Journey of Life

By: Anonymous submission

Campaign: Anything and Everything

#literature

When I look out the train window and watch the snow sliding along the hills, I always think about how far I’ve gone. Not just in miles, but also in years, places, and the person I used to be. The soft hum of the train, at a moment, sounds like the rhythm of heartbeats in the journey. 

I lived in Taichung when I was younger, when life was simpler and moved at a more leisurely pace. I can still remember playing with my brother, running through the muddy rice fields, and laughing so hard that my stomach ached. The gold-warm sun was always upon us, though I could clearly hear the hum of the machine at the nearby factories. Mom called from the open door, her voice was soft and clear, and I’d pretend I didn’t hear her so that I could stay a little longer. 

Back then, I didn’t think much about courage and dreams. My world wasn’t very large — our neighborhood, classroom, and the distance between my house to the park. But even when I was this age, I loved dreaming about what lay beyond those rice fields. I would occasionally lie in my cradle and look out at the sky, wondering where airplanes were headed. Maybe that's where it started-my curiosity about the world. I didn't know it then, but that quiet curiosity would someday grow into something much bigger.

I was an adorkable(a word used to mention both an adorable and a dorky person) kid, though. But now, people see me — confident, outspoken, and maybe a bit loud. But I wasn’t always like that. As a child, I was soft-spoken and always observing others before speaking. I cared much about what others feel, sometimes too much. 

As I grew older, it became a sort of calling: going somewhere new, seeing something different, meeting new people in other parts of the world. I remember staring at the map with red pins marking every country I desired to visit. Airports always amazed me — the lights, the announcements, the smell of coffee mixed with the sound of rolling suitcases. Every time I was there, my heart raced with excitement and a bit of fear.

When I had initially decided to work at the Honduran embassy, I wasn't so sure if I could do it. I wasn't fearless, but so firm. The fire blazed in my heart. 

It wasn't easy — taking exams, applying again after one failure, and eagerly awaiting the results. When I finally passed, I was assigned to Honduras. When I saw through the window while the plane was landing, it felt like stepping into another life! 

Life in Honduras was nothing like Taiwan. The first few months were full of surprises and shocks. I had to get used to new lifestyles, foods, and ways of communication. I still remember walking down foreign streets where everything — the smells, the colors, the sky, felt fresh and unfamiliar. 

There were stressful days, endless nights glowing under the computer screens, planning visits, preparing speeches, and double-checking countless times. Sometimes, even Wi-Fi felt like an international crisis. 

I can laugh about it now, but at that moment, it was alarming and tense. 

Along the way, I met people who showed kindness and faced challenges; these are all elements that built my story. 

When I came back to Taiwan, everything felt familiar and strange at the same time. The streets were the same, yet I had changed. I was still single, and my parents were quite traditional, desired me to have babies and get married when it was “the age”. So, yes, I had doubts about returning, but I also want to be a good daughter and Chinese Parental Piety(孝順). I came home with my luggage, but also with memories and a totally different understanding of life. 

Home isn't just a place to stay; it's about connection and responsibility. I used to think of "home" as “wind beneath my wings”, helping me fly. Now, I see that the character of caregiver and supporter shifted from my parents to me; I should be the one caring for my family, both physically and emotionally. something we build with the people we love. 

Being both a teacher and a mother changed my view of the world once more. When I think of my students and my son, I think of parts of myself at every stage: curious, afraid, hopeful, lost, but still trying. Sometimes I wanna laugh when I mix up their names or scold my son for the same things I tell my students not to do. Life's funny like that; it repeats lessons until you really learn them.

Now, when I talk to my students, I often find myself slipping into advice mode — not because I know everything, but because I’ve lived through the same doubts they’re feeling now.

So here's what I'd tell you guys(students) and my son, too:

“Kindness is something you'll never regret.”“Even though many of you here could live comfortably without much effort, that’s meaningless. You have to put in effort toward something — anything — that matters to you.”“I want you to be braver — to work hard, be brave, and be kind.”

Sometimes, you guys roll your eyes at my speeches, but I know that someday, probably years later, you’ll remember these words.

Currently sitting here on this train — the Glacier Express, my dream come true — I feel a strange peace. Outside, the snow is endless, soft, and pure. I see my reflection on the window, and for a second, I catch marquee shifting, showing various steps of me and my life: the barefoot child, the anxious young teenager looking out from the plane, the diplomat staring at her computer at 3 a.m., the teacher grading students' homework and exams until late night, the mother tucking her child in bed. 

I have learned to appreciate where I am and who I have become. 

I still dream-I never stopped dreaming, just changed what I was dreaming about. 

The train slows down, and for a moment, everything is still. I smile, I know that every step, every risk, every laugh, and every tear brought me right here, and all of them are me. They have built who I am now. 

“Your story is what you have, what you will always have. It is something to own.”

― Michelle Obama, Memoir-Becoming.