(Minghui.org) I cried the entire day my mother left.
I cried when I was forced to go to school, when I was at school, and even as I was going home. My teachers, classmates, and even some of their parents were really worried about me.
It happened on October 27, 1999, a few weeks before my eighth birthday. My mother left for Beijing to speak out for Falun Dafa after the persecution started. I was afraid of losing her to the police and did the only thing that an almost-eight-year-old could have done in that situation – cry.
To date, my mother has been arrested and detained four times. Because of the persecution, my parents divorced when I was nine. The following years were difficult and I became very desolate at times, but I never gave up hope.
I held onto the belief that there was a rainbow after every storm.
I've shared below my experiences of growing up as a young Falun Dafa practitioner in the nineties and all of the scars that the persecution has left on my childhood.
Childhood Memories
My childhood was filled with the soothing music that accompanied the Falun Dafa exercises.
My mother started practicing Falun Dafa on May 20, 1995, right before I turned four. She became interested in the practice after seeing a group of joyful, rosy-cheeked people in the park practicing it.
As she got more into the practice, both her body and mind changed for the better. Her illnesses disappeared and she became more optimistic. Our little family of three lived harmoniously, and those were the best years of my childhood.
The Nightmare Begins
Dark clouds filled the sky on July 20, 1999, and with these clouds came the persecution that would shatter many happy families, including mine. Jiang Zemin had commanded that all Falun Dafa practitioners be arrested, for no discernible reason at all.
My mother decided to head towards Beijing to appeal for Falun Dafa and speak out against this unfair treatment.
On October 27, 1999, when my father and I were still sound asleep, my mother left home. My father woke me up the next morning, afraid for my mother's life – I could still vaguely remember his lost expression and hoarse voice, and the note left by my mother.
No words could describe my feelings then. All I knew was that I was afraid of losing my mother, afraid that I will have nothing left.
My mother was stopped at the train station and taken to a detention center. With no one to care for me and my father on the verge of an overseas business trip, my grandmother traveled from her hometown to take care of me.
My eighth birthday was the first birthday I celebrated without either of my parents.
A Gray Period in My Life
My mother was released a month later and everything was temporarily back to normal. However, there was no way she could stay put, not when so many innocent practitioners were still being abused.
Once again, she tried to go to Beijing on May 1, 2000. My heart sank when I heard the news.
My mother was arrested and sent back to our local detention center. During this period, I heard from my father that my mother was a bag of bones after she went on a hunger strike to resist the persecution. We tried visiting her, but were turned away. She was finally released in August.
In September 2000, my mother and I went to an uncle's house after dinner to write appeal letters to mail to the government authorities. It was 10 p.m. when we returned home, but our corridor was still lit up brightly. My mother sensed something was wrong, and we stayed outside until midnight before we returned home.
Upon returning home, we saw a group of strangers in our house – plainclothes policemen. As I was extremely tired, I went to bed. These policemen began to ransack our house, and they later arrested my mother.
This time, I didn't cry. I'd come to expect this kind of treatment.
I was happy one day in November when I woke up to see a set of clothes in the restroom and knew that my mother was back. I learned later that my mother had escaped from the detention center, and had been unable to return home for the past three months.
My father soon divorced my mother due to pressure from my grandparents and his company. My happy family was shattered.
My mother was to turn 30 a few days after she returned home. To celebrate her birthday, my grandmother cooked a few dishes for her. However, when I returned home in the afternoon, I could not find her and learned that she was arrested again. Our whole family was very disappointed.
Although I was sad, I knew that I had to protect all the Dafa books and materials. In the middle of the night, I stuffed all these books and materials into my school bag and ran over to a practitioner's house the next morning, so that they could be kept safe.
This latest arrest led to eighteen months of forced labor camp for my mother.
In 2002, my father remarried. With a new step-mother, I looked happy during the day but cried at night because I was worried for my own mother, who I knew was suffering elsewhere.
Due to the situation at that time, I could not contact my mother. Our only method of communication was through writing letters, and these would often take months before they reached her.
I received three letters in total from my mother during her time at labor camp. I couldn't imagine how many times she must have cried while writing them.
Once, my father and I applied for leave to visit my mother. I finally saw her at noon. Her hair was cut short and she was very skinny. I smiled and laughed by her side and noticed that her front teeth was gone. Bitterness filled my heart. I turned away to wipe off my tears so that my mother could not see. I wanted her to remember my happy face.
My mother was released in March 2003, after the release date was delayed for a year. Upon her release, she was sent straight to a brainwashing center for 20 days.
Lost
With the persecution still going on and the media spreading rumors, I could not differentiate right from wrong. Under my school's arrangement, every student, including me, was taken to the cinema to watch a film slandering Dafa. We were told to write down our thoughts after watching it.
Due to my mother's arrest, my school management wanted me to appear in front of the media to speak on behalf of the CCP. Fortunately, my father declined that request.
At home, relatives often told me, “Your mother is too stubborn, how could she fight against the CCP?” I started to feel lost and could not find my direction. It was only after my mother returned and told me about the persecution, that I was awakened to the truth and regretted my actions.
Sometime during my teenage years, I started dreaming regularly. In my dreams, I was chased by bad people and nobody was there to save me. No matter how fast I ran, I could not find an escape route. This took a toll on my health and I was tired during the day. It wasn't until after I quit the CCP and its affiliated organizations, under my mother's advice, that they stopped.
Although my mother had been released, we could never return to our previous life. I had to keep up my studies, and my relatives on my father's side were worried about my safety and told me not to learn from my mother. I was caught in the middle and occasionally believed them. Other times, I felt skeptical.
I vacillated between believing and not believing them, and could not come to a conclusion.
Taking a Stand
I joined the Youth League automatically in 2004 when I was in junior high school, as I was performing well and was a monitor in the class. When I told my mother about this, she told me to quit quickly and asked me to watch the Nine Commentaries on the Communist Party.
I submitted my application to withdraw from the Youth League the next day after seeing the wickedness of the CCP.
My teachers were astonished and asked me why, to which I replied, “My grandfather said that the CCP is corrupt, and my mother said that the CCP is against humanity and society. So, I want to quit and have nothing to do with it.”
My teachers did not reproach me, nor did they approve my withdrawal application. However, I always maintain that I am not part of the Youth League when filling out application forms.
I often try to dissuade my classmates from joining the Youth League and occasionally help my mother distribute materials on Dafa.
Once, a classmate reported me to the teacher when I was communicating with another classmate with a piece of paper on the CCP while in class. The teacher passed the paper to my father after they could not change my mind. I was scolded upon reaching home. However, this did not deter me from believing that Falun Dafa is a righteous Fa, and that the CCP is the one that is truly bad.
Gradually, I have now grown up into a young adult. I have experienced, witnessed and learned many things. Despite living the nightmare, I know that all these will pass and the time for celebration will be here one day.
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