[Life] Our Generation: Contemporary Youth in China, Hong Kong, and Taiwan and Their "Mobility Anxiety"

Outside the window, Taipei is shrouded in continuous plum rain. Inside the room, besides a desk and a few books by Camus, there is only a suitcase that has been packed for a long time, as if ready to depart at any moment. Exile and crossing borders are not just political terms in the news; they are the reality I face every morning upon waking. Setting aside the identity of an exile, the youth in contemporary Chinese-speaking societies seem to be collectively caught in an unprecedented psychological drift. The migrations of previous generations often had clear coordinates – for wealth, for the education of the next generation, or to escape physical warfare. Their movements were often purposeful, yearning to "put down roots" in new lands. However, our generation faces a drastically changing era where material possessions seem abundant, culture is entertainment-driven to the point of death, yet spiritual space is being frantically compressed. The heavy pressure of political systems, ideological opposition, and the solidification of economic structures have made the concept of "home" incredibly fluid and fragile. Compressed Space In this state of spiritual and physical drift, we experience a dual anxiety of "rootlessness" and "floating roots." One is the spiritual severance after losing our native culture and free soil, the tragedy of having our subjectivity stripped away. The other is the powerlessness of trying to rebuild life in a foreign land, only to find ourselves like duckweed on the water, unable to deeply penetrate the unfamiliar soil no matter how hard our roots extend. When mobility becomes the norm and security becomes a luxury, a "diaspora psychological map" collectively drawn by the youth of China, Hong Kong, and Taiwan is slowly unfolding in the cracks of power. From a cultural studies perspective, space has never been merely a physical concept but a battleground for power games. The psychological pressure currently borne by the youth in mainland China, Hong Kong, and Taiwan stems from three distinct yet equally suffocating spatial systems. China: The Dual Cage of Authoritarianism and "Involution" In China, the survival of young people is characterized by an absurdly narrow path. The system, a conspiracy between highly centralized political will and frenzied capital, allows them to be precisely dissected and quantified from kindergarten performance reviews to the "996" work system that industrializes human labor in the workplace, further constricting their already limited spiritual space. Their deeper oppression comes from the absolute monopoly of ideology. Dissent is systematically silenced, and the state apparatus's "grand narrative" forces them to dissolve their own suffering into the illusion of "national rejuvenation." When personal efforts cannot lead to class mobility, and even expressing fatigue is considered disloyalty, Chinese youth's psychological defenses move in direct opposition to what the authorities advocate. From "sang culture" to "lying flat" and "rotting," these seemingly self-deprecating popular terms are essentially the passive ideological resistance of the powerless within the system, in the face of an airtight regime. When even the posture of "lying flat" is corrected by the authorities, "runology" – physically leaving the system – becomes their last salvation, a glimmer of hope. Hong Kong: The Destroyed Golden Age and the Lament of Subjectivity The anxiety of Hong Kong youth is a mixture of physical pressure and the deepest imprints of the era. Under the long-standing monopoly of capital supremacy and real estate hegemony, "cramped apartments" and "nano flats" have long shattered the dignity of young people. Every morning, we can only face four walls, take the subway, sit silently in offices as cogs in a vast financial system, and return home to dedicate most of our income to the cramped spaces of a systemically collapsing city. This is a beautifully crafted cage, both physically and ideologically. And after 2019, the spiritual space of this city has undergone a devastating reshaping. The rule of law, freedom, internationalization, and the Hong Kong-centric culture we once prided ourselves on are being systematically purged by an external "family law" system. The familiar streetscape of Nathan Road remains, but the air is filled with an indescribable sense of suffocation. This pain of "homeland disappearing before our eyes" is psychologically known as solastalgia. Extreme physical crowding, coupled with the disappearance of our spiritual homeland, forces countless souls to leave their homes and embark on a path of exile and diaspora with an unknown destination. Taiwan: A Free Haven and Gentle Chronic Stagnation For me and many other exiles, Taiwan is a gentle haven. Here, with its deep democratic soil and inclusive civil society, our wounded souls can find respite. However, as an observer, I also see the invisible cage that Taiwanese youth themselves face. Taiwan's predicament lies in its long-term stagnant low-wage structure and high housing prices, forcing young people's perspectives to retreat into a defensive mechanism of "small, certain happiness." A cup of exquisite coffee, an independent band performance, becomes a painkiller against the hopelessness of the macroeconomy. The inescapable geopolitical crisis further encourages the free souls on the island to drink until they forget their worries. The authoritarian regime across the strait looms constantly. Taiwanese youth enjoy freedom of speech unimaginable in Hong Kong and China, yet they must painstakingly piece together their vision of the future amidst the squeeze of economic stagnation and the threat of war. Conclusion: Reconstructing Spiritual Coordinates in an Era of Drift Whether it's Chinese youth choosing to "run" out of the system, Hong Kong youth drifting in spiritual ruins, or Taiwanese youth lingering between "small, certain happiness" and geopolitical shadows, the younger generations of China, Hong Kong, and Taiwan are collectively experiencing an unplaceable spiritual overload. Past migrations were about "putting down roots" in new lands; today, our movements are more about fighting for a breath of freedom in suffocating systems and spaces. While this "diaspora psychological map" is undoubtedly filled with the pain of rootlessness and the powerlessness of floating duckweed, it is precisely this collective drift that allows us to resonate with each other in the cracks of power. The suitcase by the window may no longer be just a symbol of exile and unease, but a spiritual stance of refusing to be completely domesticated by the system, always ready to depart. In an era destined for dispersion, we may find it difficult to find a permanent physical shelter, but by collectively guarding freedom, subjectivity, and dignity, we will eventually piece together a new spiritual home for this generation through our mutual mobility and connection. Author: Adou, a student from Hong Kong. Participated in the Anti-Extradition Bill Movement, currently in Taiwan.