I am 52 years old. On December 15, 2022, because of a drug case involving my flat, I was imprisoned in Lo Wu Correctional Institution. To others, my case may seem impossible or even laughable, but in truth, I was simply extremely foolish. My boyfriend had used my unit for drug trafficking, and through negligence and blind trust, I ended up facing arrest.
Here in prison, most people call me “Ah Bo” or “Grandma” because they know I want to be a grandmother, so younger inmates sometimes address me that way. I come from a humble family with six siblings, being the youngest. When I was six, my father left due to an affair. My mother was heartbroken, drank heavily, and often threatened suicide — sometimes saying she would take me with her. This happened several times a week. My eldest brother cared for me, becoming both brother and father in my life.
At fifteen, my father was hospitalised for heart problems. The family forgave him and took him home to recuperate. The next year, I left school to work as a sales assistant. Later I married, had a son, and stopped working during pregnancy. My mother‑in‑law helped care for my son, so when he turned one, I returned to work as a promoter.
When my son was five, my husband became a compulsive gambler and violent. At seven, I divorced him and took my son with me. Money was tight, but a kind social worker helped me apply for social assistance, which I cancelled a year later after I started temp jobs.
In 2015, I enrolled in a hotel housekeeping course. After completing it, I got a job and met an old friend — my current boyfriend. He was good to my son and family, and soon we lived together. He felt like the missing piece of my life’s puzzle, helping me manage household chores and giving my son a better childhood.
Work was busy, especially during Hong Kong’s protests, when I sometimes walked home due to blocked transport and shortages. Then the pandemic came, and as a frontline hotel worker I endured two years. My family worried I might catch the virus, so after discussing with my son, I decided to stop working and become a homemaker.
On the final visit — the day of the offence — I went to the old flat with my boyfriend as usual. As we left for the car park, a large group of people rushed out and grabbed him. Police found drugs on him and took me back to the flat, where they found more drugs. Because the unit was under my name, I was arrested.
Moving homes and the chain of events
During the pandemic, someone in our building caught COVID, and we felt stressed by isolation and testing. We moved from the old Wong Tai Sin flat to a village house in the New Territories. My boyfriend occasionally collected mail from the old flat.
One day, he brought a Housing Department notice about a household survey. When the staff visited, they noted no water or electricity usage for a long time and told me to make the meters move. I thought I had a clever idea — going to the flat to run the washing machine when my boyfriend drove to Mong Kok for curtain supplies.
On the final visit — the day of the offence — we went to the old unit. As we left for the car park, police officers suddenly grabbed my boyfriend and found drugs on him. They then took me back to the flat, where they found more drugs. My boyfriend insisted it was unrelated to me, but as the registered tenant, I was arrested. Police later took us to an industrial building in Tuen Mun, finding another batch of drugs. Initially I faced three counts of trafficking — at the car park, the flat, and the industrial building — but later only the flat charge remained.
Two days later, my son visited to tell me my mother had died. In her final moments she said I was cruel for not coming to see her one last time. Hearing this, my heart felt like it was being sliced apart, and I hated my own stupidity.
Imprisonment and failed bail attempts
I believed my innocence would free me, but the law holds owners responsible for illegal use of their premises. Upon entering prison, I found it unfamiliar and frightening — showers and toilets had no privacy. I avoided talking, sat alone, cried at night under my blanket, and woke easily at small sounds.
I applied for bail many times, including when my 90‑year‑old mother was hospitalised in March 2024. Her condition worsened, and doctors said she would soon die. My son told the family and obtained a medical certificate to support my bail application, but it was denied. Two days later, my son visited to tell me she had died. Her last words were: “Why is she so cruel? She won’t come to see me one last time.”
After her funeral, my family came to visit me but I refused — ashamed to face them. Two months later, my beloved eldest brother died suddenly, and I couldn’t attend his funeral either.
Freedom is a choice you make for yourself. Ignorance and greed can destroy it.
Reflection and faith
In the beginning, I only blamed others and cried, not reflecting on my negligence. I had not thought about the harm drugs cause when reaching the public. By failing to watch over my home, I allowed it to be used to store drugs.
In my lowest moment, I encountered a Bible. Though I’ve read only part of it, it gave me comfort. I learned that even if you think you didn’t “join” the crime, allowing it to happen makes you complicit. Freedom is a choice you make for yourself. Ignorance and greed can destroy it. Although my body is confined, my mind can remain free.
I deeply regret burdening my son during his prime career years and missing chances to honour my family before they died. I am grateful to have awakened early, and no longer want to claim I was wrongfully accused. I hope my story warns others — especially young people — not to let themselves be naïvely used by others. I wish my experience can guide those who have lost their way back to the right path.
Note: This letter was translated and edited from the original in Chinese. Switch language to read the original version.