Artist Spotlight: Wing Lam Chan’s Borrowed Absurdity

by Wing Lam Chan for The 44 North, Guest Writer

“Where are you from?”

A typical icebreaker question that everyone comes across.

My only answer would be “Hong Kong,” since I was born and raised there. Period. However, my identity tends to be flattened in a sentence—“So you’re from China”—if the questioner is not familiar with Hong Kong’s historical dynamics or holds a political stance. I always feel a need to justify my identity in this unilateral box; likewise, I’m gagged with papers and evidence that state Hong Kong is a special administrative region of China. The simple question becomes a drowning debate.

Speaking has never been my strength, but drawing is. So, on faith and belief, I propelled myself with a stylus pen in the ocean, exploring the fragmented storytelling of local identity. Eventually, I came up with seven eerie illustrations that reimagine Hong Kong urban legends—Borrowed Absurdity.

Wing at GradEX, next to her collected work, Borrowed Absurdity

The title Borrowed Absurdity comprises two elements: The impermanence throughout Hong Kong’s trajectory and urban legends. The term “borrowed” is inspired by the quote from Richard Hughes that describes Hong Kong’s uncertain socio-political landscape between 1960 and 1970: 

“A borrowed place, on borrowed time.” 

The quote captures the city as a fragmented land amid temporary colonial existence since 1841: The British occupied both Hong Kong Island and Kowloon, and for 99 years, obtained a lease of the New Territories, later interrupted by Japanese occupation for three years and eight months. Although Hong Kong was transferred to Chinese sovereignty and established as a Special Administrative Region in 1997—with the exercise of “One country, two systems” maintaining its own capitalist economy, legal system, education and language—this autonomy will expire in 2047. The land perpetuates “borrowed,” and so do the social anxieties embedded within it.

Interestingly, urban legends also possess such instability, with their doubtful credibility and evolving versions of the story often intended for thrilling entertainment or warning about certain behaviours across time. By recontextualizing them and layering the collective fear with historical backdrops, Borrowed Absurdity aims to initiate discourse on identity, precarity and resistance against assimilation.

The Braid Girl & The Ghost Postman

The Braid Girl by Wing Lam Chan: It is said that the long-braided spirit was once a rural girl fleeing from mainland China to Hong Kong. Driven by the immigration policy, she tied her Hong Kong dream into her braid and boarded a train toward the city. Mistaking a passing station for the final stop, she abandoned everything behind and jumped prematurely. Her reckless leap marked the tragic end of her journey.

The series begins with a dual nightmare shared by Mainland refugees and the local community. During the 60s, struggle sessions emerged within the Chinese Communist movement’s “Great Leap Forward.” Farmers were mandated to undertake industrial work and lost autonomy over their land, leading to severe famine and deaths by persecution. Meanwhile, Hong Kong was not only under British colonial rule, but regarded as one of the most prosperous cities. To attract more cheap labour, the British Hong Kong government pitched the “Touch Base” Policy—an immigration policy that grants residency to Mainlanders who successfully reached the city. Countless Mainlanders were sent running across a risky baseball field towards the life-changing base called Hong Kong, often on moving trains. The Braid Girl demonstrates this plight. Braiding her hope towards the escape, the braid becomes her stumbling block—a force that motivates her while distorting her body. As it tightens against the moving train, her face is split in two, and with it, her imagined future and possibilities collapse. 

The Ghost Postman by Wing Lam Chan: It is said that a ghostly postman unlocked gates and slipped blank letters into the Wan Chai neighbourhood. Those who receive the letters are doomed to die within days. As death accumulates, fear seeps into restless nights.

The tragedies continue to fall upon local communities. Hong Kong has faced prolonged overpopulation since World War II, aggravated by the influx of Mainland refugees under the “Touch Base” Policy. With rising social tension, the seeds of fear and antipathy were sown, marking the expanding division between locals and outsiders in the future. While The Braid Girl reflects the refugee’s tragic experiences, The Ghost Postman shifts to a local perspective, depicting the suppressed, collective anxiety of overpopulation. The postman, as an embodiment of the outsider, slips through the gates and grates the community’s nerves alongside increasing death and disaster. 

The Haunted School & The Convenience House

The Haunted School by Wing Lam Chan: It is said that the abandoned Tat Tak School is haunted by spirits of Indigenous New Territories inhabitants killed by British and Japanese troops. Buried within a nearby mass grave, they wander through the ruined classrooms searching for their seats among nameless gravestones and rubble.

As someone born under Chinese sovereignty, I always feel distant from British colonization and Japanese occupation. The history is either compressed into a list or neglected in education, not to mention the disappearing Indigenous people (Punti, Hakka, Tanka, and Hoklo) in rural New Territories. Land, to Indigenous people, is not only property but also a means of preserving lineage, fengshui, and sustained livelihoods. They maintained village autonomy under the Chinese imperial system, yet foreign rulers took over their land rights against the traditional practice, provoking counterattacks such as the Six-Day war. Confronted by well-trained troops with advanced weapons, hundreds of native people were sacrificed; their deaths remain unrecorded, fading within their own land and memory. In contrast to the legends of Tat Tak School, which relate to malevolent spirits or the deadly consequences of adventurers, The Haunted School examines haunting in a decolonial framework. As the spirits return to school and collect their own desks, their contours consolidate gradually, reclaiming their presence throughout historical erasure in the classroom setting.

The Convenience House by Wing Lam Chan: It is said that an unsettling hospice lies hidden among the stilt houses in Tai O, once serving as a burial site for dying elders whose bodies were never reclaimed by their families. Within this dreadful space, an elderly man rests while imagining himself as a tilapia—an invasive species brought from the Mainland—drifting among the local fisheries of the village.

The unstable land once failed to preserve the home for Indigenous New Territories inhabitants; nevertheless, becomes a lifelong shelter for others. The Convenience House is set in Tai O, a traditional fishing village inhabited by Tanka people and well known for its stilt houses above water. Located in the Pearl River Estuary where it meets the South China Sea, it also became a migration passage for Mainlanders crossing the water during the Cultural Revolution. Unlike the scenic stilt houses, “The Convenience House”—a single-story, tiled-roof hospice— hides in the shadows and is lived in by dying elders, often those whose bodies were refused repatriation by their families due to taboo. Amid flowing water and life, the “Convenience House” becomes a rigid support for the drifting man, as if a tilapia adapting to new water and becoming part of nature after death among local fisheries. This portrays an inexplicable calm settling upon unstable land shaped by a sojourner mentality.

The Mah-jong Demise & The Parallel Station

The Mah-jong Demise by Wing Lam Chan: It is said that four gamblers died while playing mah-jong after forming four tiles with the character “West” (which sounds similar to “death” in Chinese).

The Parallel Station by Wing Lam Chan: It is said that a salaryman became trapped within the same station on his journey home, as if he had entered a parallel world.

The year 1984 marked a significant milestone in Hong Kong—the UK and China signed the Sino-British Joint Declaration, marking the end of 156 years of British colonial rule and the handover to Chinese sovereignty in 1997. Hongkongers had no say in the decision. Witnessing the influences of the Chinese Communist Party, rather than celebration, Hong Kong society was rampant with mistrust and disappointment towards the decision.  Irreversible fate and stillness is depicted in both The Mah-jong Demise and The Parallel Station—either extending time through indulgence in gambling and drugs, or travelling on a Möbius track with contradictory directional signs, everything lost in directions but a gloomy future. Authority over land and life persists across time.

The Submerging Turtle

The Submerging Turtle by Wing Lam Chan: It is said that a giant turtle deity lives within the mountains and descends gradually each year. Once it reaches the sea, the city will collapse into a violent red ocean.

A visitor asked me, “Shouldn’t the turtle be happy as it returns to the ocean where it belongs?” Ideally, yes, only if the ocean has not been contaminated. Since the 1997 handover, conflicts between Hong Kong and China have been intensified through repressions of culture, economy, politics, and the legal system. Back in elementary school, I remember that Putonghua (standard Beijing Mandarin) was taught as the medium in Chinese Language Education, dividing students into two groups: Putonghua applied to the “elite” class, while Cantonese (the primary spoken language in Hong Kong) was for the “academically inferior” one. Following perpetual measures on the Hong Kong-Mainland relationship and demonstrations, including the 2014 Umbrella Revolution and the 2019 Anti-Extradition Law Amendment Bill Movement, the Chinese government ultimately decided to silence the crowd with national security laws that erode freedom of speech. Throughout the decades, from ripple to rogue wave, from language to internal affairs, Hong Kong was dragged toward assimilation in stages. If they abide by the “One Country, Two Systems” promise and respect the dynamic Hong Kong identity, I believe Hongkongers will feel less reluctant to embrace this “mother ocean.”

Borrowed Absurdity by Wing Lam Chan

Borrowed Absurdity presents assembled fragments of Hong Kong lived experience rather than a map of Hong Kong’s history or a complete portrait of Hongkongers, often featuring Mainlanders, spirits/creatures, and distorted space. Shaped by the fusion of Chinese and Western influences, Hong Kong identity suggests a sense of fluidity. It’s not about ethnicity or holding residency but about adapting the language and shared values. If you called Hong Kong home, you are a Hongkonger.

The series ends, but my story certainly doesn’t. Perhaps it offers an entrance to the far shoreline before people dive into the water. Perhaps the landscape has changed beyond recognition before people get to know it. Never will submersion be the final ending for Hong Kong—hope floats, always through collective storytelling.

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About Wing Lam Chan

Bio Portrait by Wing Lam Chan

Wing Lam Chan (泳 Wing (@lamc_illust)) is a Hong Kong digital illustrator based in Toronto and a recent graduate of the Illustration (BDES) program at OCAD University.

Wing’s practice blends Eastern and Western storytelling through editorial and sequential illustration, using symbolism and emotional narratives to explore themes of culture, identity, and memory. She is drawn to the quiet moments embedded in everyday life, visualizing them through a surrealist art style. Wing believes storytelling can amplify community voices, reconstruct marginalized narratives, and foster empathy and shared humanity.

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Growing Divide Over Iran’s Future Puts U.S. Policy Under the Spotlight

by Wardah Malik for The 44 North, Contributing Writer - Politics

Lindsey Graham (left) with President Donald Trump, who is holding a signed “Make Iran Great Again” hat. (Lindsey Graham/X)

"The future of Iran remains uncertain. But what is clear is that democracy cannot be forged through violence, repression, or outside interference." 

Two days after the United States announced the abduction of Venezuelan President Nicolas Maduro, President Donald Trump was photographed on board Air Force One with a hat that said “Make Iran Great Again,” foreshadowing the war that now involves nearly 10 countries across the Middle East. 

While the dynamics that define U.S. involvement in Caracas do not exactly mirror Tehran, what remains the same is the commitment to a new approach to foreign affairs that is swift, harsh, and openly involves regime change. 

“They have waged war against civilization itself. Our resolve, and likewise that of Israel, has never been stronger,” Trump said of U.S. military attacks against Iran. Yet, this resolve and the U.S.’s objectives beyond regime change have been ill-defined, a reality that has 56% of Americans opposing military action. The American public that elected Trump on the basis of a “no new wars” promise is not eager to participate in a conflict with no clear end, raising the question: Who wants this war? In part, the answer is found in the Iranian diaspora, many of whose visions for a “new Iran” seem to rely on Trump.  

Via PBS News/NPR/Marist Poll, National Adults

On February 28, 2026, Iranians across the world took to the streets to celebrate the U.S.-Israeli strikes that killed Ayatollah Ali Khamenei, who led Iran for more than thirty years. “We needed this help for decades,” claim Iranian-Canadians, a number of whom attended rallies waving pre-revolutionary Iranian flags alongside the Israeli flag and photos of Reza Pahlavi, the exiled son of Iran’s last shah. 

Often seen wearing a “Trump Was Right About Everything” or a MIGA hat, this segment of the Iranian diaspora routinely borrows rhetoric to push forward a pro-monarchist agenda that positions Pahlavi as a democratic, secular figure—a reliable Western ally in the Middle East. For example, following the U.S. strikes on Iranian nuclear sites in 2025, the National Union for Democracy in Iran, a U.S.-based pro-monarchy group, released its “Emergency Phase Booklet,” a nearly 200-page document that echoes international democratic norms whilst framing the U.S. as a valuable partner in Iran’s “peaceful transition to a democratic future.” It directly names Pahlavi as the “leader of the national uprising.” Notably, this title gives Pahlavi the power to veto the institutions and selection processes in a transitional government—a highly undemocratic right.  

Despite United States Defense Secretary Pete Hegseth insisting that Iran is “not Iraq,” historians cannot help but to note several instances where U.S. intervention in the Middle East—and its preference for certain leaders—has led to decades of conflict, worsening human rights, and heightened instability. Furthermore, those familiar with Iran’s history note the Pahlavi dynasty’s tendency towards authoritarian rule, from banning the hijab (Kashf-e hijab) to the establishment of the SAVAK Secret Police that executed hundreds of political dissidents; an experience that sparked the 1979 Islamic Revolution and ultimately gave rise to Ayatollah Ruhollah Khomeini. 

While Reza Pahlavi cannot be held responsible for the autocratic nature of his family’s rule, his supporters, cult of personality movement, self-appointment as Iran’s transition leader, and his open disregard for federalism or language rights for Iran’s ethnic minorities indicate that his rule will likely mark a return to autocracy.

https://youtu.be/1Fs2xL_DmIA?si=g7cZ1rqZD4_dZGST

As pro-monarchists insist that Pahlavi is the democratic future of Iran and others in the diaspora scramble to find alternative viable leaders, Iran has strengthened hardline elements in its establishment, effectively narrowing political space and deeming any form of legitimate dissent or opposition as a security risk. It’s under these conditions that the new supreme leader, Mojtaba Khamenei, has been appointed; a move that Trump argues won’t “last long” without the U.S.’s approval.

Trump told ABC News, “We want to make sure that we don’t have to go back every 10 years, when you don’t have a president like me that’s not going to do it.”

With the war entering its sixth week, thousands of civilian lives—including those of Iranian schoolchildren—have been lost in Iran, Lebanon, and Israel. Now a regional and global crisis, the U.S.’s initial military attack proves that the collapse of a regime, especially when driven by foreign actors, does not automatically lead to democracy. Instead, it creates an intense power vacuum that exacerbates political unrest and silences the voices that demand a better future for ordinary people. 

So, where does this leave the Iranian people?

Some in the diaspora who thank the U.S. and Israel for their involvement—arguing that “nothing is scarier than the [Islamic] regime”—overlook just how frightening cycles of foreign intervention can be. And while both the U.S. and Israel justify their military actions as acts of solidarity with Iranian protestors, there are clear strategic interests in dismantling the Islamic regime that undermine civilian life in pursuit of geopolitical advantage in the region. 

The future of Iran remains uncertain. But what is clear is that democracy cannot be forged through violence, repression, or outside interference. Those desperate for regime change must remember that the way change is pursued is fundamental to lasting peace and stability.

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Wardah Malik is a Toronto-based researcher, editor, and historian. She is the founder of Historyless Magazine, an independent publication covering global affairs and underreported political narratives. Her work spans media, human rights, and community-based research, including projects on press freedom, public health, and gender-based violence. Her research interests include governance, decolonizing language, and the preservation of underrepresented histories. Wardah holds an MPhil in World History from the University of Cambridge.

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Reckoning with Violence from Safety

by Emerson Prentice for The 44 North, Contributing Writer - Politics

A Map of the Middle East with a pin on Iran

"News has seeped into frequented apps like TikTok and Instagram. The war has become inescapable while remaining unreachable. And, like all global citizens, we’re asked to take a stance. Gen Z is dealing with a strange alternate reality of wartime—we’re deeply aware of what is happening because of its prevalence on our devices, but we’re also unbelievably removed from it." 

From here, we may be safe. 

Despite threats of potential drone warfare in California and rising gas prices, my college campus and the college campuses of America are not warzones—they’ve remained relatively insulated. 

Biking on paved paths, business seems to be running as usual, never mind the air raids that began on Feb. 28 in the Middle East. Classes are still on, finals abound. Any real threat of violence a student feels on campus is most likely an inflated one. This is all true from where I stand in Palo Alto. 

For schools in the Middle East, for one girls’ elementary school in particular, safety isn’t guaranteed. Desks proved to be no match for bombs.

American college students are utterly protected from this type of violence by nature. Some students do come to American universities from countries riddled with warfare. For domestic students, though, we cannot reckon with the unimaginable because we cannot reckon with what we will never hear, smell, or feel. The violence is all painfully distant, truly unknowable.

And at the same time, our generation sees violence more than any generation has before because of the rise of technology. In many ways, we are far more aware of war than those before us. As the conflict in the Middle East has pushed on for weeks, our eyes are glued to our screens, and our screens are filled with carnage. It creates an unsettling juxtaposition between the lives of students in America and the lives of students on battlefields. 

News has seeped into frequented apps like TikTok and Instagram. The war has become inescapable while remaining unreachable. And, like all global citizens, we’re asked to take a stance. Gen Z is dealing with a strange alternate reality of wartime—we’re deeply aware of what is happening because of its prevalence on our devices, but we’re also unbelievably removed from it. 

So how does our generation deal with it? What is the rational response to what you know is distant injustice?

College campuses have seen protests about this conflict and others. Students circulate Instagram infographics with percentages and standalone quotes to convey lives lost. We hold fleeting, often unserious conversations about how “Iran is going to bomb us.” These are in many ways ill-informed and shallow, but their existence and prevalence assure that the conflict remains in the cultural conversation. Without the posts and posters, how would our generation even know it was happening? Wouldn’t our lives feel untouched?  

College administrations, adults, and professors have a profound and accurate sense that youth cannot grasp what is happening in the Middle East and in most global conflicts. Older generations scoff that students are chanting slogans we cannot understand. 

Truthfully, as we are attempting to reckon with what is happening in relation to our unaffected lives, we’re untangling what these conflicts mean in a wider historical sense. Without the necessary background knowledge, is it our responsibility to stay quiet? Or are we still obligated to speak up no matter how much we know? 

The easiest and safest answer to these questions for bustling college students is, of course, the most common response from anyone—silence and ignorance. Our focus should by definition be our education during our time on campus. It’s exceedingly easy to write over any other civic responsibilities with heavy courseloads, but also somewhat essential.  

The same importance of education could be said for the students of the bombed elementary school in Iran—the conflict was not something the young girls should have felt concerned with, and yet violence for them was shockingly inseparable from their place of schooling. They did not have the privilege to choose to escape it, while American students do. So what are American students meant to do with that privilege? 

Notably, this ease of ignorance is not the same for all university students. Some have families that are directly impacted by this violence. Some have homes they do not know the stability or existence of anymore. 

It’s a blessing to not have to reckon with war—it’s an underappreciated privilege my generation was born with. But it creates a complex situation for us as students. One of the most popular majors at my university is international relations, and political science majors graduate from colleges across the country every year. For these students in particular, forming a complex and deep understanding of war is imperative. Students interested in fields like engineering or computer science may also go on to work at companies like Palantir, which are deeply implicated in war. 

An education on a safe campus can and should never be fully separated from an understanding of war. 

These complex questions of what Gen Z should be doing during a war that isn’t theirs are ones the students of America are asking themselves every day—and rightfully so. They’re important questions to help us develop as global citizens and community members, to deepen our understanding of what we owe each other. 

Even more, questioning is a quintessential aspect of maturing as a young person—it’s how we grapple with the world we were thrown into. 

The truth is, we simply don’t have the answers to these questions. However, we can still respond. As the youth of America, we certainly have the courage, tenacity, and time to continue struggling through the work of questioning. This work, especially in colleges and universities, is precisely what we have to offer right now. And as we’ve seen in movements across U.S. campuses, youth voices—fully informed or not—are undeniably catalysts for change.

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Emerson Prentice is a Freshman at Stanford studying Anthropology. At school, she is the Campus Life desk editor for the Stanford Daily, a DJ for the campus radio station KZSU, and an associate producer for the Stanford Storytelling Project’s award-winning podcast, “State of the Human.” For fun, Emerson also loves to run, cook, and birdwatch!

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