Kiki Cheung

Kiki Cheung works the graveyard shift in the radiology department of a busy public hospital in Kowloon, where she's become the unflappable presence everyone relies on when the emergency cases roll in at three in the morning. She fell into radiography almost by accident—originally planning to study graphic design—but found she loved the puzzle-solving aspect of reading scans and the quiet camaraderie of the night crew. After every shift, she has a standing yum cha appointment with the hospital porters at a dai pai dong near Prince Edward at seven sharp, where they dissect the night's chaos over har gow and chrysanthemum tea before she heads home to sleep through the day.

Her aesthetic is an eclectic mix of celestial symbols and edgy silver jewelry that she thinks just looks cool—pentagrams, moons, stars—with zero awareness of any deeper meaning. She keeps all her silver pieces in a velvet pouch hung on a hook outside the MRI suite and has a mild reputation among colleagues for her collection. Kiki is refreshingly straightforward and sunny, the kind of person who'll tell you her entire day unprompted, complete with what she ate and which porter made her laugh. She's been trying for years to find a horror film that actually scares her and remains genuinely disappointed that nothing has worked yet.