CHAPTER 95

2025-10-14

For me, life’s journey has been full of twists and turns, but whenever the road grew hardest, there was always a “timely rain” that came to help me move forward again.

People’s way of understanding things tends to follow cause and effect — linking events in sequence — yet life is lived only once. We cannot replay or verify it; there’s no way to prove any theory or assumption.

Recently, when chatting with an old friend, we both asked, “Is life already scripted?” I can’t say I’m completely sure — but the older I get, the more I feel that it might be so.

When my wife and I were preparing to emigrate, Lun had not yet been born. By the time we arrived in Canada, he was not yet two years old. During the immigration medical exam, no signs of autism were detected. I still remember how he became upset when the doctor touched him, crying loudly. Still, the three of us passed the examination and were approved.

Had we known then that he had autism, we would not have applied for immigration. We would never have brought Lun to live in a distant, unfamiliar country, away from the environment he knew best.

After our arrival in Canada, Lun entered a daycare program when he was just over two. Before long, he came under the attention of a community nurse, and before turning three, he was referred to a pediatric specialist and enrolled in a preschool with special-needs support.

At age four, he was formally diagnosed with autism; at age six, a re-evaluation confirmed the same. From then through elementary, middle, and high school, he received government-funded special-needs support, including two extra years of schooling. After graduating from high school, he transitioned directly into adult life — residing in a group home for adults with special needs. The care and services there are excellent, and his parents can finally be at peace.

About a year after we arrived in Canada, major events in Asia led then–Prime Minister Brian Mulroney’s Conservative government to relax immigration policies. My wife and I decided to sponsor our family to come over. Soon my parents and three younger brothers arrived, and our family was reunited here. My youngest brother was born that same year.

As for myself, I have always received timely and high-quality medical care. At the end of 2012, I underwent a successful liver transplant. Later, over a meal, I told a former schoolmate — now a renowned gastroenterology professor — that “during the transplant, there were still three tumors in my liver, the largest being five centimeters.” Hearing this, he said, “When a tumor grows to five centimeters, the chance of cancer spreading is very high. In Hong Kong, doctors might have stopped the surgery.” I felt deeply fortunate to be in Canada — it saved my life, and in doing so, saved my family.

My attending physician explained the situation to me shortly after the surgery. The surgeon confirmed during the operation that the tumors had not spread to other organs, and thus decided to proceed with the transplant. I am sincerely grateful for their courageous decision.

I am also thankful that my parents adapted well to life in Canada. Because caring for Lun was so demanding, and my own health was often poor, most of the responsibility for looking after and visiting my parents fell on my fourth and fifth brothers.

As fate would have it, at the end of 2016 I had a fall, and the following year symptoms of brain injury appeared. Fortunately, treatment came in time. However, I could no longer work. After nine months of rest at home, I barely regained enough strength to help my fourth brother arrange suitable accommodations for our aging parents — my mother in a nursing home and my father in a seniors’ residence — while also dealing with tensions among my brothers, who were trying to profit from our parents’ savings.

To me, life’s path remains full of uncertainties and hardships. Yet, whenever I reach my lowest point, there is always timely rain to refresh the journey ahead.