The Unbearable Heaviness of Being in Hong Kong

All I feel is anger

The national emblem at China’s Liaison Office in Hong Kong is seen sprayed with black liquid on July 21, 2019, as a fresh mass protest was held in the city calling for a total withdrawal of a now-suspended extradition bill. Photo: Kyodo News/Getty Images

Since June, all I’ve felt is anger, the kind that makes a person chuck their brand new phone at the wall, shout irritably at pedestrians who walk too slowly, and grit their teeth so hard the gums draw blood.

I’m angry at Carrie Lam, Hong Kong’s chief executive, because even though I don’t have any expectations for her, I feel that at this stage the only thing stopping her from uttering the words “a full withdrawal” is her pride, a pride the size of an artificial island off Lantau. I’m angry at wumaos, a group I thought was long incapable of arousing anything but amusement in me. I’m angry at anyone from, or living in, Hong Kong that aren’t discussing the anti-extradition bill movement, at people on Instagram posting photos of them hiking or wakeboarding or drinking when their peers are getting beaten up on the streets. I’m angry at smug takes by people who criticize from a comfortable distance, angry that my lived experiences and everyday reality are reduced to an intellectual/academic exercise. I’m angry people don’t realize how easy it is to call something out, and how hard it is for Hong Kongers to carry on every week without feeling as though they’re on the verge of a breakdown. I’m angry at myself because I’m not much better, that while my reporter friends have been experiencing burnout, I’m sitting…