Doesn't Roaming Under the Warm Sunlight Make You Happy?, 

2022,

A5 Riso publication.

Hong Kong in July was expectedly heated and humid. The vast infinite blue sizzling my skin raw brought me many amenities. My sweats drizzle down the same way I did when I was squeezed in between a thousand hormone-raging, smelly, sweaty teenagers in our morning assemblies. I would complain about the heat and stick a piece of tissue on my forehead the same way I did when we were waiting at the minibus stop after school. My sweats used to seep through my undergarments onto my school uniform. The difference is that I do not even wear a bra anymore, not to mention undergarments. But I seem to be the weird one here for not wanting two pieces of metal wires underneath my boobs. I also do not wear sunscreen anymore, unless I am going to the beach. I used to smear sunscreen on my limbs religiously to avoid getting tanned.

Why do we need to be as pale as a Caucasian person to be considered beautiful?

But doesn’t it feel good to roam under the warm sunlight?

The close mathematical space mapping only the trained dataset in artificial intelligence—we Hong Kong people are stuck in a latent space. The Hegelian “Geist” does not move forward; the dialectic is frozen, it does not clash, does not progress, just stuck