Australia joins most of the world’s nations in not formally recognising Taiwan (or the Republic of China, as it is officially known) as a sovereign country, in line with the long-standing One-China policy. And yet, Taiwan has the hallmarks of an independent nation. Only last month it inaugurated a president, William Lai, following democratic and free elections. It has its own constitution, national parliament, judicial system, defence force, currency and passport.

How the Taiwanese people view and assert their identity – their “Taiwaneseness” – will become an increasingly important factor in how the island responds to ratcheting aggression from China to “reunify” it with the mainland. It will likely also shape how the US and its allies, Australia included, respond to any attempts to annex Taiwan and, crucially, the depth of public support within their respective home countries for that response.

For many Taiwanese, the question of identity is enormously complex, and often infused with the weight of history and threads of cultural and ethnic Chinese heritage shared with the mainland. Take this answer, for example, given by Sue Chang, a 35-year-old public servant, I spoke with during a trip to Taiwan last month.

“I’ve gone through a lot of changes in recognising who I am. Because of my family influence, I once thought that I was Chinese-Chinese but as I’ve grown older and been exposed to more information, I no longer think this,” she said. She now identifies as solely as Taiwanese and supports formal independence.

Opinion polling routinely shows that between 60 and 70 per cent of Taiwan’s citizens identify as Taiwanese-only, while the percentage of those identifying as Chinese-only has plunged to low single digits from as high as 25 per cent 30 years ago. Most Taiwanese people, however, do not support pursuing formal independence, one of China’s red lines that would likely trigger war.

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I met Chang on a footpath in Taoyuan, about 45 minutes drive from central Taipei, where she was practising first aid on a mocked-up bomb blast victim as part of a civil defence training course. Such courses, aimed at equipping regular civilians with survival skills in the event of a Chinese invasion, have grown in popularity across the island in recent years and naturally attract a more pro-independence crowd.

In Taipei, on the grounds of the National University of Taiwan, data science student Henry Shiao grappled with the question differently. For him, identity depended on the definition of “Chinese”.

“So from a cultural definition, I am Chinese. But when it comes to national identity, I’m a citizen of the Republic of China, which is different from the People’s Republic of China,” he said, adding he viewed Taiwanese independence as impossible so long as Xi Jinping was China’s president.

He was worried about the loudening drumbeat of war, but it was a concern overshadowed by more immediate pressures such as rising cost of living, housing affordability and dwindling opportunities for high-paying jobs.

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In our recent coverage of the Kinmen islands, a Taiwan-controlled archipelago just a stone’s throw from mainland China, stationery shop owner Song-wei Wang spoke of his comfort in being identified as either Kinmenese or Chinese, and his preparedness to live under Chinese Communist Party rule so long as we can “continue our way of life here and find our happiness”.

These are just a few insights from more than a dozen interviews with Taiwanese citizens who generously shared their thoughts with me, and it’s a theme I hope to revisit over many more trips to the island.

Before then, however, I’ll be tuning into next’s month Paris Olympics spectacle, where Taiwan’s athletes will again compete as “Chinese Taipei”, having been barred long ago from competing under their official flag and national anthem.