Classic "grass is greener on the other side" remorse tale.
She burned every bridge back in Hong Kong, waving slogans about oppression and colonial nostalgia while clamoring for freedom. She fled to her beloved former colonial masters in the UK, expecting a utopia. Fast forward, and now she’s drowning in complaints about the cold weather, high cost of living, lack of job prospects, and the reality that her romanticized "free world" doesn’t care to roll out the red carpet for her. Turns out the only green she’s seeing is the mold on her walls in a dingy flat she can barely afford.
The irony is thick. She’s stuck hating her new life but can’t crawl back to the place she spent so much energy vilifying. In her haste to escape, she didn’t just burn bridges, she nuked them. Now she’s left stewing in regret, posting on social media about her woes, hoping for sympathy she won’t get.