Hong Kong Holiday: A Pause Between Worlds

When you travel from Kaiping through the historically named Xiāng Shān—香山, "Fragrant Mountain"— the region of Zhongshan, Zhuhai and Macau, you eventually arrive at Xiāng Gǎng—香港, "Fragrant Harbour," better known as Hong Kong.

I love any excuse to visit Hong Kong. After graduating from university, when I felt the common urge to leave my home country and work in the wider world, Hong Kong was my first choice. I was naively surprised to find that Cantonese—not Mandarin—was the primary language, and since I could only speak Mandarin at the time, I soon pivoted to Shanghai, eventually settling in my ancestral hometown of Beijing.

Still, I return to Hong Kong often, usually full of enthusiasm and regret—regret that my Cantonese has barely improved. This time, I was meeting a journalist from New Zealand to talk about being a Kiwi with Asian heritage. A light subject, obviously.

As it happened, I was also reading Searching for Billie by Ian Gill—a book thick with Eurasian themes (the author identifies as one himself) and steeped in the history of Hong Kong during the Japanese occupation. It was the ideal reading companion for someone in the middle of portraying a character from that era—though I’ll admit, nothing makes you question your own identity like reading a book that unpacks it for you.

Before this, I hadn’t spent much time reflecting deeply on what it means to be half-Chinese and half-Pākehā. I’ve mostly just observed how being mixed-race has opened doors for me in the Chinese film industry. Historically, mixed-heritage communities—like Eurasians—have had a visible presence in China, perhaps more so than in the West. In a storytelling context, casting someone like me can also be a way to introduce international cultures without having to explain language barriers within the narrative.

Hong Kong got me thinking more about that. It’s one of the few places where “Mixed Race” wasn’t just a box ticked on a casting form—it was once a whole social category, complete with clubs and customs. That gave me pause. Until recently, being of mixed heritage has felt like a solitary, mildly offbeat thing. Not painful—just uncommon.

Sometimes I feel more connected to one side of my heritage, sometimes both, and sometimes neither. But overall, I’ve experienced the freedom to pick and choose what works for me. That’s a privilege I don’t take lightly.

Of course, this is just my version of the story. The past wasn’t always so forgiving to people of mixed heritage. Books like Searching for Billie and the work of Emily Hahn make that clear. But my two worlds came together relatively easily. I also pass as ethnically ambiguous (I’m currently playing a Caucasian British woman, if that’s any indication), which has shielded me from some of the overt racism or othering that others have faced.

This trip helped crystallise my belief that, ideally, people should just be known for who they are—not categorised as “Asian” or “mixed.” I want to move through the world simply as myself: someone shaped by many things—my work, my personality, my values, and yes, my heritage too.

I do think we’re moving toward a future where more and more people will be of mixed heritage, and where the idea of belonging to just one culture becomes less rigid. Maybe one day, these conversations won’t be necessary—when so many of us are from multiple cultural lineages that the lines blur. It’s a beautiful idea: a melded world that still celebrates ancestry, migration, and cultural richness. I’ve been lucky enough to live a bit of that.

But we’re not there yet. Pretending we are can be a form of erasure. I know this fluid identity isn’t available to everyone. Some people don’t get the luxury of being “just themselves.” Colonialism, racism, and exclusion still determine who gets to feel at home—and who has to prove they belong.

Our generation’s challenge, I think, is to imagine and work toward that better future, while staying honest about what still needs healing.

I don’t have a neat answer to what it means to belong to New Zealand. It’s something I keep grappling with—between my heritage, my lived experience, and a growing awareness of the land’s true history. I feel deeply connected to Aotearoa through my upbringing. But I also understand that belonging on colonised land isn’t something to take for granted. It’s layered. For me, it’s less about claiming identity and more about listening, learning, and honouring the responsibilities that come with being here.

Being “mixed” offers a glimpse into what might lie ahead. My family feels, in some ways, future-facing. I’m Manchu, Scottish, English, Han, and a New Zealander. My mum’s family loves Christmas pudding; my Manchu side enjoyed Sachima, a sweet fried noodle slice. I hope I’m part of a broader journey toward a more interconnected world—one where cultures still thrive in their uniqueness, while also recognising the systems and histories that we each carry—meeting those with dignity, respect, and kindness.

I only spent four days in Hong Kong, but I walked through generations of history and glimpses of the future. As a place that once housed many nationalities—and coined categories like “Eurasian” (not to be confused with the vast landmass)—it felt like the right backdrop to think over the strange, shifting thing I call home within myself.