Freedom

Saturday March 28, 2026; Rusty

In spring of 1989 I was in Guangzhou as a college junior. One night my boyfriend came to my dorm and announced that he was with a bunch of friends from the technical college up the hill, heading to downtown for a protest. I went along without any hesitation. I came from a very political family and despite my avoidance to Chinese politics I had plenty of opinion about the communist government.

Within the next few weeks almost all the students around me got involved with the protests one way or another, most went on the streets, waiving signs, and the students from police academy stood alongside of their childhood friends. One night I was out in pouring rain, and it took me at least the next couple of days to get myself cleaned up, hair and laundry and all.

School officials were never involved, but at some point we were told to get back to the classrooms, and the wind shifted.

Meanwhile my mom was in Washington DC, and being the passionate and sometimes unwise not-quite-politician she was, she officially denounced her Chinese Communist Party membership, took pictures, and sent them to me and my brother (in Beijing) through the mail. That was during the time all of our correspondence were “examined” by the officials.

After the massacre on TianAnMen square on June 4th, 1989, my mom realized her children could be in danger from all of our participation in protests, and there were no choice but for us to leave the country. Our original plan was to move to US, for me to attend school, possibly stay for the long term; but now it was between jail and staying alive.

I came to US the following year after much effort on both sides of the Pacific. I received a “parole” visa which didn’t provide a practical exit from China or entry to US, and the US consulate in Guangzhou gave me a visitor’s visa but it’s one usually used for US citizens. My Chinese passport was confiscated for a week. My flight from Hong Kong to San Francisco was canceled due to typhoon. The (Chinese) immigration officer in SFO was confused by my parole and visitor visas, and came close to sending me back to China, until her (white) boss stopped her.

What I didn’t know was once I managed to stay alive, next thing was to make a living. I gained freedom, and I worked hard to keep it.

Sometimes freedom was compromise. For over thirty years I prioritized the roof over my and my family’s head, and keeping everyone healthy. I was alive, and I was free (from jail at least), what I did with it was secondary.

After working hard for over thirty years I’ve reached the point where I can enjoy being free from worrying about daily expenses. It’s a luxury to be in a place in life the priority shifts to how to spend my time, rather than how to make a living.

Once there was a thirsty man walking through the desert, he was barely alive. One day he reached a big river, clean water flowing in front of him, and he says “there is so much water, where do I start to drink?”

My work has been my identity and mental focus, but not my passion. The desire for freedom led me here, now it’s time to revisit, and see where the universe will bring me. I’m reading (Chinese books), writing, enjoying nature, (re)connecting with friends. I’m creating blank spaces on my calendar and in my mind to make room for something new.