testimonies

 My dad was arrested and labeled a “criminal,” but I couldn’t be prouder of him. His arrest at a Christian conference in 2010 marked the start of our family’s journey through persecution. Yet, every place we lived left its mark on me. From my parents, I inherited an unyielding spirit, driven by the pursuit of freedom. Of all the places I’ve called home, three stand out as waypoints.

Life was a slow boil in Nanning, a hot, humid city where the heat clung to my skin like an invisible second epidermis. In my aunt’s kitchen, I first tasted the thrill of innovation. She was more a scientist than a cook, experimenting with ingredients and spices. The clash of pots and the hiss of oil were her symphonies. Inspired by her daring creations, I began experimenting as well. However, my experimentations weren’t in the culinary sphere but rather musical. Repeating classical piano pieces drained them of life. During practice, I often sneaked away to my cousin’s room to play Minecraft, where I created a vibrant world. Over time, the pieces of Bach and Chopin took on life, and the rigid notes were given their kind of freedom. Nanning taught me that boldness and perseverance are the heart of innovation. Church is my second home. “What are these?” I’d ask, tugging at the strange wood panels on the wall, unaware that these soundproofing hid our worship from watchful eyes. Once, I peeled back a whole strip to see what lay behind. Even as a child, I chafed against restrictions. I yearned to be free.

In Wenzhou, I attended a church school. Living in a dorm gave me the independence I’d longed for. One day, on a whim, I signed up for a speech contest, only to find out that I had 10 minutes to prep. Nerves overtook me, but somehow, I mustered to speak. The same feeling resurfaced when the police stormed our classroom. Forty students, including me, were taken to the station. An officer showed me several pictures—my teachers in orange and white striped shirts. “Your teachers are criminals,” he said, voice cold. I tried to argue, but my words disappeared into the void, powerless against a system that denied religious freedom and suppressed dissent. But in that silence, I found a voice of resilience. My classmates and I began whispering verses in the dark, the Scripture felt so real to me at that moment. Romans 8 was especially comforting, for I know that nothing shall separate us from the love of Christ, not tribulation, distress, or persecution. It was a tough time after the school was closed. Everything seemed uncertain. However, the Lord provided various unexpected ways. For months, friends and I set up virtual study halls on Zoom to continue our academic progress. We bonded over our love of Tolkien, dissecting his world and characters. Wenzhou gave me a voice, not only to defend my faith but also to connect with those who share my passions.

Dublin, New Hampshire, was a world away from everything I knew. I can’t remember how many times explaining that I am not in Ireland. Woods replaced skyscrapers, the hustle of traffic gave way to the rustle of leaves and the crunch of snow. I found myself in a state whose motto declares, “Live free or die.”Adapting to Dublin meant more than layering up for the harsh winters; it meant navigating cultural chasms and finding belonging. I speak English at school, Mandarin with the dorm guys, and Hokkien on phone calls with my family. As an international student, I worked with peers struggling to learn English, walking them through grammar even as I wrestled with my own adjustments. Later, I went from translating language to translating emotions. I realized that my friends didn’t always need advice—they needed a listener. And somehow, I became that person, though honestly, I wasn’t always sure about knowing and bearing their burdens or sacrificing my free time. But in listening, I found compassion. I experienced freedom as a calling to love and to serve others as depicted in Galatians 5:13. In Dublin’s quiet, I discovered the loudest part of myself—the part that reaches out to others and to the person I am becoming. 

Each place I’ve lived has left a mark on who I am. The longing for liberty that defined my childhood remains deeply rooted in me. Freedom, to me, is not the ability to do as I please, but the courage to live according to my faith, values, and purpose.