Weng Yu Ching, 24, remembers the moment Taiwan legalized gay marriage. She was in Taipei on a May afternoon, along with thousands of other LGBT activists draped in rainbow flags as they awaited the announcement.

When it finally came, the crowds erupted in cheers. People cried openly. Weng, too, was "very happy and very emotional."

"I felt very fulfilled," she said. "I felt like, wow, we did something really great."

It had been a long road to that point -- both for Weng, who works at non-profit organization Taiwan Marriage Equality Coalition, and for Taiwan, which is now the first and only place in Asia to legalize gay marriage.

Weng has been fighting for LGBT rights since she was 17, when she saw a pride parade for the first time in her home city of Kaohsiung. Interest piqued, she made friends in the LGBT community and worked at an LGBT support hotline, chatting with closeted people who often "fear rejection due to their sexuality."

In 2017, Taiwan's courts ruled that the existing marriage laws were unconstitutional and ordered parliament to amend or enact new laws by 2019 -- sparking an acrimonious nationwide debate about LGBT rights.

Weng would spend hours at a time campaigning on the streets, trying to raise public support and awareness -- sometimes right next to anti-LGBT groups trying to do the same thing for their side.

After months of lobbying legislators, social media campaigns, and volunteer work, it felt "amazing" to see the same-sex marriage law finally pass, Weng said. For her, the best part came after the big announcement -- when she began receiving wedding invitations from same-sex couples, many of whom had waited years to legally tie the knot.

There's still work to be done, especially in rural areas where queer youth have less access to resources and support. But this year has been a victory -- and a sign that times are changing.

"People are accepting LGBT people more and more," she said. "We're the first in Asia. I'm very proud of my country."

A landslide election victory in Hong Kong

In 2019, Hong Kong erupted into chaos.

Young people have always been on the front lines, clashing with police -- but in November, they were also on the ballot.

"I was thinking, in what way can I help society in the future?" she said.

She worked as a client manager at a bank after graduation -- but then this summer's protests kicked off, against a China extradition bill pushed by the city's leader and government.

"I couldn't bear to see (the administration) put Hong Kong into jeopardy," she said. "So I decided to step forward and run for (the district council)."

Chau's platform wasn't explicitly political, instead focusing on community issues, but she still became a target in the city's hyper-charged tensions leading up to the elections. In October, she was attacked while campaigning on the street, punched by a man who tore up her posters and threw them to the ground.

Now, she hopes she can use her position to create dialogue with the residents in her constituency -- as well as safeguard Hong Kong's unique freedoms. She expressed concern for Hong Kong's independent judicial and legal system, reflecting a common fear among the movement that mainland China may be encroaching on the city's precious and limited autonomy.

"To protect the future of society, you must step forward," she said. "I hope democracy can be fully highlighted in the future of Hong Kong."

Choking on pollution in India

Ridhima Pandey is only 12 years old, but her name and face have been broadcast worldwide.

Pandey, who lives in India's northern Uttarakhand state, grew up learning about the environment -- but everything changed in 2013, when devastating floods and landslides in the region left thousands dead.

Distressed and confused by why the flood had been so bad, she began researching the impact of climate change on natural disasters. The more she learned, the more frustrated she became at the Indian government for failing to take action. "I really wanted to do something," she said.

Pandey still attends school -- but she also campaigns across the country, speaks at different schools and conferences, and pickets her own school on Fridays as part of the worldwide "Fridays For Future" climate strike movement. Next year, she plans to launch an organization that raises youth climate awareness.

These persistent problems have painted a bleak image of the future in Pandey's mind. Her biggest fear is a world warped by climate change, where "we'll be going to museums to see the trees," and where everyone has to wear oxygen masks to go outside.

Sometimes it doesn't feel fair. She's only 12 -- it shouldn't be her duty to "make the older generation realize what they've done and what they should do." But it doesn't feel like adults have given her much choice.

"You haven't left a future for us," she said. "How can we focus on our dreams?"

#MeToo in South Korean schools

Schools in South Korea don't always feel like safe spaces for young girls, said 22-year-old Jihye Yang. Instead, they're often sites of discrimination and sexual harassment.

Tens of thousands of women have marched in protest under the slogan "My life is not your porn" -- and girls are taking action in schools, too.

She also pushed for government action -- but felt their response was lukewarm. Dissatisfied, she went straight to the United Nations this February, speaking before the Convention on the Rights of the Child on the movement and the discrimination it targeted.

Progress did eventually come; the Ministry of Education set up a gender equality team and the first official channel for student victims to report sexual abuse. It's not a perfect solution -- students weren't sent any information about how to use the channel -- but it's a start.

More importantly, the culture surrounding gender is beginning to shift. More young girls are beginning to call themselves feminists and push back against patriarchal or misogynistic attitudes, Yang said.

"Teenagers have been considered incompetent beings who need to be represented by other people's voices," she said -- but "already, a change is happening in the younger generation."

Free speech threatened in Myanmar

Ye Wai Phyo Aung isn't afraid to be arrested -- it comes with the job of being an activist in Myanmar.

Phyo Aung, 24, is the co-founder of Athan, an advocacy organization for freedom of expression. He helped form the group in 2018 amid an ongoing crackdown on freedom of speech, which has seen hundreds arrested and sued in recent years.

"The whole situation of freedom of expression in Myanmar is in danger," he said. "Not only activists, human rights defenders, journalists are in danger, but also ordinary citizens, community leaders, and so on are at risk."

Phyo Aung began his political activism in college as a student union member. Several years later, he met fellow activist Maung Saungkha, who had just been released from prison.

Phyo Aung also works to effect change on the ground, distributing educational material to teach young people about their freedoms.

Their arrest was decried by human rights organizations and activists, who accused the government of stifling dissent. But Phyo Aung isn't deterred.

"I know that prison or jail or any kind of repression cannot change my beliefs," he said. "Human rights, democracy, freedom and peace are my dream ... so arresting an individual like me cannot change my dream."