education system. I have a strong feeling against an education system that stresses exams because I was a failure under this system, and it is also this kind of system that makes me endure a lot. I want to try this topic,” Chow says.

“Cinematography is my lifelong pursuit. I hope to film till I die,” the film director concludes.

Edited by Lasley Lui & Regina Chen

Unsung Hero

December 19, 2020

Kang Jung-Hwa stayed in Daegu for longer time than the government suggested to the medical professionals. (Photo courtesy of Kang Jung-hwa) — (Photo courtesy of Kang Jung-hwa)

A veteran nurse who fought with COVID-19 at the frontline got diagnosed with the virus.

By Soweon Park in Seoul

Kang-Jung-hwa, who has been working as a nurse for 20 years in Jeonju, South Korea, volunteered to serve COVID-19 patients in Daegu, a city which was hit hard by the pandemic in February.

“Empty streets and people were in panic. It made me feel like I am in a zombie movie,” says Kang, recalling the first impression of the city when she arrived on March 2, 2020.

On February 28, 2020, the daily confirmed cases of COVID-19 in South Korea reached the peak at 909 patients. On the same day, Daegu, a city which is 230 kilometres from Seoul, reported 741 cases in the first wave of COVID-19 in the country.

Kang’s family was reluctant to let her go to Daegu fearing she might be infected by the deadly virus. But Kang insisted.

“I wanted to make my part of contribution with my medical knowledge and experience for the people, not as someone’s mum or wife but just myself,” Kang adds.

Kang resigned from her job on February 28, 2020 and went to Daegu. She could not be absent from the hospital which she used to work for in Jeonju for a long time. Also, she did not know when she would be back.

“My family and friends were worried about me, as I quit my job and went to do volunteer work. But I didn’t think that I was quitting my job, rather, I thought that I just worked for another hospital in Daegu. Also I have a belief that I can work at any hospital,” Kang says.

Serving COVID-19 Patients

Kang worked in a ward for COVID-19 patients at Yeungnam University Medical Center, which was the frontline of the battle against the pandemic.

The government recommended medical professionals to do volunteer work for four weeks, considering the fatigue and possibility of infection. But Kang stayed in Daegu for six weeks starting from March 2 to April 15, 2020.

“As soon as I arrived in the medical centre, I had a two-hour orientation tour and then I was led to a ward,” she says. The volunteer nurse was assigned to work for three two-hour shifts.

“Since it was too hard to work for long hours in full heavy protective gear, we took a two-hour break after working for two hours,” Kang says.

Kang says every medical worker had to wear personal protective equipment (PPE) from head to toe. With safety goggles and overshoes, the heavy protective gear is quite suffocating.

Medical professionals are required to wear heavy personal protective equipment. (Photo courtesy of Kang Jung-hwa)

“It feels like taking a sweat shower inside the protective clothing, and the pressure of goggles really hurts. I struggled with sore oozing from my nose bridge and ears,” Kang says.

Working at the frontline and taking care of the patients can be psychologically demanding to medical workers. “The ward I worked for was a place of life and death. I witnessed patients whose family couldn’t take care of them dying alone in a ward,” she says.

“Some patients who could not accept that they were diagnosed with COVID-19 were so mad that they spat at me. It was hard to make them understand and accept the situation,” she adds.

After all the volunteering work, Kang received an award certificate for her sacrifice. (Photo courtesy of Kang Jung-hwa)

The Nurse Became a Patient

“In the fourth week of volunteering, most patients were close to full recovery and some were discharged from the hospital,” Kang recalls.

On April 15 when the daily confirmed cases of COVID-19 dropped to one, Kang decided to go back to home.

After the six-week volunteer work, she had to undergo two weeks of self-monitoring in a hotel in Daegu.

“I wished it were a dream. I was getting ready to go back home but just sent to the hospital instead.”

On April 28, a day before she was supposed to return home and meet her family, she was diagnosed with COVID-19. “I wished it were a dream. I was getting ready to go back home but just sent to the hospital instead,” Kang says.

She did not have any symptoms of COVID-19, so the diagnosis was a shock to her. “I still don’t know how I got infected,” she says.

After she became a patient, she suffered from depression and panic disorder.

“I couldn’t sleep and eat well. During the 31-day of treatment, I realised how sad, lonely and frustrated the patients I helped were,” Kang says.

Trace Left by COVID-19

Although Kang is now completely cured, she is still suffering from after effects of COVID-19.

“I lost my sense of smell. It’s getting better, but I sometimes still burn my rice. And also, I have muscle pain, particularly my legs,” she says.

Kang used to go hiking on weekends, but she cannot do long walk now.

Having experienced a dramatic change from being a nurse to a patient, Kang urges people not to blame the COVID-19 patients and survivors. “No one wants to be infected. Anyone can be infected, just like I was. We think ill of COVID-19 patients, but they are all infected by someone,” she says.

Edited by Lasley Lui & Regina Chen

Break the Norms

December 18, 2020

Pornstar June Liu shares her pornstar’s life and experience.

By Vivian Cao in Yunnan

Some people criticise June Liu for corrupting the image of Chinese women, but the 22-year-old Chinese pornstar still enjoys her career. Her stage name is Spicygum in Pornhub, one of the largest pornographic video sites in the world.

Liu has about three hundred thousand followers on Pornhub and nearly four hundred thousand followers on Twitter. Starting from the end of April last year to now, Liu has owned up to 200 porn videos with copyright protection.

Facing Bad Comments

“Misunderstandings are unavoidable, especially for porn industry which is controversial and uncommon,” Liu says.

Information asymmetry is the main reason for misunderstandings.

Many people who live in China know little about Liu because of the Great Firewall – a complex, multi-layered system censors and controls the internet, blocking access to Twitter, Facebook, and other foreign websites.

“They know me through other people’s eyes and mouths. The hostility of netizens is quite serious nowadays,” she says.

Liu says she has to face hostility, criticism, and misunderstanding every day. When reading the many bad comments, she even thought of giving up.

But she gathers herself when seeing messages left by her fans on her Pornhub page or Twitter chatbox. She cites a message from a fan: “Your videos give me warmth when I feel lonely.”

“I cannot give up just because someone hates me, there are many people still like me,” Liu adds that many fans are looking forward to watching her videos.

“I cannot give up just because someone hates me, there are many people still like me.”

Liu and her Pornhub Bobby Pin. (Photo courtesy of June Liu)

The Pornstar’s Life

Liu reveals there is no specific reason leading her to become a pornstar. She just wants to try. “Like you never ate durian before and one day you give it a try,” she says.

Taking videos when she has sex is her daily routine. “Before I become a pornstar I took videos by myself when I had sex. Those early-stage videos are actually part of my life,” Liu says.

She thinks sharing her sex videos is not only a way to share her daily life but also a way to express herself. She does not feel insecure when her body is exposed in front of the camera because she likes her body.

Since she started uploading videos on Pornhub, Liu insists on running her Pornhub page by herself without hiring by companies.

Other than making her videos of her own, Liu now also helps some newbies who want to enter the industry managing their Pornhub pages and editing videos.

Liu got nominated for Pornhub Awards 2020. (Photo courtesy of June Liu)

She thinks she is a considerate helper for them. With the experience of being a newbie, she knows it is not easy to be famous.

“I give the newbies autonomy and room for improvement,” Liu says.

Liu is busy every day as she is also a final year university student studying in London. In her view, studying is more tiring than working.

“My major is too theoretical which cannot usually be used in daily life,” Liu says.

She declines to reveal the name of her school and what she is studying, however.

“If this kind of personal information is published, many people would ask for a personal meeting with me. It is troublesome for me,” Liu explains.

First Sex Lesson

By reading books, watching movies and porn videos, Liu learned things about sex when she was a teenager. Before becoming a pornstar, she thought she knew everything about sex.

“But I was wrong. The audience has many peculiar fantacies about sex and many are unknown to me,” Liu says.

Liu thinks making porn videos is a learning process and it is a way to help people turn their sexual fantasies into reality.

She needs to study before preparing a customised video which includes special demands.

Liu explains: “Everyone’s orgasm is different. For example, some people may ask me to wear a stocking inside a pant which is very strange to me.”

“Where is this sex fetish comes from? Why is it attractive? How should I express it through my performance? I must figure these out or my videos have no soul,” Liu adds.

Being a Professional Amateur

Liu believes being real and passionate are the highlights of her videos.

Her videos are very popular in Pornhub. Liu’s Pronhub page has 36 million views and her public videos were watched by more than a million people, some of them even own more than five million views.

“A standard style and tag may bring a burst of popularity to me for a short while. But it will trap my creativity and performance.”

“Amateur style can give me more freedom to shoot and edit which can make my videos more realistic,” Liu says.

The amateur style also helps Liu to keep the passion alive. “When one thing becomes a job, you may get tired. I do not want to hate sex,” she adds.

She avoids confining herself, so she can adjust performance according to a plot.

“A standard style and tag may bring a burst of popularity to me for a short while. But it will trap my creativity and performance,” Liu says.

In her videos, she breaks the stereotype that women should be passive in sex. She shows an aggressive role in most of her videos.

Liu explains: “It is my personality. Acting passively one or two times is acceptable. If I always go against my nature, my passion will burn out.”

Edited by Lasley Lui & Regina Chen

Look Good, Feel Good

December 17, 2020

Natasha Moor, Founder and CEO of Natasha Moor Cosmetics (Photo Courtesy Ali G Studios) — Natasha Moor, founder and CEO of Natasha Moor Cosmetics. (Photo courtesy of Ali G Studios)

Makeup artist Natasha Moor helps women look their best to feel their best.

By Agnes Lam

Born and raised in Hong Kong, Natasha Moor is an Indian makeup artist who specialises in bridal makeup and an entrepreneur running her own cosmetic line. The 30-year-old is also a COVID-19 survivor.

Moor was diagnosed with COVID-19 in March after returning from a business trip in London. She was hospitalised for 34 days in Caritas Medical Centre. Feeling bored when being treated in the hospital, she posted makeup tutorial videos and snippets of her life in the hospital on Instagram.

Doing makeup helped lift her spirits when fighting against the virus.

“I asked my dad to send me some cosmetic products so I could do some tutorials in my free time in the hospital. So I could feel more confident, and I did,” Moor says.

Her strong will not only helps her fight the deadly virus, it is also the foundation of her successful career.

Natasha Moor, founder and CEO of Natasha Moor Cosmetics. (Photo courtesy of Ali G Studios)

Moor had a love affair with makeup ever since she was a child. “When I was a primary three pupil, my teacher almost got fired by the school because I did her makeup every day,” she says.

She thinks her grandmother had a strong influence on her childhood. “My grandmother never leaves the house without makeup. Even when I video call her now, she has to put on lipstick first,” she says.

Moor became a public relations executive after graduation. She worked with luxurious diamond jewellery companies such as Chopard. She was often praised for her makeup. Later on, she started doing freelance makeup jobs on the side.

“I really loved it. It was all about passion,” she says. Moor resigned from her job after a year and did a six-week makeup course at Lia Schorr Institute in New York in 2012.

“As my business grows, more respect is earned.”

Natasha Moor at Cosmoprof Las Vegas in July, 2019. (Photo courtesy of Natasha Moor)

“Some people think that because you are touching people’s faces when doing their makeup, you are lowering your standards as a person,” she says.

Being a makeup artist was considered more of a blue-collar job rather than a respectable white-collar. “As my business grows, more respect is earned,” she adds.

Her passion for doing makeup eventually wins support from her parents who were not keen to tell relatives about Moor’s work when she started her career as a makeup artist.

“I think it is about Asian culture. We want our children to be doctors, lawyers, not an artistic occupation,” Moor says.

“Now a lot of parents tell me that their daughters want to be like me. Their daughters want to become makeup artists too,” she adds.

Moor mostly does makeup for brides now. “It is like the biggest day of their life, they are so excited to look beautiful,” she says.

“Models are paid to look beautiful. But brides have this crazy confidence when I do their makeup,” she says. Moor realises that makeup is a transformative tool that can help boost a woman’s confidence.

“I cannot do everyone’s makeup all over the world forever,” Moor says. So, she created a makeup brand in 2017. She wants women to be confident by doing their makeup with her products.

The empowerment element is important for Moor’s brand. For example, lipsticks in her cosmetic line are named Ambition, Goal Digger, and Indestructible. “I want women to wear ambition and feel what they have is ambition,” she says.

Apart from working as a makeup artist, Moor is very active with charity work. She often visits women’s shelters, orphanages and drug rehabilitation centres in Bali, Jakarta, Mumbai, Compton, Los Angeles, San Diego, and Hong Kong.

Natasha at Care for Kids Bali, Jodie O_Shea House in Bali May, 2018. (Photo courtesy of Natasha Moor)

Moor started the initiative ‘Do Moor’ in 2017 and visited women’s shelters.

“I want to give a confidence boost to women who do not have that access to makeup. Women who do not have money and experience. Women who do not even know they can feel this confident just by putting on makeup,” she says.

“I want to give a confidence boost to women who do not have that access to makeup.”

Moor did makeup for women in shelters and rehabilitation centres just the same way she did it for her clients.

Moor visited an orphanage in Bali in 2018. The weather was rainy during that visit. She was heartbroken to see children walking barefoot in the rain.

“We spent so much time. We received so much from donations. We tried to take care of the kids. But how come they were barefoot?” she says, when talking about her experience in Bali.

This gave her an idea to create slippers called ‘sole mate’ for children at orphanages and underprivileged children. During her March trip to Mumbai with Spark-A-Change foundation, she gave children ‘sole mate’ slippers.

She believes that the world needs more kindness and she strives to deliver positivity through her work and brand.

“Empowerment means being able to support another person without having to tell the world. Doing it from your heart genuinely is what matters. You don’t have to step on anyone to get anywhere. Just be a kind person,” she says.

Edited by Lasley Lui & Regina Chen

Werq the World

December 16, 2020

“The biggest advantage of being a drag queen is that I can be what I want to be.”

By Sarah Ryou in Jakarta

Turning Jong-in to Jong-ja

Jung Jong-in starts his day thinking about what makeup he wants to wear every day. “Before I put on makeup, I think of a concept first. From there I start to choose a colour and an accessory that I want to wear,” the 18-year-old drag artist who is also known as Jong-ja says.

“I get inspiration from everything around me. A single leaf falling from a tree can inspire me. After finishing my makeup, I wear a wig that goes well with my make-up,” Jung says.

“I feel thrilled and excited whenever I turn myself from Jong-in to Jong-ja.”

He once was inspired by Beyonce’s performance in a concert. He bought wigs and costumes that look like Beyonce and did make-up just like the American singer.

“I feel thrilled and excited whenever I turn myself from Jong-in to Jong-ja,” he says.

Jung started dressing up and performing as a drag queen after watching a YouTube video a few years ago. “When I first watched a drag queen clip on YouTube, it struck me to core of my heart and I wanted to find out more,” Jung says.

“With strong interest, I started to watch RuPaul’s Drag Race on Netflix. I was inspired by the drag performance and found courage to dress up as drag costume myself,” he says. RuPaul’s Drag Race is one of the most famous drag Queen competition shows featuring drag artists’ fashion, performance, and stories.

Perceptions of Drag Culture

Drag queens are men who dress up in fancy costumes to deliver performance.

Dot Face, a South Korean YouTube channel, showcases stories of LGBTQ, drag culture and other minorities who are not widely known to the public. The general attitude is quite negative due to a lack of knowledge of the subject.

Jung points out people have limited access to learn more about drag culture, as their performance can only be seen in clubs and queer festivals.

Due to the lack of understanding, he often comes across with people who ask him questions such as: Isn’t it strange for a man to dress up like a woman? And some would say to him that “Man should be manly”.

“It sometimes discourages me when people criticise my work. But I know I have friends and families who support me. Now, I have the courage and confidence to fight against these negative gazes,” Jung says.

“Why do men need to look like men? What is it like to be a man? I think what I do can also be defined as man. The way you look doesn’t define your sexual identity. Being brave and being yourself is the way to show your personality,” Jung says.

Being Jong-ja

Jung hosts shows and performs at drag clubs.

“Before becoming a drag queen, I always felt that part of me was missing. I feel that the mood of the society is suppressing me from being truly who I am. Whenever I am having a hard time and want to let everything go, drag culture lifts me up and gives me confidence,” Jung says.

When performing drag shows, Jung dances, sings, does catwalk in fashion shows, acts, and even does stand-up comedy. He uses the stage to tell the audience to accept drags as who they are.

Yet as a minor, he has limitations in performing drag shows, as most shows are held in bars or clubs. In Korea, youngsters aged under 18 are prohibited to enter bars or clubs. Jung can only perform in drag clubs which are open for teenagers.

Jung has been invited to attend television programmes to tell his story and he also runs his own YouTube channel which now has about 5,000 subscribers.

“A lot of people seem to know drag art exists, as the media reports about it. But judging from comments on YouTube or other social media platforms, many still think it is a shame that I dress up like a woman,” Jung says.

“I am not upset, but I hope they will think differently one day. I want to break the stereotypes. I wish drag culture could be accepted as popular art culture,” he adds.

Jung thinks drag culture does not belittle or ridicule women, but he is aware that it is a sensitive subject.

“I am always very careful and aware about what I say and how I act during my performance and in my YouTube videos. I think that drag artists, including myself, should accept comments by others. This is a lifelong assignment for drag artists,” Jung says.

To those who do not accept the drag culture, Jung says, “Some may dislike us, and I can understand. All of us live in the same world, but how we live, and what ideology we have is a different matter. As long as people respect each other and respect diversities in culture, then it is fine. But it is intolerable to publicly spread false information about drag culture.”

Many drag queens including Jung have lost stages to perform due to the pandemic.

“The biggest advantage of being a drag queen is that I can be what I want to be.”

“This is a tough time for me and all the drag artists. I’m pretty sure that is the same for everyone these days. I want to give people pleasure and give them inspiration through my performance,” Jung says.

“I hope the audiences look at me and drag culture without prejudice. The biggest advantage of being a drag queen is that I can be what I want to be. There are so many ways to express myself. The most important thing is I feel happy,” Jung adds.

Edited by Lasley Lui & Regina Chen

Chill in the Chilly

December 19, 2020

Exotic flavours of ice cheese such as spicy chilly oil tickle people’s taste buds in an ice-cream shop in Shaanxi.

By Coco Zhang in Shaanxi

Have you ever tried chilly ice cream? Wu Chunye and Hai Bin, who founded Shan Shi San in Xi’an, Shaanxi in 2013, are the inventors of the spicy flavour.

Shan Shi San, a Xi’an local ice cream shop, is decorated in an ancient architectural style.

Inspired by Italian gelato, they use local produce in the province such as chilly, corn and fruit to make ice-cream and name their product “ice-cheese”(冰酪).

“Ice-cheese is a combination of the Chinese flavour and Italian gelato. It is handmade and low-fat,” Wu says.

People in the province like spicy food, and “red chili oil” is an indispensable ingredient in Shaanxi’s cuisine. They grind qinjiao, a local red pepper, peanut, sesame and other spices and splash the mixture with hot oil.

Wu and Hai create “red chili oil” ice-cream and it is a top seller in the shop.

Liu Yuhang, a visitor from Guangdong, goes to the ice cream store by recommendation from his friends studying in Xi’an. After trying red chili oil ice-cheese, he says: “It’s spicy and distinctive.”

Apart from the “red chili oil” ice cheese, the store has 103 types of flavours. “Lintong pomegranate” flavour, “Hancheng Chinese prickly ash” flavour and “Sanyuan sesame” flavour are all made of local ingredients. It costs RMB ¥25 (US $4) for two scoops with a cookie.

Another signature product the store has is tiger tally cookie.

“Shaanxi is a fertile region. But it is hard to find gifts with innovative design, exquisite craftsmanship and beautiful packaging in the market,” Hai says.

Tiger tally was issued to generals for troop movement in ancient times, and this treasure is a highlight in Shaanxi History Museum. Inspired by the history and special presentation of tiger tally, the pair makes cookies modeling on the shape and design of it.

Li Hao, a visitor from Beijing says: “I really want to buy some gifts with historic culture of Shaanxi. The cookies are delicious and well-packaged, and I believe my family will like this gift.”

If you want to give spicy ice-cream a try and take a bite of tiger tally cookies, you can find out more about Shan Shi San on Dianping (大眾點評), a leading shop review website in the Mainland.

Edited by Lasley Lui

Silent Bakery

December 19, 2020

A touching story behind a bakery in Changsha draws crowds to buy bread.

By Coco Zhang in Shaanxi

Bach Bakery is a quiet shop, as bakers are hearing impaired. The shop sells a variety of traditional German bread, including sugar-free bread. A card is attached to a bread tray listing all nutrient content in the shop.

Red card means the bread contains sugar, and blue means sugar-free.

Most of the bread costs no more than RMB ¥10 (US $1.5). You can buy a cinnamon roll and a cup of coffee at RMB ¥18 (US $3) and enjoy a wonderful afternoon tea.

Pretzel (left), a very particular salty bread in Germany with special production technique and unique taste. Cinnamon roll (right), the best seller in Bach Bakery.

Uwe Brutzer, founder of the bakery, is from Germany. He is better known as Wu Zhengrong in China.

Wu has run Bach Bakery for nine years in Changsha, a famous tourist city in Hunan Province.

The bakery owner, Wu Zhengrong, stands behind the counter.

“Bach’s music is perfect. We named the bakery Bach because we also want to produce perfect German bread,” Wu says.

There are four bakers and two apprentices in this traditional German bakery, and all of them are hearing impaired.

“Bakers and apprentices have their way of communicating. Apprentices are lucky because they can’t find another place where sign language is used to teach them,” Wu says.

Every trainee undergoes three-month training and a two-month paid internship before working as qualified bakers.

“Every piece of bread is made of love,” Wu says. “People who want to support their career always come to buy bread made by our bakers,” he adds.

Customer is buying traditional German bread.

Wu has been living in China for more than 20 years. He can speak fluent mandarin. Wu loves to share everything about his life with his customer, especially his volunteering experience in China. Photos on the wall tell what he has done these years.

Wu and his wife went to Taiwan to study Chinese in 1997. Then they have settled in Changsha since 2002. Before they opened the bakery, they have worked in the China Disabled Persons Federation (CDPF) of Hunan to provide professional rehabilitation training for hearing-impaired children for nine years.

“The deaf communicate in sign language. They have flexible fingers, so they are good at handwork,” Wu says

“I’m wondering how to help the deaf make a living like other people. I think being a baker is a practical way, as they can make use of their strengths,” he adds.

If you want to know more about their stories and support this loving bakery, you may visit their website www.bachs-bakery.com or visit the bakery when you travel to Changsha.

Edited by Lasley Lui

E-Book

December 16, 2020

City of Silence – Editor’s Note

November 12, 2020

With the introduction of the national security law this year, fear is in the air in Hong Kong.

Content providers in journalism, publications and music industry are worried whether their creation will lead them to legal traps.

Our Periscope section looks into creative industry’s fear under the new law. We try to look at content providers who are affected by the law and their ways of coping with the situation.

Soon after the law was introduced, books written by prominent pro-democracy figures were removed from public library shelves, triggering fears and concern for freedom of speech. We talk to independent booksellers to understand their worries about vagueness of the law.

Security concern when doing reporting or conducting interviews grows after the implementation of the law. Some journalists are self-censoring their works to avoid violating the law. We speak to journalists to learn their concerns and worries about press freedom that Hong Kong was once proud of.

Local music producers are also in fear when writing music about social issues in Hong Kong. We reach out to local music producers to learn their thoughts on how the law is having an impact on the music industry.

This issue of Varsity also features a wide range of stories in different places, such as Chinese students’ visas being cancelled by the U.S. and cinemas hit by COVID-19 in China, pregnant women doing strength training in Taiwan, press freedom under threat in Indonesia, and overworked delivery workers in South Korea. We also have coverage about Hong Kong on other issues such as young people starting e-business amid the pandemic, overworked domestic helpers, popular trend of eating vegetarian food and online counseling service. Enjoy the read!

Regina Chen

Chief Editor

Vocals are Muted?

November 14, 2020

Scene in the music video produced by Fong. (Photo courtesy of Fong King-lok)

Local music creators are worried about the increasing risks of political music creation due to national security law.

By Mandy YIM

Contagious Fear over the Law

“I will avoid using terms like “Free Hong Kong, revolution now” or replace the phrase with other terms when I write songs,” says Sunny Lam, a local political singer who has been creating music videos about political issues since 2014. With more than seventy thousand subscribers on his YouTube channel, Lam expresses fear over the national security law which came into effect on June 30.

He is concerned about the ambiguity in the law. “The government interprets everything,” Lam says. “Once the government says you violate the law, then you are,” Lam adds.

Having published two songs about the Prince Edward 831 incident on his channel, Lam worries about being arrested. “I thought about giving up (producing political songs) in August,” he says. “With the introduction of the law, the government may say I am spreading rumours through my songs about the 831 incident,” he adds.

Sunny Lam creates and performs his own political music. (Photo courtesy of Sunny Lam)

On August 31, 2019, police entered Prince Edward MTR station to arrest people after receiving reports that protesters assaulted members of the public and damaged station properties. Video footage showed police pepper-spraying protesters inside a train carriage and ordering them to kneel against a wall with their hands on their heads before making arrests. Commuters protected themselves with umbrellas, but some were still seen bleeding from head injuries. The event generates unsubstantiated claims of deaths that have been repeatedly denied and denounced by police and government officials.

Lam says some netizens he has worked with share his fear. “Some netizens wrote lyrics for some of my songs about Hong Kong. They told me they would stop doing it because of the law,” he says.

People around Lam, especially his parents, advise him to stop his production to avoid violation of the law. “I used the phrase “black cops” many times in most of my songs. I may soon be arrested,” Lam says.

Despite his fear of being arrested, Lam says he will keep producing new songs and post them on his YouTube channel. “I am scared, but I won’t stop doing it,” he says. “I am still passionate about music creation,” he adds.

Lam believes that creating songs about current issues can arouse public awareness. “Some people may not care about politics. Some may find news boring. Music can repackage news by adding different styles to it such as a sense of humour,” he says.

Law predicts a decline in audience as people may tend to discuss political issues less openly under the law. “I’ve never thought the situation would become like this. In the past, I thought this only happens in China. Now, Hong Kong is the same,” Lam says.

“In the past, I thought this only happens in China. Now, Hong Kong is the same.”

Survive under a Vague Law

Another music producer Fong King-lok also shares Lam’s feelings. “I do not expect the law to come so soon,” Fong says. “(Despite the law,) we will continue to create music and sing our minds,” he adds.

Fong, an executive committee member of the Hong Kong Professional Teachers’ Union, has devoted to music production for more than 20 years. He wrote a Cantonese song with his friends about how ordinary citizens resist the government. The team published the music video on YouTube in May.

Fong describes his team as a group of people who care about Hong Kong. “We want to entertain ourselves and voice out our thoughts and resonate with people through music,” he says. “Music can help everyone express their thoughts. It is not just an idea. It can be watched, listened to and shared with others. As a creator, this is the greatest joy,” he adds.

Yet, he loses motivation to produce music after the law was introduced in June. “Frankly speaking, the law makes me feel discouraged. I lose the will to express my opinion,” he says. Fong thinks the lack of room for tolerance and respect for different opinions in the city is suffocating.

Similar to Lam, Fong points out the vagueness in the law creates fear. “What is sedition? What is subversion? Does singing a song mean sedition? Is national security that easy to be interfered with?” he says.

“Our team is not a group of young frontline protesters. We are relatively moderate. Even so, we have worries.” Fong says.

He also feels surprised about the current situation. “I have lived (in Hong Kong) for more than 40 years, and I have never seen a situation like this before,” Fong adds.

Fong says he will not stop making music. “We will not change the theme of our music. All the productions we do are related to society,” he says.

“Any change may cause a lot of ripples but may also bring a lot of hope,” he says. Fong believes the most beautiful music is created at the hardest time. “I don’t believe music creation will die,” he adds. He is planning to create a song about saying goodbye to Hong Kong.

Power of Linguistics

Heartgrey, a three-time Chinese Beatbox Champion who represented Hong Kong at the 2012 Beatbox Battle World Championship, has produced music about political affairs in Hong Kong. He says that it is important for music creators to survive in their own ways. “Music creators can use less explicit words in their lyrics,” he says.

Last year, Heartgrey produced a song titled “Under Mountain” with his friends to express their feelings towards the Anti-Extradition Law Amendment Bill (Anti-ELAB) movement. The song was first performed in the King Maker II Final Competition on ViuTV. It then became a hit.

Heartgrey performed the song “Under Mountain” in the King Maker II Final
Competition on ViuTV. (Photo courtesy of Heartgrey)

Heartgrey thinks music can be a source of emotional support for Hong Kongers.

“Music creators are able to influence the public emotionally by playing guitar and composing songs.

“So, everyone can walk hand in hand with an optimistic vibe,” he says. “Given the tense atmosphere, music creators should make greater effort to send out our ray of sunshine,” he adds.

“Given the tense atmosphere, music
creators should make greater effort to send out our ray of sunshine.”

Heartgrey says there are still positive impacts of the law. He believes that the quality of language used in lyrics writing will be improved because producers will express their minds by using implicit words.

“We shouldn’t clash with the law directly,” he says. “And we have to stay alive. Don’t just bury ourselves into politics,” he adds.

Edited by Emilie Lui