Six
I grew up in foster care from a young age under the Social Welfare Department. I lived in a total of six foster homes from the age of 2 to 12. Let me start with the first one. I lived there for four years, from the age of 2 to 6. Because I was very young at the time, I considered them my family – my father, mother, and brother. I didn’t know my biological parents then and thought that this was my very own family. However, that was not the reality. When I entered first grade, someone came to my home and took me to court for a family progress hearing. It was the first time I saw a man claiming to be my biological father. However, I was too young to understand anything, so I didn’t say anything to him. After that court hearing, the person who asked me to go to court came again and took me to another home, where I met a new family. After that, I never saw my original father and mother again. I knew I wouldn’t see them anymore.
…the whole family abused me. I was injured all over my body, and old wounds hadn’t healed before new ones appeared.
The time I spent in the second to fourth foster homes was very short, and it was in the fifth foster home that I formerly attended grades one to five. Originally, this family was good, but why did I finish fifth grade there? It’s because, in my fourth-grade year, the whole family abused me. I was injured all over my body, and old wounds hadn’t healed before new ones appeared. It was so bad that even in the summer, I didn’t bother to break the school rules and wore long pants. Of course, the teacher eventually discovered what happened and informed the social worker at school. The police were called, and I was transferred to a boys’ home. I stayed there for two weeks and then moved to the sixth foster home. I also transferred to a new school and attended sixth grade until I entered high school. My academic performance from first to third grade was always in the top three of the class. However, starting from fourth grade, I gave up on myself after taking tests and dropped out of the top three. In the pre-test results of fifth grade, I was second to last in the whole class. It was only because of my behavior and physical education grades that I was able to pass. During the summer vacation of that year, before I changed schools, leaving the boys’ home and going to the sixth foster home, I often went out on the pretext of playing sports, and I got to know many delinquent boys. We caused trouble in the community, got into fights, and even started smoking. I became even more disinterested in studying in sixth grade. Within two weeks of starting high school, I got into a big fight. I even called my friends from outside school to go into the school and fight. The police were called, and I was placed under police surveillance.
After this incident, my alleged biological father claimed and he took me to live with him. Once I moved out, I changed schools again and joined the first year of junior high school. Most of my classmates there had connections to the triad, so I made a new group of delinquent friends. Through them, I learned how to make money every day by trafficking drugs.
Every day after school, I spent a few hours helping people traffic drugs and earning thousands of dollars. At the same time, I also met a girl and quickly became a couple. But in 2016 she unexpectedly became pregnant. I continued skipping school and engaging in drug-related activities full-time. So not only did I traffic drugs, but I also took on additional criminal activities using the excuse of my girlfriend’s pregnancy.
Three
In February 2017, I was arrested for assault, robbery, and intimidation, and I was imprisoned. During my time in prison, my girlfriend didn’t give up on me and kept visiting. It was the day I was released from prison when my daughter was born in the hospital, and I was allowed to be there with the approval of the welfare officer. A friend of my girlfriend asked me if I wanted to work for them since I was just released and had no money or job. After all, raising a child required a lot of money, so I didn’t think twice and agreed immediately. It turned out that I was going back down the same path, getting involved with drugs again, and becoming addicted. In 2018, I was arrested for drug trafficking a second time and sentenced to three years and four months in prison.
But that wasn’t the end. I was arrested a third time in 2022 and from the moment I stepped into the detention center and changed into the prison uniform, I knew this wasn’t a dream. I was indeed in detention again, preparing to lose my freedom and be constantly monitored. From being isolated in the hospital to entering the cell and hearing the closing of the gate, all I could do was sleep. But every time I closed my eyes, I would start weeping. It wasn’t until the welfare officer called my girlfriend to inform her of my situation and she came to visit me that I couldn’t hold back my tears. I couldn’t help it, so I would write letters every night.
Until even my girlfriend’s visits became less frequent, from daily visits to visits every other day. Then every two days, followed by once a week, and eventually once a month. Finally, it went from visits to visits with a lawyer, signing divorce and custody papers!
During the first year or so of my imprisonment, apart from my girlfriend visiting me every day, there was no contact from the so-called brothers or friends. Not to mention visits, I didn’t even receive any letters from them. I asked my girlfriend to call and contact my so-called brothers, but the response I received was, “No time for visits” or “Wait until he’s out”. I felt helpless, but I wasn’t disappointed because I never had any hope in them to begin with. Until even my girlfriend’s visits became less frequent, from daily visits to visits every other day. Then every two days, followed by once a week, and eventually once a month. Finally, it went from visits to visits with a lawyer, signing divorce and custody papers! I felt utterly hopeless. No letters, no visits, no freedom. My emotions plummeted day by day. I couldn’t sleep, and I lost my appetite, which eventually led to stomach bleeding and hospitalisation. They contacted my emergency contact, which happened to be my ex-wife. I had one more visit by her, but it stopped after two minutes because we were both crying so hard. I was also locked up in solitary confinement due to emotional agitation. In those solitary moments, I kept reflecting on why I had returned to drugs, but it was too late for regrets. The only thing I could do was plead guilty early in the process and hope for a lighter sentence.
Twenty-three
I am willing to be punished, but I also want to get out early. I still want to salvage that relationship. I don’t want her to suffer so much. I want to repair this bond and relationship. I’ve already missed one opportunity, and I don’t want to regret it anymore. Now I am 23 years old. I hope to be released before I turn 28. I have been two years in confinement, enduring the emotional turmoil. Right now, all I want is to start anew.
Note: This story is a combination of two letters, originally written in Chinese. It has been edited to improve readability. Switch language to read the original.