Navigating the 1.5 Generation: Identity, Mental Health, and Storytelling with Bevan Chuang
Sitting down with Bevan was like opening a window into a layered life that holds many worlds at once. She describes herself as part of the 1.5 generation—those who moved to New Zealand as children or teenagers, not quite first generation and not born here either. For Bevan, that meant being uprooted from Hong Kong, finding her own school, learning a new system, and stepping into adult roles long before she was ready. Like many 1.5 youth, she became a translator for her parents while still figuring out who she was.
That dual world has never left her. As she puts it, the 1.5 experience is not about being fake but about adapting. At home she carries one set of expectations, at work another, and with friends yet another. It is a constant shifting, a natural survival skill that can feel exhausting, especially when layered with her late ADHD diagnosis. She calls it her “squirrel brain”—always running, always hungry for stimulation—and she balances it through creativity, systems, and storytelling.
Stigma is another theme that runs through Bevan’s story. She spoke openly about how language itself can deepen misunderstanding. Words for disability or mental health in Chinese often carry negative weight, making conversations harder to have. Rainbow identities also lack nuance in translation, leaving young people without the vocabulary to explain themselves to their families. Bevan is clear: it is not always that parents are closed-minded, but that the concepts themselves don’t exist in their world. Young people end up becoming educators, teaching their families what it means to be queer, to live with depression, or to claim an identity beyond the expected.
Creativity has been Bevan’s anchor. From her early work in museums and film festivals to her current project, Be Love Entertainment, she has always gravitated toward the stories behind the screen. She is fascinated by the “why” of storytelling—why producers adapt a novel one way, why directors change a scene, why chemistry between actors reshapes a story. During Pride Month she began interviewing queer communities in Asia and New Zealand, uncovering the striking generational differences in how equality and belonging are seen. Her work is not about spotlighting actors alone but honouring the unseen labour of creators and the deeper truths their stories carry.
What stood out most in our kōrero was Bevan’s philosophy of empowerment. For her, community work is not about doing things for people but about building their capacity until they no longer need her. She believes in celebrating small wins, not waiting for grand achievements. One person’s idea can ripple outward, one act of courage can spark change. Her creative and community work both flow from that same belief—that stories, once told, connect us and remind us we are not alone.
Bevan’s journey is a reminder that living between worlds can be both a burden and a gift. It demands adaptation, translation, and resilience, but it also breeds empathy, creativity, and vision. Listening to her, I felt again the power of storytelling to break stigma, bridge generations, and build belonging. And I couldn’t help but think: this, too, is authentic leadership.
