In the bustling heart of Hong Kong, where high-rises stretch into the sky and cultures quietly intersect on street corners, Jevin Thapa’s story unfolds not as a dramatic transformation, but as a gentle, steady journey of self-discovery. Born to Nepalese parents and raised in Hong Kong, Jevin exists between two worlds, not quite fully claimed by either, and yet deeply shaped by both.
As a third-year English Language and Culture student at the Hong Kong Metropolitan University, Jevin’s current life reflects openness and curiosity. But this is only the latest chapter in a longer, more complicated narrative. Growing up, Jevin first found belonging in the warm, multicultural environment of his ethnic minority primary school, where classmates celebrated similar festivals, spoke similar languages, and shared familiar foods. “The teachers understood us,” he remembers. He spoke fluent Nepali, felt anchored by tradition, and carried the ease of being part of a close-knit community.
Then came the shift. Secondary school was a Chinese-medium institution, where he was one of the few ethnic minority students in his class. Surprisingly, it wasn’t hostility he faced, but kind classmates who tried to communicate, even if language stood in the way. But even kindness couldn’t fill the quiet gaps that began to form. Around this time, life took a hard turn. His father suffered a stroke and became bed-ridden. Soon after, his mother passed away. “It was just me and my sister after that,” he recalls, his voice steady but heavy. “We didn’t really celebrate Nepali festivals anymore. There wasn’t anyone left to teach us.” He drifted away from his Nepalese friends too.
Without anyone to guide him through the threads of culture, language, and ritual, Jevin found his connection to his roots fading. Nepali festivals became dates on a calendar, and the language he once spoke fluently now stumbled on his tongue. At times, he felt more local Chinese than Nepalese, surrounded by Hong Kong’s fast-paced, Cantonese-speaking environment and a circle of Chinese friends. “I feel more Chinese than Nepali sometimes,” he admits. “My family wasn’t around to teach me about Nepalese culture.”
Still, Jevin never fully let go. The longing remained quiet but persistent, and the turning point came when he visited Nepal again after a decade. “I wanted to talk to my grandparents and cousins. But my Nepali was so weak I felt embarrassed,” he says. That moment, surrounded by familiar yet distant faces, stirred something deep inside him. “That was when I realized I needed to learn again. I need to go back to my roots.”
Since then, Jevin has begun the slow work of reconnecting. He now has reconnected with his Nepalese friends and tries to spend more time with them, even as he navigates the differences within their community, differences in caste, upbringing, even language. “I’m Magar, and some friends are half-Indian or from different traditions. It’s not always easy, but I’m trying.” His journey isn’t about erasing one culture for the other; it’s about finding the space in between, the balance that reflects the fullness of who he is.
Academically, Jevin’s path has also been shaped by limitation and resilience. In secondary school, he was offered only science subjects, despite his interests lying elsewhere. “I hated Chemistry,” he laughs, “but I had no choice.” He once considered social work drawn to the idea of helping others like him but chose English Language and Culture after receiving guidance about career prospects. Still, the spark for social work hasn’t gone out. “Maybe I’ll return to it someday,” he says, leaving space open for the future.
Jevin doesn’t speak in sweeping declarations. His words are thoughtful, humble, sometimes hesitant. He doesn’t claim to have it all figured out. But what stands out is his willingness to reflect, to try, to grow. “I’m still overcoming these challenges,” he says quietly. “But I’m open to learning.”
In a city where many young people from ethnic minority backgrounds feel invisible, Jevin’s story matters. It speaks to the quiet power of persistence, of holding on to who you are even when the world around you shifts. His journey reminds us that identity is not a fixed point, it’s a path we walk, often slowly, sometimes painfully, but always with the possibility of return.
Jevin may still be learning how to bridge the two worlds he inhabits, but in doing so, he shows us something vital: that identity isn’t about choosing one side over another. It’s about embracing the whole story of loss and love, disconnection and rediscovery, silence and voice. And in sharing that story, Jevin invites us to do the same.
Article draft preparation: AI Assistant HKBUChatGPT
Interviewers: Seng Lu Ja, Gurung Sajita, and Hasham Khan
Final edit: Seng Lu Ja
