Is it China? Yes. Is it really China? No.

Students protest. Expats spectate, as if at the Happy Grounds Horse racetrack. Locals speaking their mother tongue want nothing to do with the motherland.

Hong Kong is a post-modern finance playground. It’s a social experiment gone expensive. Aldous Huxley would be frightened.

It’s a place where the world congregates in China’s backyard to do everything they can’t do in China. It’s been the most expensive place to live in the world for many years.

Finance tycoons call it home. Native birds soar through the manmade canyons that finance skyscrapers have created. If The Matrix and Inception set design had a baby, it would come out as a Hong Kong apartment complex. It’s Coruscant from Star Wars. Or that one city from Blade Runner. Or Aeon Flux. You get the idea.

It’s sensory overload. It’s hyper-gentrification. It’s hyper-efficient. Suits in humid 80 degree weather. Ritzy happy hours. Tesla ubers. Tinder profiles that should have your net worth on the main photo instead of your age.

A clash of expat and local dynamics. British expats sip on their beers on the streets as local “Hong Kongese”, or “Hong Kongers”, walk past them with a stoic scoff. They disapprove, but they’ve seen it so much to care too much.

So where’s the culture in all of this? Where does Hong Kong’s soul reside? What does it look like?

Where are the up and coming artists recording their music?

Where is the upstart fashion boutique setting up shop?

Where do the cool kids kick it and do cool stuff?

Creativity is manufactured in factories and warehouses.

The expat/local host I was staying with asked me why I was going so far out of Hong Kong island. I told him I was headed to a hip hop event. The confusion left his face.

“Ahh, that’s why,” my host said. “You really have to look hard to find hip hop on this island. Once you find it, you have to go far for it.”

It was literally the “underground trap party” that I’d envisioned. It had a cold metal door at the entrance. Harsh lights illuminated the flights of stairs leading to the event. Heavy bass bounced off of deteriorating walls. I found the community that I was looking for, in their tracks pants, Reeboks, and cross-chest fanny-packs— the cool kids of Hong Kong that I’ve heard so much about.

They’d been pushed out of their Hong Kong island space, explained an event organizer.

“Too expensive,” he said. “Everything is in Kowloon now. All creatives live here. Everything creative happens here.”

My first night in Hong Kong was spent half-awake in a remote factory space, wondering to what extent the rest of Hong Kong’s culture scene looked like. I would soon find out it all looked pretty similar.

We agreed to an interview, and he asked that we do it at his homie’s streetwear shop. This was protocol. Streetwear shops are cultural hubs for all creatives alike. It’d make the perfect backdrop for a conversation about hip hop, culture, and creativity. Though, it was almost a little too cliche to conduct a culture interview in a streetwear shop. All we were missing was some appropriately placed DJ mixing in the background. But I digress. We made our way to the shop.

Streets lined with industrial buildings surrounded Galaxy and me as we made our way through the seedier streets. I started to think, “Damn, this spot must be pretty incognito.” I had no idea.

Galaxy led me through a loading bay meant for commercial trucks to offload their goods. I was really confused. Where the hell was this place? Was Galaxy who he really said he was? Am I going to be shipped off to some black market for my organs? We went deeper in, and stopped at an industrial looking elevator. We took it up, and sure enough: tucked in secretly on the 8th floor, at the end of a long hall, was “Good Vibes Only,” a streetwear boutique owned by Galaxy’s friend, Tsun Kit.

This. Is. Crazy. Galaxy shrugged it off — said it was normal for streetwear shops to be tucked away like this.

“Bro, all of the creatives are set up in similar spots. We can’t afford to be anywhere on the island.”

Galaxy shared his thoughts on the state of hip hop and creativity in Hong Kong. Disjointed. Competitive. Not supportive. Every man for himself. A lack of shows. Uninterested venues. Pushed out of Hong Kong island.

Hong Kong is a hyper-competitive environment. Creativity is no exception.

After the interview, we met up with Seannie P, a rapper friend of Doughboy’s, and part of his Bakerie Productions collective. We made our way to their studio. I’ll give you one guess where it was located…

These buildings started to be visual representations of Hong Kong’s identity — stacked on top of each other, different colors, cramped, overcrowded. Luxury condos amidst cramped studios. Levels on levels. Stories on stories.

We took another industrial elevator up to the studio.

I was welcomed by neon signs, a tiger carpet probably made by some streetwear brand, and a makeshift studio that was the definition of vibey. Sidenote: most people who saw my snapchat story that night mentioned how cool the studio looked. Props to Galaxy and his team for the way they set the place up — they truly made it their sound home.

We took another industrial elevator up to the studio.

We chilled in their factory studio, sharing music with each other. I played them Steve Lacy, they showed me MC Hot Dog(apparently the Jay Z of rap in Asia). I played them Smoke Purrp, they showed me Gosh Music. I played them Magnolia, they played me Gai "超社会”. They played some 2k, I shot some footage. It was a creative session in its purest form.

A lot was said throughout the day. Insights were exchanged. Similarities with Hong Kong’s finance and my native San Francisco’s tech were discussed. But for one moment during this day of soul-searching, creativity spoke for itself.

“They’re taking their days off,” Galaxy explained. “They have no homes to hang out in because they work in other peoples’ homes. The government allows them to congregate in public spaces to relax and hang out — to be with each other.“

Damn. That hit home. The Philippines, with their greatest export being it’s people, were here, rain or shine — celebrating birthdays, dancing, listening to music, and just being in each other’s presence. To me, they were a reminder for the Hong Kong locals to remember the importance of creativity and passion. A visual reminder of family —of camaraderie in its most shameless form. On the top of cardboard boxes and straw mats.

The way the creative community finds ways to create is similar to the way my Filipino brethren and sisterhood finds ways to congregate. Catering to the soul is life or death. Creativity is required. Music and art are needed. Camaraderie is vital. Without it all, finance has no backbone. Self expression is how humanity stays sane in a world run by money and power, of greed and corruption.

Creatives are thought of in a similar fashion. They are narcissistic beings, only concerned about their aesthetics and where they’re going to get their next avocado on toast. Even further, the creative outlet of hip hop still has a negative connotation in Asia. Vagrant music. Hoodlums communicating negative narratives. But truly, creativity is the soul of human existence. Truly, hip hop is the premiere form of soul-expression. It’s a platform that puts the unknown street kids into the limelight. A way for the downtrodden to communicate their truths. Or mumble them (no shots at mumble rappers, I enjoy most of you).

From factories spaces, to cardboard mats, the places and spaces people congregate and create in are unimportant; the passion being nurtured is the true champion.

Soul finds a way to persist, even in places and situations where it is devalued. Unimportant. A waste of time and money. The soul nurturing sounds, feels, and emotions are everywhere. In hiding within factories, or in plain sight on busy streets.

Hong Kong is intricate— and so is it’s soul. But it’s there. To find it, just look hard enough. You’ll find it.