CONTINUED FROM Part 1
The Diamond Hill murders
In October 2022, I was admitted to Lai Chi Kok Reception Centre. At first, I didn’t have any special feelings because prison life for me just meant no drugs, no women, and no internet. I was already used to the rest of it. But on June 2, 2023, a tragedy happened. A murder took place at Diamond Hill Hollywood Plaza. A mentally ill man randomly killed two young women. On June 3, when I read the newspaper, I noticed the second victim looked very familiar. The newspaper obscured the victim’s face with a grid, so I couldn’t see it clearly, but I still felt it looked familiar, like my daughter. I looked closer at the victim’s name; at that time, the paper only printed the surname. I was relieved and thought it couldn’t be possible — I must be overthinking. I even discussed the case with other inmates, saying how brave the second victim was. Despite being unarmed, she tried to save her friend four times and ultimately lost her life to the attacker.
She was truly admirable for her courage. But on June 4, I saw that day’s newspaper front page had printed a photo of both victims. It must be a miste, I thought — how could it be the face of my daughter? But when I read my daughter’s full name in the paper, I completely collapsed and cried out loudly, “My daughter!” I was overwhelmed with pain and disbelief. Why did this happen? Why my daughter? What wrong did she do? If anyone should die, it should be me! My daughter had never done anything bad. If anyone deserved punishment, it should be me! Why did fate have to be so cruel to my daughter?
She was only 22 years old and had yet to experience so much in life. Why did she have to lose her life? I wished it was all a dream — that I could wake up and everything would be normal. But nothing could change.
During those days, my mind was blank, filled only with tears. I couldn’t eat, and many staff and inmates were worried and concerned for me. I just wanted to kill the murderer. Was it crazy to think about killing someone? Yes, I was crazy!
On June 6, my family came to visit me. The first thing I said was, “Why did this happen? Didn’t you take care of the baby?” (We called my daughter “baby” in our family). I blamed my family but couldn’t say anything because I was crying so hard that I couldn’t speak. On June 15, my ex-wife brought our daughter’s birth and death certificates to the High Court to apply for bail. The judge, was very kind. I originally applied for bail to go out for five days, but the judge approved bail until July 4, the day I had to appear in court. On the day I was granted bail and returned home, my older sister also came to see me. I didn’t say anything; I just held photos of my daughter and me and cried while watching videos of my daughter’s murder online.
TOO LATE
On the day of my daughter’s funeral, I saw her and wanted so much to hold her, but I couldn’t. I really couldn’t accept it. I wished it had been me lying there instead of her. In the days following her cremation, I couldn’t sleep at night and thought about my daughter a lot. There were so many things I only came to know then — that my daughter knew she couldn’t continue her studies beyond Form 4, so she worked hard and dedicated herself to learning a skill.
Earlier this year, she got her hairdresser’s license. To buy a full set of professional hairdressing tools, she even took on a part-time waitress job. She was also diligently practicing yoga, advancing to very difficult poses. She was frugal and worked hard to save money, hoping to open her own hair salon. But I didn’t know any of this; I never cared to pay attention to her. I used to spend all my money on drugs and women, never thinking about my daughter, thinking only that it was enough that she didn’t go astray.
My daughter lived in this world for 22 years, but I never really shared even five years of that time with her. I never cared for or looked after her, so I deeply regret refusing her when she wanted to live with me back then. I blame myself and feel guilty, but I cannot make it up to her.
During the bail period, I suffered from chronic insomnia and bought prescribed sleeping pills from a pharmacy. Every night, I had to take them to fall asleep.
On the night of June 26, I took three sleeping pills. Under their influence, I stole a handbag and was arrested by the police. When I regained consciousness, I was already at the police station. After 48 hours there, I was taken directly to court. Because I committed an offence while out on bail, my bail was revoked, and I was remanded back to custody.
When I returned to the detention centre, I truly wanted to end my life. My daughter was already gone, and now I had done this too. Insomnia is no excuse; taking sleeping pills was just an escape. My daughter in heaven must be very disappointed to see me like this. During this time, I reflected on many things.
FINALLY AWAKEN
I have seriously reflected on myself during this period. We must cherish everyone around us — family and friends. When you are in prison, you are not the only one suffering; your family suffers too. While incarcerated, I have lost my father, grandmother, grandfather, and maternal grandmother — none of whom I was able to see one last time or send off properly. Now, even the only closest blood relative I had left in this world — my daughter — has left me. I have finally truly woken up.
Being in prison means not only losing freedom but also losing the most precious people and things. Behind these four walls, one can do nothing — it is truly painful and helpless. If I hadn’t started using drugs and had put my heart into studying, I would never be where I am today. If I hadn’t taken drugs, my ex-wife and I wouldn’t have divorced, and my daughter’s whole life would have been different. Because I only cared about drugs and neglected my responsibilities as a father, I did not accompany my daughter as she grew up, nor did I give her care or a happy home. I was truly selfish.
Drugs gave me only a lifelong number (my prison number) and a cycle of repeatedly going in and out of jail. I lost so much, including witnessing my daughter grow up and even missing the chance to see her last moments. Drugs destroyed my family.
My mother is already in her seventies and often in poor health, yet she still visits me in prison. Every time I see her, I feel heartbroken. My daughter was the grandchild she loved the most. Not only did I fail to be by her side to share the pain of losing her granddaughter, but I also forced my mother to worry about me and run all over to visit me. During this time, I keep reflecting on my past actions. I say I love my daughter and my mother, but the time I spent with my daughter was very little.
I never took her to school, never helped her with her homework, never truly talked with her. I’m an irresponsible and selfish person, and I hate myself for not paying attention to her, not caring for her, not giving her warmth, and for being unaware that she would leave this world so soon. When this happened initially, I wanted to kill the murderer and resented his family as well. I was hostile toward others and angry at the world.
But over time, I have come to understand that the murderer did not want to be like that, that he suffered from mental illness, and that his family and others were not to blame. I shouldn’t complain about them. My daughter’s life is already lost; no one can bring her back. I truly want to change myself.
My daughter told me with her life that I have done many bad things. But she never went astray or did anything wrong. She worked hard for her future and was more courageous and brave than many others.
My daughter sacrificed her life to awaken me and make me return to being a good person. She showed me that no matter what environment a person grows up in, they can walk the right path. Although her life was only 22 years long, she lived it brilliantly. If my daughter could be so brave as to save her friend by giving her precious life, then I can courageously take the first step to change myself, distance from all bad friends, and walk back on the right path.
I understand that this path will be very difficult and rugged, but I must keep walking it because my daughter has already left this world, yet she will always live in my heart. So I must persist and work hard to change myself; I cannot give up easily. This will comfort my daughter in heaven. For my daughter, my mother, and myself, I must walk back onto the right path. Although I only realized this now and it seems too late, the only thing I can do is be a good person again so my daughter can rest in peace.
In the past, when I was in prison, I never seriously reflected on myself. I just wanted to get out as soon as possible so I could use drugs again. I wasted most of my time thinking like this. If it weren’t for my drug use and frequent imprisonments, I could have spent a lot more time with my daughter, taking care of her. Unfortunately, the reality is cruel: drugs have harmed not only me but also my loved ones.
From this reflection, I clearly understand that prison is not only a punishment for losing our freedom but also a punishment for our families. Prison is meant to help us break bad habits and give us a chance to reform.
I once thought I was controlling drugs, but in fact, drugs were controlling me all along. I deeply regret taking that first hit of drugs, which has left me with a lifetime of regret.
Looking back, I never did a single good thing but caused harm to many. Drug trafficking hurts many people. The damage and destruction caused by drugs are unpredictable. Besides harming the body and causing people to lose their dignity, people will do anything to get money for drugs, harming everyone around them. Because of my actions, my relationships with my sister and brother became distant.
In the past, family gatherings often included me, but over the past decade, they stopped inviting me because they were afraid of me due to my long-term drug use and unreliability. Moreover, their children don’t even want to call me uncle anymore. Many people outside my mother’s home also fear me and don’t want to disclose where they live, which makes me feel very ashamed and inferior.
I have been in and out of prison so often that in recent years, no relatives or friends come to visit me except my aged mother. Every time I see her physically frail body coming to visit me, my heart aches deeply. Since my first imprisonment until now, my mother has gone from being healthy, young, and vigorous to now being in poor health with many wrinkles on her face, yet she still makes the arduous journey to see me. I feel deeply guilty.
I have really failed. Isn’t this age supposed to be the time to take care of my mother? Yet, at this age, she still has to worry about me and run around for me. In prison, I see fellow inmates in their 70s and 80s who have also committed crimes and are incarcerated. I firmly believe that if I continue down this path, the saying “what goes around comes around” will come true. If I keep falling, I too may end up imprisoned at age 70. Of course, I may not even live to 70.
Drugs cause deep and serious damage to the body. So this time in prison, besides reflecting and reviewing myself, I must take action. I firmly believe that as long as I persist, don’t give up or get discouraged, I can accomplish anything. No matter how much I talk about it, it’s useless if I don’t act — only action can lead to success. Losing my daughter made me truly understand the importance of the word “cherish.”
Note: This letter has been translated from its original in Chinese. Switch language to read the original letter.