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Night Owls in Universities

University students stay up to enjoy some "me time".

By Glacier He

Many university students stay up for leisure to make up for their “lost daytime”. 

Going to bed after 3 a.m. every Saturday is common for Cao Yibo. 

Staying up late, playing video games, watching videos or just swiping his smartphone aimlessly are the getaways for the Year Two student majoring in business administration at Guangxi University. 

Some of his classmates in his dormitory do the same.

“Our class schedule is tight on weekdays. So, after a long and tiring week, we need a break during weekends,” the 19-year-old student says. 

“Revenge bedtime procrastination is making up for my busy daytime. I can only have some ‘me time’ during late night hours,” Cao adds.

“Revenge bedtime procrastination is making up for my busy daytime. I can only have some ‘me time’ during late night hours.”

Make Up For the Mentality

“Revenge bedtime procrastination” refers to a phenomenon that people who have to study or work during daytime and stay up intentionally to enjoy some freedom.

“I started staying up late when I was in middle school. It was a boarding school and I could not surf online at school. So, whenever I had holiday, I stayed up late to check all the news and entertainment shows I missed during school days,” Cao says.

“It is often quiet at night. No one would bother me. I just think that I must have some ‘me time’ and make good use of it,” he adds.

Cao thinks this habit brings him more good than harm. 

“I may have black rims around my eyes and hair loss, but I think it is worthwhile. It makes me feel relaxed, peaceful and relieved. I can think many things about myself or just order a food delivery to please myself,” Cao says.

Cao stays up in his dormitory, swiping his phone. (Photo courtesy of Cao Yibo)
 

The pandemic also has had impacts on university students’ sleeping time.

Chinese Sleep Research Society published a white paper (2020全民宅家期間中國居民睡眠白皮書）on the sleeping habits of Chinese residents during the lockdown period on March 14, 2020. 

The study was based on data from 2,004 participants who responded to a sleep questionnaire between January 1, 2020 and February 29, 2020. And Chinese Sleep Research Society found that people’s sleeping time was delayed by two to three hours during the pandemic.

“I have to stay at home most of the time and have nothing to do during the pandemic. That makes me feel anxious,” Cao says.

“Because of my anxiety, I go to bed much later even though I am not as busy as at school,” he adds.

“Because of my anxiety, I go to bed much later even though I am not as busy as at school.”

A Common Behaviour

Cao is not alone. This kind of work and sleep pattern is common among young people in China now.

Huami Corporation, a technology company that provides health services, released a report based on sleep health data on Xiaomi Sports App and more than 100,000 online questionnaires in 2019.

The report found that among Chinese people who stay up, 43 per cent were born in the 1990s and 27 per cent were born in the 2000s.

Liu Ziqi, a student majoring in financial technology at the Chinese University of Hong Kong, is also one of those who stays up.

“Sometimes I work on my assignments till midnight. Then I sit on my bed starting to swipe my phone. I know I do not really have anything important to do. But I just do not want to sleep,” the 20-year-old says.

“I know I do not really have anything important to do. But I just do not want to sleep.”

Liu says she stays up late because she is busy during daytime and she cannot have a good rest. 

“When I try to relax during daytime, I do not feel at ease because I still have other things to do. But at night I just feel time is unlimited and I have more freedom,” Liu explains.

But going to bed late is not always enjoyable for Liu.

“Actually, I do not feel good after staying up late. I feel sleepy and tired the next day. Things I do at night are boring. But I just do not want to close my eyes,” she says.

The university student also feels anxious and guilty when she stays up late.

“I find it difficult to get up the next day, and feel super uncomfortable both mentally and physically,” Liu says.

“I have tried to change my lifestyle and wish to go to bed earlier but it is so hard to control myself,” she adds.

Students who go to bed late tend to feel sleepy during daytime.

Find A Way Out

A mental health teacher at Beijing Polytechnic (Vocational College for Electronic Science & Technology), Zhu Xiantao, thinks university students stay up because they are anxious about their study and future.

“But going to bed late may lead to a vicious cycle. It is not a useful way to handle anxiety. They may feel more anxious and stay up even longer in the long run,” she says.

“Going to bed late may lead to a vicious cycle. It is not a useful way to handle anxiety. They may feel more anxious and stay up even longer in the long run.”

Zhu thinks one important way to solve the sleeping problem is to identify reasons behind their anxiety.

She suggests that students can talk with their peers or seek help from professionals such as psychologists to know why they feel anxious and stay up.

“The behaviour of revenge bedtime procrastination is also influenced by people around you. Maybe you and your friends can make a promise and supervise each other to form a habit of going to bed early,” she says.

Edited by Alice Wang
Sub-edited by Patricia Ricafort

Wear Your Heart on Your Skin

A girl with a tattoo related to the anti-ELAB movement. (Photo courtesy of Cara Wong Cho-ki)

Though the anti-ELAB movement is publicly dying down, some are choosing to get tattoos as a way for the movement to live forever.

By Gloria Chan Yi Lam

Sammy* received her first anti-Extradition Law Amendment Bill (anti-ELAB) tattoo on December 18, 2019.

The university student’s tattoo features a girl in black clothes who wears a respiratory mask and carries a yellow umbrella. The girl crouches in front of a rabbit that also wears a mask. The tattoo is on the upper back of Sammy’s right arm.

The design incorporates several iconic symbols of the social movement – black clothes, respiratory masks, and yellow umbrellas.

Sammy actively participated in the movement in 2019. “I feel like I have experienced a lot. I resonate so much with the tattoo,” the 22-year-old says.

The anti-ELAB movement began in 2019. It was triggered by a proposed bill that would have allowed criminal suspects to be extradited to mainland China.

Protests initially began over fears that the bill would expose Hong Kong residents and visitors to the mainland Chinese legal system and undermine Hong Kong’s autonomy. The protests have since developed into a broader movement for democracy and police accountability.

The social movement has died down during the pandemic. When Sammy looks at the tattoo at home, memories of the movement come to her mind. “I have the tattoo in memory (of the anti-ELAB movement),” she says.

“When I look at my tattoo, I feel touched. The tattoo reconnects me with my memories. It also reminds me of Hongkongers’ resilience, as I believe that they will not give up on the movement,” she adds.

Sammy does not mind letting her tattoo show. “I want others to see my tattoo and think about the meaning behind it. I will be in despair if I cannot express myself freely and legally with a tattoo on my arm in Hong Kong,” she says.

“I want others to see my tattoo and think about the meaning behind it.”

Sammy says she may get more tattoos related to the anti-ELAB movement if she comes up with other designs. “A tattoo is a sign of memory. If I do not remove it, it will stay with me forever. I hope my memories of those days stay in my heart forever,” she says.

Tattoo artist Cara Wong Cho-ki has been helping clients create tattoos related to the anti-ELAB movement since November 2019. Sammy is one of them.

Cara Wong Cho-ki says more clients ask for tattoos related to politics and the social movement. (Photo courtesy of Cara Wong Cho-ki)

Wong recalls that she had many clients asking for tattoos about the movement between November 2019 and February 2020.

“There are customers requesting this kind of tattoo occasionally (during the pandemic),” Wong says, adding that no client asked for tattoos related to politics before the anti-ELAB movement.

“Some want to remember this movement and remind themselves about it. They think that it is an important part of their lives,” Wong says.

Wong has always refused to do couple tattoos, since she thinks customers may regret having their tattoo if they break up in the future.

But she does not think customers would regret getting anti-ELAB tattoos. “I do not think my customers will change their political beliefs. Maybe people have argued about the best way to fight for the demands (of the social movement), but their point of view and their values will never change,” Wong says.

Wong says she has no legal concerns in doing tattoos related to the anti-ELAB movement despite the introduction of the National Security Law. “I appreciate customers’ courage in getting tattoos related to the movement. There is a need to speak out, especially in turbulent times,” she says.

“There is a need to speak out, especially in turbulent times.”

Chiu Chi-yue, a psychology professor and Dean of Social Science at the Chinese University of Hong Kong, says having a tattoo can be read as a commitment to a memory that is significant to someone.

“They consider the movement personally important to them, and they want to commit the struggles they have gone through in this event to their memories,” Chiu says.

Chiu says putting on a tattoo can also be seen as a sign related to one’s social identity.

“When you see people put on symbols representing certain movements, they may be telling other people that they identify with the values behind it. (People who have anti-ELAB tattoos) may use their tattoos to show others that they belong to this movement,” he says.

Chiu reminds people to be aware of the boundaries of self-expression.

“People are free to express themselves, but they are also responsible for their choices. We shouldn’t make remarks that are unfair to other people or groups,” he says.

Chiu cites people who get tattoos about a social movement as an example. “(The tattoo) could be about a human rights movement. It could be about a world peace movement. It could be about an animal rights movement. It could be about a gender equality movement. The psychological process and reasons (behind getting the tattoo) are probably the same,” he says.

*Name changed at interviewee’s request

Edited by Patricia Ricafort
Sub-edited by Bonita Wong

Breaking Free Through Her Lens

Amateur photographer Terenia Puspita.

Terenia Puspita shares her life as both a domestic helper and amateur photographer in Hong Kong.

By Bonnie Yam

Terenia Puspita was once a domestic worker who had no knowledge about Hong Kong politics. But after she witnessed the anti-Extradition Law Amendment Bill (anti-ELAB) movement in 2019, she felt the need to show her support for Hongkongers with her photos. 

“I was shocked to see children attending the protests. I was touched by their parents, as they teach their children about the city’s current situation and future, which my parents never taught me,” Puspita says.   

The domestic helper who has been working in Hong Kong for 10 years went to districts with violent clashes between protestors and police, such as Wan Chai, Admiralty and Shatin, to take pictures during the social movement in 2019.

Puspita did not tell her employer about taking photos at protest sites, as she does not want to mix up her work with her photography.

Puspita equipped herself with a helmet, gas mask and goggles when taking photos of the social movement. She was very cautious about her safety, especially after Veby Mega Indah, an Indonesian journalist, was shot in the eye during clashes on September 29, 2019. 

“Veby is a journalist. She had the official approval to report at protest sites, but she was still vulnerable. I was very worried, because the police conducted indiscriminate arrests,” she says.

In a collection of photos shot in her daily life and the protests, Puspita draws parallels between Hong Kong protestors and migrant workers.

Two photos taken by Terenia Puspita, entitled We Connected. (Photo courtesy of Terenia Puspita)

Puspita’s picture series, entitled We Connected, featured two photos taken in 2019. One shows a migrant worker who fights against patriarchy by wearing a traditional mask, which is usually worn by male performers at traditional festivals in Indonesia. Another is about Hong Kong protestors wearing Vendetta masks fighting for democracy in the 2019 social movement. 

Her work was featured in We Making Home Kong, a month-long photo exhibition organised by Lensational in February, 2021. It is a non-governmental organisation that has provided photography training for more than 400 foreign domestic workers. 

In her other photo series, Under the Same Umbrella, a scene of Indonesian domestic helpers discussing the 2019 Indonesian general election, and a scene from the anti-ELAB protests in 2019 were captured. Umbrellas were raised in both photos.   “Indonesians believe that their country is democratic, but despotic power is still exercised by some high-ranking officials. And in Hong Kong, democracy and freedom are no longer respected. People in both places are still fighting,” Puspita says.

Standing Up

“Before learning photography, I only focused on my needs. But with photography, I have learnt to speak up for myself and others. It makes me feel like a human again,” she says. 

Puspita first learned photography when she just arrived in Hong Kong in 2011, she then gradually became an amateur photographer. 

“But with photography, I have learnt to speak up for myself and others. It makes me feel like a human again.”

Her photos were published in Via Community Zine, a local magazine published by Via North Point, in December, 2020, and Indonesian publications like Suara, where she worked as a voluntary author, in 2018. 

Born to a Muslim family in a village of East Java, she has never dreamt of becoming an amateur photographer. 

“Usually photographers in Indonesia are men, and I want to break this kind of tradition,” says Puspita. “I grew up with a mindset that women can only work in kitchens. Our purpose of life is to get married, have children, and take care of our family,” she adds. 

Graduated from high school in 2011, Puspita was very curious about the outside world. So when her uncle offered her a chance to work in Hong Kong, she accepted it without much hesitation. But she surely did not foresee her first job turning into a nightmare. 

“My employer doesn’t have a kind soul. I didn’t have a good place to rest. I had no privacy and holidays. I didn’t hold my passport, ID, and phone. And I was underpaid!” she recalls. 

Puspita never complained because she thought it was common. But after seven months, she became mentally ill and finally asked for help from other migrant workers. 

Fortunately, her agency took her case to the Labour Department, and they sued her employer on her behalf. She switched to another agency and participated in Lensational’s photography workshops, where she learned professional photography skills. 

Puspita certainly stands out while walking through crowds of migrant workers. The 30-year-old wears a black cap instead of a Hijab and now carries her DSLR camera everywhere. She is also getting a tattoo that symbolises hope, which is forbidden in Islam, the largest religion in Indonesia. 

Three years ago, Puspita stood up to her mother and refused to return home to get married. She has not returned to Indonesia for 10 years. 

“Although I feel lonely at my workplace, I feel free,” she says.

Workers With Dreams 

Puspita is not the only one with dreams. She believes other workers are unaware of their possibilities and rights, so they tend to give up easily. 

“Migrant workers don’t have the courage to speak up. They just follow their employers’ orders. Can you really work 24 hours a day and six days a week in your workplace? ” she says. 

Puspita hopes to hold a photo exhibition featuring photos of migrant workers showcasing their talents. 

As her contract ended in last April, Puspita planned to find a job in Korea or Poland. But the pandemic made her think twice. At last, she decided to work another two years in Hong Kong.

“Hong Kong feels like home, but the freedom we enjoyed is gone,” she says.

“Hong Kong feels like home, but the freedom we enjoyed is gone.”

Edited by Kassandra Lai
Sub-edited by Charleen Chen

High School Student Starts NGO to Fight Period Poverty

Peng Wanqian checking menstrual pads sold in a store in China.

A high school student devotes herself to helping girls suffering from period poverty in China.

By Ella Lang in Chongqing

When most high school students are busy preparing for university entrance examinations in China, Peng Wanqian struggles to strike a balance between her study and her NGO work.

Peng, a 19-year-old high school student in Chengdu, founded a student organisation Stand TogetHer in February 2020, to help girls suffering from period poverty in China.

The organisation launched a programme to donate menstrual pads to teenage girls in Zhaojue County in Sichuan Province in August 2020.

By collaborating with Shanghai Rende Foundation, an established charity foundation founded in 2011, Stand TogetHer raised around RMB ¥124,000 (US $17,500) from more than 2,800 donors online in 28 hours during August 2020.

“Raising so much money in such a short period of time was far beyond my expectation. We only had 500 followers on our public WeChat account, and we were just a small team of eight members at that time,” Peng says.

“I try my best to balance my NGO work and study. But one cannot put too much on one plate. Sometimes I have to make a sacrifice,” Peng says.

On October 11, 2020, Peng and her teammates distributed menstrual pads, bought with the money raised, to about 700 schoolgirls in Zhaojue. The activity clashed with Peng’s TOEFL examination.

“I nearly broke down at that time. In the end, I skipped my exam and went to Zhaojue. My mom accompanied and comforted me the whole way,” Peng says.

“I never regret the decision I made. It is impossible to strike a balance between my studies and my charity work. All I can do is force myself to learn more efficiently,” she adds.

Motivation

What motivated Peng to commit to charity work and even sacrifice her own studies was her first encounter with the concept of period poverty five years ago when she was only 14.

She came across a YouTube video explaining how homeless females in America deal with menstruation.

But Peng did not link it to the situation in China at once. She began paying attention to women’s menstrual issues two years ago, during her first year of high school.

“One day I borrowed a pad from a classmate. She tucked it in her sleeve and passed it to me secretly,” she recalls.

“Then I thought to myself, why do we act like this? Then I realized this is a sign of period shame,” she adds.

Peng says she used to be one of the girls who used black plastic bags to carry pads after buying them and avoided saying ‘menstrual pads’ in public.

The embryo of Stand TogetHer was a research team studying toxic masculinity in December 2019.

Five high school girls in the team, including Peng, created a public WeChat account called ‘Stand TogetHer’ to post their thoughts about gender issues in February 2020. Then they turned it into an organisation.

The NGO’s first project was about donating menstrual pads to female medical workers fighting on the frontlines of the COVID-19 pandemic in Wuhan in March 2020.

“The scale of donation was small. We raised about RMB ¥10,000 (US $1,500) in three days. Nobody in our team had any experience in doing this, and we encountered many difficulties in operation,” Peng says.

“We did not know how to raise funds online. And it was hard for us to reach out to period product companies for sponsorships since we were just high school students,” she adds.

“Some members wanted to quit due to pressure, but everyone worked really hard. We sent messages to customer service teams of period product companies on Taobao and used all available channels to raise funds. Finally, we were able to donate 240 boxes of pads to the frontline workers,” she adds.

First Step

Peng then set her sights on Zhaojue County in Sichuan Province, one of the poorest areas in China.

In June 2020, Peng, together with four other students from Stand TogetHer, visited Zhaojue to learn about the period poverty problem schoolgirls faced there.

Peng Wanqian packing pads into bags with her teammates. (Photo courtesy of Stand TogetHer)

“A teacher told us the children’s weekly pocket money was between RMB ¥2 (US $0.3) and RMB ¥10 (US $1.5). But the average price of a pad is about RMB ¥1 per pad. Very few girls could afford it, so many girls use tissues as a cheaper alternative,” Peng says.

Back to Chengdu, Peng did research to learn about period poverty online. She searched ‘period poverty’ on Baidu, the biggest search engine in China.

“The search results were all about period poverty in India, Scotland, and America. I did not find anything about period poverty in China,” Peng says.

Peng decided to raise money to help girls facing period poverty in Zhaojue and arouse public awareness about the issue.

“We planned to raise RMB ¥90,000 (US $14,000) in half a year, but surprisingly, we got around RMB ¥124,000 (US $17,500) in two days,” Peng says.

Her NGO used the money to offer free menstrual pads, enough for a whole year, to 700 teenage girls in a local primary school in Zhaojue.

Teenage girls carrying bags full of pads. (Photo courtesy of Stand TogetHer)

“For the first time, I know that my ideas can be turned into reality with the help of strangers. It really touches me that many people are willing to donate money to an unknown organisation run by high school students,” Peng says.

“For the first time, I know that my ideas can be turned into reality with the help of strangers. It really touches me that many people are willing to donate money to an unknown organisation run by high school students.”

Future

Peng will go to America to start her university life in September this year, but she says she will continue to lead the project.

“I will still go to Zhaojue every year and monitor the progress of our project there. And Stand TogetHer will expand the scale of donation to help more teenage girls suffering from period poverty in Sichuan Province,” Peng says.

The organisation will also organise training sessions about menstrual hygiene for schoolgirls in Zhaojue.

“We are collaborating with medical students at Sichuan University. They are professionally trained and some of them come from Liangshan Yi autonomous prefecture, where Zhaojue County belongs,” she says.

“The identity of high school students is a double-edged sword. We may be questioned for lacking experience and sometimes being irresponsible. But at the same time, we can make use of our student identity to capture media attention, which will help arouse public awareness about period poverty,” Peng says.

Edited by Charleen Chen
Sub-edited by Agnes Lam

Why Don’t we Talk about Sex?

Vera Lui Wing-hang is both a sex toy shop owner and a sex educator promoting positive sex. (Photo courtesy of Vera Lui Wing-hang)

Vera Lui Wing-hang, a sex toy shop owner, shares her transformation from a girl with zero sex knowledge to a sex educator promoting positive sex.

By Angel Woo

Growing up in a Sex Taboo City

“Hi! I am Vera from Sally’s Toy. Perhaps many of you have heard of G-spot without knowing where it is. So today let me tell you how to find your G-spot,” says Vera Lui Wing-hang in her first YouTube video, holding a model of a vagina in her hand.

This video named “Tips about the G-spot that every girl should know” hit 2.4 million views since it was published in 2012. Since then, Lui has kept making YouTube videos regularly to educate people about sex. Her channel has about 102,000 subscribers and over 100 videos now.

Lui covers all topics relating to sex in her videos such as – “How to find the perfect condom?”, “What if my girlfriend doesn’t let me masturbate?”, “Can you swallow semen?” and so on.

She runs a sex toy shop in Hong Kong since 2010 and produces YouTube videos to clear public misconceptions about sex. The sex toy shop owner also gives sex advice through social media as she often receives messages from her customers. 

Vera Lui Wing-hang runs a sex toy shop in Hong Kong since 2010. (Photo courtesy of Vera Lui Wing-hang)

But the sex educator was once ignorant towards sex. 

“When I was young, nobody taught me about sex. I never thought of sex or masturbation, and never imagined having sex in a relationship,” Lui says.

Born in a traditional family, her parents never taught her about sex. Anything relating to sex is taboo in her family (conversations). “Sex should not be discussed – this is my family’s sex education,” she recalls.

“I was having a family gathering when I had my first period. I told my mom when I saw blood stains on my underwear and she secretly took me to the toilet,” she says.

“‘This is a sanitary napkin. Stick it to your underwear. From now on, you have to do this every month.’ – that’s all she told me, and we never talked about this topic again,” she recalls.

“When I stepped out of the toilet, my cousins asked what happened. My mom just said ‘Shh! Nothing happened!’ and my aunties said, ‘Don’t ask!’, that was when I learned that periods were something I should not talk about,” Lui says.

The first porn she watched was a DVD given by one of her classmates when she was in secondary school. “A boy in my class asked me to pass a DVD to another boy. That DVD had no packaging, so I asked what it was. They said it is not suitable for girls. But I was curious, so I asked them to let me watch it,” Lui recalls.

“I was not too shocked when I watched it, because all the sex scenes were blurred. But I knew I could not let others know that I watched the sex video, so I threw the DVD into a public rubbish bin after watching it,” she says.

Lui, now 34 years old, said that the first time she had sex was when she was 16 years old.

“All I could remember is that my thighs were in so much pain. You need some flexibility when doing sex, but I am not a flexible person,” she says with a laugh.

“The whole process finished so quickly, and it was not enjoyable at all. Before I turned 24, sex was not something I wanted,” she says.

The Enlightenment of Sex

A new chapter began when the then 24-year-old Lui was given a vibrator that was shaped like a cigar when she was on a date with her boyfriend. A vibrator is a type of sex toy that creates sexual stimulation through vibration. On that night, she finally found a healthy relationship with sex and had her first orgasm.

“I did not know how to masturbate so I googled for several hours before using it. On that night, I started to explore what exactly a vagina was, where the G spot was and how to stimulate the clitoris,” Lui recalls.

“I never knew I could have such relationship with my body. Why did no one ever tell me that masturbation is so pleasurable?”, Lui sighs.

“It was so empowering. I used to think of sex as a way to please my boyfriend. But I finally realized that I own my body and I have the right to enjoy sex,” she says. ‘That night’ changed her completely. She then founded Sally’s Toy, an intimate lifestyle store aiming to encourage positive discussion about sex. 

“On that night, I started to explore what exactly a vagina was, where the G spot was and how to stimulate the clitoris.”

“I believe I am not the only one who has little sex knowledge in Hong Kong. But why does nobody tell us about sex? So, I was thinking if no one talks about it, then let me talk about it. That’s how the story of Sally’s Toy began,” she says. 

In 2019, she became a certified sex educator after studying a one-year sex education programme organised by the Family Planning Association of Hong Kong and learnt the practical skills on how to communicate with clients to solve their sexual difficulties.

Educating Sex Differently

To Lui, sex education is not only about sex. “The fundamental of sex education is about self-love and loving others,” she says.

“Once we can respect our own bodies, it is a way of self-love. When you respect others in a relationship, it is a way of loving others,” Lui explains.

She also gives sex education workshops in schools such as the University of Hong Kong and HKICC Lee Shau Kee School of Creativity. Her way to educate people about sex is different from traditional theory-based sex education.

Vera Lui Wing-hang gives a sex education workshop. (Photo courtesy of Vera Lui Wing-hang)

“When I was teaching at HKICC Lee Shau Kee School of Creativity, I organised a condom-making workshop with a condom producer Sagami. It would be easier for the secondary students to understand the importance to have safer sex in a more interactive way than in the classroom,” she says.

From Lui’s observation, teenagers usually feel embarrassed to discuss and reach a consensus with their partner before sex. She opted for a unique way to help the teens breaking the shackles.

“In a relationship of BDSM (Bondage & Discipline, Sadism & Masochism), communication between partners is very important. So, I organised a BDSM workshop for them to understand the importance of communication through roping the body of others,” Lui says.

“The fundamental of sex education is about self-love and loving others.”

Her sex toy shop is another type of classroom for sex education. “Our shop is like a pharmacy which gives basic advice to patients. People seek advice from us when they encounter sex problems,” she says.

Her hard work paid off. One day, when Lui was walking on the street, a middle-aged lady bumped into her and said: “Are you Vera? Thank you so much for your videos and your products!”

“I am divorced and could have never imagined having sexual pleasure after the split. But I started exploring my body after watching your videos and had the first taste of orgasm. I never experienced it when I had sex with my ex-husband,” the lady explained.

“I will never forget how excited she was. This encourages me a lot and it’s the drive for me to keep doing positive sex education,” she says delightedly.

She understands there is still a long way to go for Hong Kong’s sex education. It is not easy to talk about sex in a sex taboo city, but she is still positive.

“I would already be grateful if I could help seven people in the seven million in Hong Kong,” Lui says.

Edited by Savoki Zhang

Sub-edited by Sarah Ryou

From Body Shaming to Body Positivity

Body positive cartoonist Melissa Cheung Chin-sui. (Photo courtesy of Melissa Cheung)

Melissa Cheung Chin-sui shares her transformation from a body shamer to a body-positive advocate.

By Charmaine Choi

Cheung posts Instagram stories and posts daily to advocate for body positivity.

“Everyone should be able to dress up in the way they want,” the 27-year-old cartoonist says.

Cheung runs an Instagram cartoon page with 16,700 followers.

 “Drawings can be easily understood by everyone, and therefore my work can reach a larger audience (compared to texts),” she adds.

Other than body positivity, Cheung also advocates for feminism and gender rights on her page.


“Everyone should have gender awareness. It is unfair that people are stereotyped because of their gender.”

“Everyone should have gender awareness. It is unfair that people are stereotyped because of their gender,” she says.

As an active advocate, Cheung receives comments and messages from haters. “The concept of feminism is still new to Hong Kong. People always mix up misogyny with feminism,” she explains.

Cheung is not afraid to make her stance clear, she chooses to respond to them instead of shying away. She often posts screen capture of her clapping back at her haters’ comments on her social media platform.

“I hope the public can make their own judgements regarding those hate comments. I guess people are not going to beat me up for that,” she says with a laugh.

The Wakeup Call

LIHKG is a Hong Kong-based forum where hot topics are discussed among Hongkongers. The forum made Cheung famous four years ago.

Cheung relied on LIHKG to learn about the latest news in the city when she studied veterinary science in Australia.

“LIHKG users always judge and make fun of the appearance of female celebrities and even random girls they see on the streets,” she says.

Cheung was not aware it was body-shaming at the time and even joined discussions about female body shapes.

In July 2017, a male Instagram follower of Cheung caught her attention. The male follower claimed to be cool and good-looking in his bio. Out of curiosity, Cheung asked him for pictures.

After getting his picture, Cheung contacted him through private messages saying: “You look like a pervert who rapes woman” and “Your style is so outdated, change it up”. She made negative comments on his appearance.

She then posted the conversation on LIHKG. Netizens started bombarding her with messages attacking her appearance saying she was fat and ugly.

Her personal information such as her educational background and phone number was revealed online. Her confidence and body image dropped to a new low.

“I refused to take selfies at the time. I did not want to look at my body,” she says.

Having experienced body-shaming herself, she realised how damaging it can be to one’s self-perception. She then became interested in learning about gender issues and body image.

She read books analysing the feminist ideals, including one she referred to as the “fundamental to feminism” — Misogyny in Japan by Chizuko Ueno.

She also visited websites such as edX, a platform that provides free university-level courses to learn more about the power dynamics between genders.

Foreign cartoonists on Instagram such as @eloisemarseille and @cartoonshateher have taught her to embrace and appreciate different body types.

“I learned that everyone should be loved and respected regardless of their appearance. As a person who has been down the road before, I hope to share my thoughts and reflection,” she says.

This one-year learning journey was crucial to her awakening. After the reconstruction of a brand-new mindset, she felt that advocating gender rights and body positivity is the best way to make up for her wrongdoings.

In 2018, Cheung decided to start an Instagram cartoon page dedicated to body positivity and other gender-related issues.

Cartoons on Melissa Cheung’s Instagram Page (@meltoo.edu.hk) feature various topics, including gender issues and body images.

From a Cartoonist to an “Online Chick”

After learning about body positivity, Cheung thinks women should decide what they wish to do with their bodies. She started creating sexual content on online platforms such as Patreon and OnlyFans as a symbol of bodily autonomy since 2020 for money.

“I enjoy expressing sex by taking revealing pictures and sharing them with others. Isn’t it nice that I can earn some pocket money while doing something that I love?” she says.

Patreon and OnlyFans are online platforms that allow content creators to gain monetary support from their fans by providing exclusive content.

These platforms have attracted a number of sexual content providers like Cheung to earn money through providing pictures of her in lingerie and photos of her being topless.

Patreon page of Melissa Cheung (Photo courtesy of Melissa Cheung)

“I do not see anything wrong with making money with one’s body. I call myself an ‘online chick’. This is my take on reclaiming ‘chick’,” she says.

Cheung also treats her topless photos as advocacy of “Free the Nipple”. “Male nipples are equivalent to female nipples, why is it that only female nipples are censored?” she questions.

OnlyFans page of Melissa Cheung (Photo courtesy of Melissa Cheung)

Cheung disagrees with the idea that producing sexual content is materialising females. She thinks that sexual content provision is a way for females to be in control of their bodies.

“It does not mean that I am putting a price tag on myself. I am only putting a price tag on the photos that I provide,” she says.

 “There are people who support me on Patreon and OnlyFans because they support my advocacy. It is not just about my body,” she adds.

Moving on

Cheung hopes that Hong Kong people can learn to adopt a less gender-stereotypical view and recognise individuality. “We are all different in our own ways. It is over-simplifying to generalise our differences according to our genders,” she says.

“I body-shamed others in the first place, so I deserve to be attacked by others in return,” Cheung says recalling what happened in LIHKG four years ago. 

” Body-shaming should be stopped. More people should stand up against this toxic culture.”

“Body-shaming should be stopped. More people should stand up against this toxic culture,” she adds.

Edited by Sarah Ryou
Sub-edited by Alice Wang

Heart of Cyberpunk

Cyberpunk film Ghost in the Shell (2017) was filmed along Victoria Harbour.

Hong Kong’s unique urban landscape is featured in cyberpunk films and animations.

By Winkie Ng

  • Circular Footbridge at Yee Wo Street was featured in 2017 American cyberpunk film Ghost in the Shell.

Cyberpunk fan Kwong Tsz-wun always finds traces of Hong Kong in cyberpunk movies. 

“Iconic cyberpunk films like Blade Runner and Ghost in the Shell are set in Hong Kong. Both Japanese animation and American live-action remake of Ghost in the Shell feature Hong Kong as the setting. The animated version (made in 1995) used Kowloon City and Kai Tak Airport as a backdrop for some scenes,” he says.

The American remake of Ghost in the Shell released in 2017 has some scenes filmed in Yau Ma Tei and along Victoria Harbour.

Kwong, who is a lecturer at the Department of Chinese Language and Literature at the Chinese University of Hong Kong (CUHK), has been interested in cyberpunk culture since he was a child.

He even wrote a research paper analysing a cyberpunk book, Last_year@alu.bar (去年在阿魯吧) by Ho Ching-pin, a Taiwanese author in 2013.

“It is interesting that cyberpunk culture has not thrived in Hong Kong, while Hong Kong has prominent presence in many cyberpunk films,” Kwong says.

Kwong finds the setting in cyberpunk film Blade Runner similar to present-day Hong Kong. 

“Another title for Blade Runner is 2020. It is set in 2020, which overlaps the current era. Scenes of cybercity, artificial intelligence and the essence of the film echo Hong Kong’s (technological and social) environment in 2019 and 2020,” he says.

Kwong has mixed feelings whenever he sees Hong Kong in cyberpunk films.

“It looks and sounds familiar to me. But I feel sorry that Hong Kong shares similarities with cyberpunk settings. The themes of cyberpunk include confronting hegemony and having low standard of living in a high technology society ― Just like the current situation in Hong Kong,” he says.

Grace Leung Lai-kuen, a lecturer at the School of Journalism and Communication at CUHK, says cyberpunk films set in hi-tech society discuss how technology destroys humanity and causes disparity between the rich and poor.

“Surreal imaginations of technology are represented by night views with dazzling lights,” she adds.

She thinks Hong Kong’s night view is full of potential and attracts filmmakers to set cyberpunk films in Hong Kong. “Hong Kong’s landscape is very beautiful, especially the night view…When neon signs are lit at night, you can create a cyberpunk ambience easily by blurring or using filters,” she says.

She also points out that having high level of urbanization and many postmodern architectures are other reasons for cyberpunk films being set in Hong Kong.

“Hong Kong’s landscape suits cyberpunk films. Hong Kong is densely populated with many skyscrapers, contrasting old and new buildings and buildings with different shapes. It is so unique and creates great visual effects for cyberpunk films,” she says.

With the advantage of being a cyberpunk city, Leung thinks Hong Kong should make good use of it.

“Hong Kong as a city has great potential. Her charm is captured in cyberpunk films. So why not promote it to Hongkongers and visitors? It would be nice to appreciate this city from this new perspective,” she says.

Edited by Agnes Lam
Sub-edited by Bonita Wong


Dear Santa

Mymailbox852 is an organization that promotes letter writing when people nowadays mainly text and send emoji.

By Winkie Ng

When was the last time you wrote a letter with a pen? In this digital era, people always use instant messaging tools for communication.

Diana Lee Tsoi-wing founded Mymailbox852 in 2013 to spread love and happiness through handwriting. She was motivated by a disappointing experience her younger sister had after writing a letter to Santa Clause.

“My sister only received a response letter template from Santa Clause. I think children will be upset if they receive such a reply. So I decided to be Santa Clause and handwrite reply letters,” she says.

Camp for volunteers in December 2018
 (Photo courtesy of Mymailbox852)

Replying to letters as Santa Clause in December 2013 was their first campaign. Only Lee and two to three of her friends helped to handwrite reply letters during that time.

“As many did not know about our campaign in the first year, we only received around 100 letters,” Lee recalls.

The campaign is now an annual event. Over 100 volunteers are recruited and around 3,000 to 4,000 letters are replied each year. They occasionally set up stalls in carnivals and markets in Hong Kong and Taiwan to promote letter writing.

Lee says volunteers are recruited through online promotion, schools and referrals from partners.

People can send letters to them by post, Google form and write letters at carnivals and market stalls. Volunteers will reply to the letters and send them back.

Mymailbox852 ran a stall in Hoikokdaytan 2046 (海角地攤2046), a waterfront market in West Kowloon Cultural District in December 2015 
(Photo courtesy of Mymailbox852)

Lee says senders sometimes share their problems and difficulties in their letters. For example, they write about being stressed out by school or their family members suffering from severe illness. They also reply to letters from public examination candidates who seek support. 

“The limitations of replying to letters is that we cannot physically help them. But we can give them encouragement and help turn their negative vibes into positive energy by using counselling skills,” says Lee, who studied counselling at university.

She says camps and workshops are held to train volunteers. They learn how to do replies in training sessions and form friendships with each other through the activities.  

Lee thinks equipping volunteers with counselling skills is meaningful. 

“In Hong Kong, people talk to their friends instead of social workers when they feel sad. If volunteers gain some counselling skills, they can help others,” she says.

Lee says volunteers with different backgrounds can brainstorm more ideas to help letter senders and learn from each other through discussions.

“If you are one of our volunteers and you are a student, you may not know how to write back to someone who is jobless. Another volunteer who has a job can help you and you can learn too,” she adds.

Lee welcomes everyone to join her team. “The most important trait is sincerity,” she says.

Workshop of teaching volunteers to reply letters was held in December 6, 2017 
(Photo courtesy of Mymailbox852)

“Everyone can be a counsellor. It does not matter if you have not been trained in counselling or lack empathy. Others will help you. If you are willing to try, you will know how to respond to others’ emotions and concerns when giving replies,” she adds.

Interested in knowing more about volunteering or sending letters? Check out their Facebook page Mymailbox852 | Facebook for updates or visit their website https://www.mymailbox852.com/ for more details.

Edited by Agnes Lam
Sub-edited by Bonita Wong


Fitness on the Ropes – Editor’s Note

The Fitness industry has been suffering a sharp slump in business due to the ongoing coronavirus pandemic.

Gym centres were closed for months to reduce infection risk that the government only allows them to reopen from February 18th, 2021.

Just when there is light at the end of the COVID-19 tunnel, an outbreak at Ursus Fitness in Sai Ying Pun sends shock waves to the embattled fitness industry.

A total of 122 cases were related to the gym, according to a figure from the Centre for Health Protection as of March 15, the second-largest cluster outbreak in Hong Kong.

Many fitness coaches had no income when gym centres were closed, as all classes were cancelled.

But they still had to cover the rents and maintenance fees of their gym centres.  Coaches and sportsmen trainers are disappointed by the government’s response to their sufferings. They criticized the government’s response as being too careless and unaware of the current situation of the industry.

In this issue of Varsity, we look into the fitness industry in Hong Kong.  Our reporters interviewed coaches and fitness centres owners, to find out their difficulties and how they coped with online classes.

Varsity also explores other social issues such as the latest development in telemedicine, young couples’ sex vacation, struggles of an ethnic minority student, K-pop industry, innovative virtual art, and Christian music in Hong Kong. Our reporters in mainland China report young gay men under family pressure and the podcast industry in the country.

Enjoy the read, and we wish all the best for everyone.  Stay safe and healthy!

Sarah Ryou

Chief Editor

Fitness Classes Going Online

Coaches face difficulties conducting online fitness classes during the pandemic.

By Leung Pak Hei

Lee Yuk-shan has been conducting weight management classes online since the first closure of gym centres in March 2020. Despite fitness facilities being allowed to re-open on February 18, 2021, the 26-year-old coach is still worried about possible closures in the future.

Lee Yuk-shan has been working as a coach since he was 18. (Photo courtesy of Lee Yuk-shan)

“If gyms are forced to shut down again, our business may not survive,” he says.  

His worry is more real than ever because of a rapidly expanding cluster of COVID-19 infections linked to a gym in Sai Ying Pun in early March, less than a month that the city’s embattled fitness industry is allowed to resume business. 

The government announced on March 11 that masks should be worn at all times in fitness facilities, except during shower. Immediately after the new outbreak, Lee hired a cleaning company to clean his gym and asked his students to wear masks when exercising.

Tsang Put-long’s facility posts notice on their IG page, indicating temporary closure under the government policy.
(Photo courtesy of @campusclimbing_hk)

Having taught weight management classes online for a year, Lee thinks it does not work in the long run. “When doing online classes, you need to make a lot of effort. But you receive very little in return. It is hard to make profit,” he says. 

Lee adds that it is difficult to make money through online classes. He believes one of the reasons is fierce competition.

“During the pandemic, there are many YouTubers who provide information on fitness and exercise for free. People are not willing to pay for something they can get for free,” Lee explains. “YouTubers also have a lot of resources, so it is hard to compete with them,” he says. 

The coach and most of his students prefer physical interaction.

“When having online classes, I am restricted by students’ cameras. It is very difficult to see their whole bodies and help them improve their form,” says Lee, who has been working as a coach since he was 18.

“Some beginners may refuse to follow instructions. For example, when you ask them to add more weight, they may not listen,” he adds.

“We also need to take care of their safety, but we cannot make sure of that through online classes. If they get hurt, we cannot physically help them,” he says.

Hong Kong has been struggling to contain the spread of COVID-19 since the first case was reported in January 2020. The government announced social distancing measures to combat the pandemic. Gyms and other fitness facilities have closed and then reopened three times since the beginning of the pandemic to reduce infection risk.

Source: info.gov.hk

On December 8, 2020, the government ordered the closure of all gyms and sports venues starting from December 10. 

The facilities and venues were allowed to reopen on February 18, 2021, under the condition that full-time staff are required to do mandatory testing every two weeks. Visitors are required to scan the QR code with the “Leave Home Safe” app or provide their personal information to facilitate tracking in case an infection is reported at these centres.

Cheung Koon-tung, a member of the Hong Kong Fitness and Combat Sports Alliance, shares Lee’s thoughts. With the re-opening of fitness facilities, Cheung thinks that resuming physical classes is better than doing online classes. “There is more equipment at gym centres, so fitness training can be conducted in a more all-rounded manner,” he says.

Cheung Koon-tung is a representative of the Hong Kong Fitness and Combat Sports Alliance. (Photo courtesy of Cheung Koon0tung)

As a private fitness coach and an owner of a fitness facility, Cheung states that online teaching is not as good as face-to-face coaching. “A good atmosphere is very important for exercise. But students may not have enough space for online fitness classes at home, or they may have children at home which may cause hindrance and affect their mood,” Cheung says. 

“Also, if a coach cannot physically instruct students, it is hard to know whether they understand how to exercise properly,” he continues. He adds that while online classes provide another choice for people who do not want to go outdoors, many of them may quit exercising due to low motivation.

Cheung also thinks that online classes provide them with little financial support. “The income is much lower compared to offering physical classes in fitness centres. Coaches only earn a few dozen Hong Kong dollars a lesson. Very few people sign up and join the classes,” Cheung says.

“Some centres do not have enough money to invest in equipment, such as cameras and computers, for online classes. This increases their financial burden,” he adds.

Online teaching mode is also not an option for Tsang Put-long, owner of a rock-climbing facility. He points out that it is very hard to do online classes with the type of sport he specialises in.

“We need a rock face in order to practice rock climbing. It is difficult to teach students the needed skills, and it is not something they can practice at home,” Tsang says. 

Tsang had no income during the period his centre was closed from December 10, 2020. As he could not do online classes, he was forced to pay HK$70,000 a month for rent with profits he made earlier on. 

Tsang Put-long is the owner of a rock-climbing facility. (Photo courtesy of Tsang Put-long)

After Tsang’s rock-climbing centre was allowed to re-open, his revenue has still not returned to the level during the period before the closure. “Our revenue has dropped by around 25 per cent. We have fewer students now than we used to have,” Tsang says.

Despite this, Tsang has no desire to do online classes. “The difficulties of doing online classes remain. Now that we can re-open, we plan to hold more physical classes,” he says. 

Chow Chi-ngan, an assistant lecturer from the Department of Sport Science and Physical Education of the Chinese University of Hong Kong, believes that online coaching may lead to undesirable effects for students. 

“When training lessons are online, instructions may be unclear and leads to exercising with improper technique. Coaches cannot monitor students and they may get injured,” Chow explains. 

Despite the difficulties, Chow thinks that online fitness classes will continue in the future. “I have told my students to film clips of them exercising at home as I do, so I can use them in the future for teaching,” Chow says.

The lecturer believes that people of this generation should be more open-minded and try to explore different ways of exercising. She suggests coaches could think of different kinds of exercises that can be done easily and safely at home, such as bodyweight training, circuit training and high-intensity interval training.

Chow also encourages coaches to exercise with students during lessons. The lecturer says coaches can provide feedback and instructions during the process to motivate students.

Edited by Laurissa Liu
Sub-edited by Agnes Lam

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Varsity CUHK
Varsity is an award-winning magazine created for the tertiary students and faculty of Hong Kong. It is written, edited and designed by students in the School of Journalism and Communication at the Chinese University of Hong Kong.
Contact us: varsity@cuhk.edu.hk