Tokyo, Beijing, Hong Kong: Three Ways of Living
Living in different megacities within a short period of time changes the way you understand space, time, and yourself. Cities stop being just destinations. They become mirrors. They reflect your pace, your fears, your ambitions, and your readiness to grow. Over the past year, Tokyo, Beijing, and Hong Kong have each played this role in my life — not as abstract global hubs, but as deeply embodied experiences.
I am a student from the Higher School of Economics, currently studying on exchange at the University of Hong Kong. Hong Kong has become my place of living and learning, while Tokyo and Beijing were cities I returned to more than once — spaces of observation, rest, comparison, and internal dialogue. I visited Beijing twice, each time noticing new layers of familiarity, and traveled to Tokyo twice as well, allowing its calm to unfold slowly rather than as a one-time impression. What struck me most is that none of these cities felt oppressive. There was no overwhelming pressure, no sense of being crushed by scale. Instead, each city offered a different mode of existence — a different way of being present in the world. Before experiencing these cities firsthand, I thought I understood what a megacity was. I associated it with speed, competition, pressure, and constant comparison. A place where you either keep up or disappear. However, moving between Tokyo, Beijing, and Hong Kong forced me to reconsider this simplified image.
What I learned is that megacities do not impose a single narrative. Instead, they amplify what already exists inside you. If you arrive tired, they exhaust you. If you arrive curious, they open doors. If you arrive uncertain, they mirror that uncertainty back to you — sometimes uncomfortably clearly. Being a student on exchange intensified this effect. Academic mobility is often described as an opportunity to “see the world,” but in reality, it is more about being seen by yourself in unfamiliar conditions. Removed from привычные социальные роли, you start noticing how deeply your environment shapes your identity. Who are you when no one knows your background? When your achievements do not precede you? When language, rhythm, and norms constantly remind you that you are not at the center of the system?
In this sense, Tokyo, Beijing, and Hong Kong became laboratories of self-observation. Each city tested different parts of my personality: my need for calm, my tolerance for density, my desire for growth. I was not consciously searching for answers, yet the cities kept asking questions — through their streets, their architecture, their people, and their pace. This is why comparing these three megacities feels less like urban analysis and more like mapping internal states. They did not compete with each other in my experience. They complemented each other, revealing different versions of myself.
Tokyo: Calm as a Structure
Tokyo feels like calm that has been carefully engineered. It is not silence — it is order. Even in crowds, there is a sense of distance and quiet coordination. Time in Tokyo feels slow and steady, not because nothing happens, but because everything happens in its designated place. As a state of being, Tokyo is calm. My body felt lighter there, more detached. Walking through the city, I often experienced a sense of peaceful observation — as if I was allowed to exist without participating too much. This detachment did not feel negative. On the contrary, it was restorative. People in Tokyo felt exceptionally warm. There was always a readiness to help, a politeness that went beyond obligation. Yet despite this warmth, I felt that I did not fully fit into the cultural rhythm. Japanese mentality requires constant sensitivity to unspoken rules, emotional restraint, and social precision. As a visitor, this was fascinating and beautiful. As a potential long-term resident, it felt demanding.
The architecture reflects this perfectly: small, neat, highly structured houses; systems within systems; everything carefully organized. It is aesthetically captivating, almost meditative. I could imagine staying in Japan for a long time, absorbing this rhythm, learning from it. But whether I could fully live inside it — adapt to it without losing myself — remains an open question. Tokyo allows you to pause. But it also reminds you that not every calm is meant to become permanent.
Beijing: Density That Feels Familiar
Beijing surprised me with its sense of familiarity. I visited the city twice — once with friends and once with my parents — and each time it felt increasingly close. Even my mother remarked that Beijing resembled Moscow. That comparison resonated deeply with me. Beijing is dense, but not suffocating. It is wide, expansive, heavy in scale. The city allows you to take up space. Time there feels packed but natural, full but understandable. Unlike Tokyo’s refined calm or Hong Kong’s intensity, Beijing operates through volume — of people, movement, sound, and life. Mentally and culturally, Beijing felt closer to me than Tokyo. I believe Russian mentality shares more similarities with Chinese culture: a higher tolerance for chaos, emotional directness, and a less rigid social script. Because of that, I experienced a strong sense of internal freedom in Beijing. I did not feel the need to perform or constantly adapt. I could simply exist. Beijing also stood out as the most accessible city in everyday terms. Prices, transportation, daily routines — everything felt grounded and manageable. After living in Hong Kong, even Japan, often described as expensive, felt surprisingly affordable. Beijing, however, felt genuinely livable. Physically, my body responded to Beijing with energy. It felt active, engaged, present. This was not a city of observation, but a city of participation.
Hong Kong: Saturation and Becoming
Hong Kong is not a city you observe — it is a city you enter. It is saturated with movement, ambition, and intensity. Time here feels dense and compressed. My days are filled with classes, meetings, projects, long walks, constant exploration. There is always something happening, always somewhere to be. Yet despite this saturation, I do not feel exhausted. I feel focused. Hong Kong gives me drive. It is a city of growth, concentration, and momentum. Studying at HKU, balancing academic demands with constant urban exploration, has turned Hong Kong into a space of transformation rather than transition. Infrastructure plays a crucial role in this experience. Hong Kong is a city of extremes: towering skyscrapers and narrow streets, vertical density and lack of physical space. At times, I feel that I lack room to breathe. At the same time, the presence of mountains and the sea creates an unexpected sense of familiarity. As someone from Sochi, this combination of nature and urban intensity feels strangely like home. Hong Kong is also one of the most expensive cities in the world. But this cost does not translate into emotional coldness. Instead, it sharpens awareness. Time matters. Attention matters. Choices matter. Unlike Tokyo and Beijing, Hong Kong is not a travel experience for me. It is a place of residence. A city where I build routines, take responsibility, and grow.
Travel, Living, and Identity
One of the clearest realizations I had is the difference between traveling and living. When you travel, you live in the moment. You observe more than you act. Tokyo and Beijing largely existed for me in this mode. Hong Kong did not. Living somewhere forces you to confront yourself. Your habits. Your limits. Your ambitions. Hong Kong became the space where I stopped observing and started becoming.
Three Cities, Three Inner States
Tokyo, Beijing, and Hong Kong are not simply different megacities. They are three different inner states. Tokyo is calm and distance — a space for reflection and gentle observation. Beijing is density and familiarity — a city that feels grounded and human. Hong Kong is saturation and growth — a place of movement, focus, and becoming. I did not move across these cities to escape my past. I moved because I wanted change — internal, subtle, irreversible. These cities did not give me definitive answers. But they reshaped the questions I ask myself. And sometimes, that is the most meaningful journey a city can offer.
Shared by
Alina Bezborodko
