A common theme in these films is the decentralisation of Hollywood's white male hero, another Gen Z cinematic recalibration; women of colour are in substantial leading roles, and taking on a larger part of the stories. Hollywood's investment in Gen Z sees a space being carved out for today's diverse youth in a world that seems unprepared to embrace them. "A glimpse at their racially and ethnically diverse casts tells us as much… [they] function as the perfect match to their darkly satirical takes on contemporary reflections on sexuality, celebrity and violence," says Dr Christopher Holliday, lecturer in Liberal Arts and Visual Cultures Education at King's College, London. However, he adds: "The desire for certain marginalised identities to be 'made visible' is an imperative that can wrongly equate visibility with progress, which in turn raises questions about the burden of an individual to represent the collective and, as a result, who can – and should – hold the power to speak for a particular identity or social group."

As Dr Holliday references, the voices crafting these stories is also a topic of contention; the age gap between the creators and their Gen Z characters means there is an immediate lived-in disparity. Not part of this generation himself, Sam Levinson has created the closest thing to a Gen Z defining project: Euphoria. The teen drama's melodramatic treatment of highschoolers follows 17-year-old Rue (Zendaya) navigating love and addiction, and embodies the Gen Z aesthetic, which Tham notes is "the prevalent visual cues of neon, bright colours, dancefloors and dark nights". The show's Instagram-worthy, highly stylised look – imbued with dark depths beneath the surface – plays into the instability and chaotic narrative nature of Gen Z media.

The third-graders did not welcome Philip to their group. Not just because he was older. He was “different.” He suffered from Down’s syndrome and its obvious manifestations: facial characteristics, slow responses, symptoms of retardation.

One Sunday after Easter the Sunday school teacher gathered some of those plastic eggs that pull apart in the middle—the kind in which some ladies’ pantyhose are packaged.

The Sunday school teacher gave one of these plastic eggs to each child.

On that beautiful spring day each child was to go outdoors and discover for himself some symbol of “new life” and place that symbolic seed or leaf or whatever inside his egg.

They would then open their eggs one by one, and each youngster would explain how his find was a symbol of “new life.”

So …

The youngsters gathered 'round on the appointed day and put their eggs on a table, and the teacher began to open them.

One child had found a flower. All the children “oohed” and “aahed” at the lovely symbol of new life. In another was a butterfly. “Beautiful,” the girls said. And it’s not easy for an 8-year-old to say “beautiful.”

Another egg was opened to reveal a rock. Some of the children laughed. “That’s crazy!” one said. “How’s a rock supposed to be like a ‘new life’?”

Immediately the little boy spoke up and said, “That’s mine. I knew everybody would get flowers and leaves and butterflies and all that stuff, so I got a rock to be different.

Everyone laughed.

The teacher opened the last one, and there was nothing inside.

“That’s not fair,” someone said. “That’s stupid,” said another.

Teacher felt a tug on his shirt. It was Philip. Looking up he said, “It’s mine. I did do it. It’s empty. I have new life because the tomb is empty.”

The class fell silent.

From that day on Philip became part of the group. They welcomed him. Whatever had made him different was never mentioned again.

Philip’s family had known he would not live a long life; just too many things wrong with the tiny body. That summer, overcome with infection, Philip died.

On the day of his funeral nine 8-year-old boys and girls confronted the reality of death and marched up to the altar—not with flower. Nine children with their Sunday school teacher placed on the casket of their friend their gift of love—an empty egg.

Active happiness—not mere satisfaction or contentment —often comes suddenly, like an April shower or the unfolding of a bud. Then you discover what kind of wisdom has accompanied it. The grass is greener; bird songs are sweeter; the shortcomings of your friends are more understandable and more forgivable. Happiness is like a pair of eyeglasses correcting your

孤独大约也就是如此吧。好像长大了，但又好想只做个孩子。

所以呀，我养了一只猫，就在我的出租屋里，一只圆圆乎乎的大胖橘猫，我叫它胖头橘。

我们的生活就这样开始了，一人一猫磨合的倒挺融洽，在我们那个小小的出租屋里，在属于我们的小家里。胖头橘经常乖乖地卧在我身边，任由我的手有一搭没一搭的顺着它的毛，有时当我写作太入迷时，便会朝我喵呜的叫一声，似乎是在抗议。

胖头橘有时也会吵吵闹闹，偶尔我也会生气地指责胖头橘，而指责声中又会夹杂着一声又一声的喵呜，仔细听来，那声音里还有几分捣乱成功后的小得意。

生活一天一天的过着，石沉大海的简历忽有一天然得到了回复，我终于找到工作了。

第一天入职，我本是满怀着憧憬与希望，可现实却狠狠地朝我泼了一盆冷水。刚毕业没多久的大学生，要资历没资历，要经验没经验，只有一腔随时可能会被现实泼灭的热血。

我兴致恹恹的回到了我们的家，胖头橘很乖，在第一天和我分别的日子里，在我们的小家里没有捣乱，没有闯祸，乖乖的吃着我给它留下的猫粮，喝着我给它留下的水。听到我打开门的声音，迈着它的小短腿，拖着一个又橘又圆的身子朝我奔来。

我本应该抱住它，但我没有，我只是颓然地陷在了沙发里。