On my flight back to Boston from Hong Kong, I watched “Comrades: Almost a Love Story” (1996), a Hong Kong film directed by Peter Chan and starring Leon Lai and Maggie Cheung — the perfect ending to my summer. The bittersweet emotions this romantic melodrama evoked quickly earned it a place at the top of my list of Hong Kong classics, despite its poorly translated English title. The original Chinese name, “Tian Mi Mi,” literally means “Sweet Honey,” a far better description of the film’s tender yet heartbreaking tone.
Beyond Cheung’s ethereal beauty in every frame, “Tian Mi Mi” conveys a poignant message about materialism, class and personal identity. In the film, Cheung’s character leaves Guangzhou for Hong Kong in search of a better life and a chance to climb the socioeconomic ladder. Upon arrival, she takes advantage of her ability to speak Cantonese, adjusting her style and mannerisms to pass as a Hong Kong native and conceal her mainland identity. Set in the ’80s, the film captures a prevalent sentiment and hardship of the time: the shame associated with being from the mainland. Mainlanders were often depicted as unsophisticated and uncultured, while Hong Kongers — shaped by British colonial rule from 1842 to 1997 — were associated with modernity as a result of Westernization.
Throughout the film, Cheung’s character remains driven by one singular goal: wealth. In her pursuit of material success, she works tirelessly to earn money everywhere she goes, leaving little time to build meaningful friendships. In the film’s final moments, she moves to New York, believing that doing so signifies she has “made it” in life — both financially and socially.
Cheung’s character illustrates how personal identity can become blurred when one immigrates in search of socioeconomic mobility. Watching her struggle to find belonging in the increasingly capitalist cities of Hong Kong and New York while fighting to survive financially forces the audience to confront how the pursuit of wealth reshapes our sense of self. Her desire for money extends beyond comfort; it becomes a means of seeking legitimacy and acceptance in a world where wealth and social class have come to define one’s worth and place in society.
While Cheung’s character’s struggles must be contextualized, we should not underestimate their relevance to contemporary America — the world’s largest immigrant hub. Why might it seem that many immigrants, in coming here to pursue a ‘better’ life financially, may feel compelled to conceal their country of origin? “Tian Mi Mi” reminds us that wealth and identity are inevitably intertwined — that being from a place deemed ‘backward’ can negatively cause one to internalize that very perception. As an international student myself, I am grateful to have come to America not out of necessity, but by choice — not as an escape, but as an opportunity. Perhaps it is a privilege to be able to move somewhere without it drastically changing my perception of where I am from. And perhaps acknowledging that privilege is the first step toward understanding the deeper, often invisible ties between wealth, identity and belonging.
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