I’m not the only child in my family, but my brother is 15 years younger than me. We don’t have the same father. When I was a baby, my parents broke up. My grandma raised me, and I went back to my mother’s side in secondary school. After my brother was born, I started smoking and spending time with friends outside school, so I couldn’t study well.
Most of the time I didn’t like staying at home. My friends were like me. We stayed out late, smoked, took drugs, and didn’t go home.
I remember one time, when my mother was pregnant with my brother, she called the police and reported me missing. After a few days I was caught. Because it had happened so many times, the police said I couldn’t return home. That was my first time in “children’s jail,” and it wasn’t as horrible as people imagine.
I wasn’t really scared. I could call my family, write letters, and learn things there. But I missed my family—especially my mother. She is wonderful, and I love her very much. When she visited, she brought a lawyer and McDonald’s. I cried. She said she was sorry I ended up there, and I felt the warmth and guilt.
After a month, it was court time. My mum was there and saved me again. She told the judge she had already arranged a new school for me in Australia. After court, she drove me to the airport. I didn’t fully understand what was happening, but suddenly I was on a plane.
I thought I could take care of my life without my mom. I stopped answering her calls and tried to live my own way. We were selling “ice,” and we took “cake” every day.
When I woke up, I was in Sydney. I followed my mom’s instructions and found the driver from my new school. When I arrived, I couldn’t believe this beautiful, famous place was my school. At first, I liked it. But after a while I made friends—many outside school. About a year later I started skipping lessons and staying out overnight again. My friends let me stay at their houses. We took drugs and sold them together.
I thought I could take care of my life without my mom. I stopped answering her calls and tried to live my own way. We were selling “ice,” and we took “cake” every day. I knew my mom was crying and worried, but I couldn’t leave my friends. Selling drugs brought easy money, and I partied every day.
After a few months, my mom cut off my credit cards and bank cards. I couldn’t live without them. The money I made wasn’t enough; drugs were expensive. With no other choice, I called her back. She told me I needed to return to Hong Kong.
Back home
I was away in Sydney for three years. My mom saved me again. (Later I found out one friend was caught because there were 8 kg of ice in the house. The news came out less than a month after I left.)
Back in Hong Kong, I didn’t work because I still wanted easy money and freedom. My mom didn’t say much; she supported me with what I needed.
A few months ago, my mom found etomidate in my bag. She was angry and asked why I was selling drugs. My brother was home too. I told her I was in trouble: I had got these things from friends and hadn’t paid yet, and it was dangerous to just walk away.
My mum cried. She paid HK$220,000 to my friend and threw the “things” in the rubbish bin. She saved me again and again. I felt sorry for my family.
After that, I still kept some etomidate somewhere else. I told myself I would finish them and never do it again. But when I went to get them, I got caught.
I feel sorry for my mom and for myself. Here, I cried for my mom. I know she will never give up on me. She loves me so much. This time, I don’t want to waste my life anymore. I want to be with my lovely mom forever.
I believe God wants to save me, just like before—when I was a child and when I was in Sydney. Every time I was near danger, God through my mother saved me. Even if I’m in jail now, I feel their love.
That’s why I won’t give up on myself, just like God and my mother won’t give up on me.
Note: This letter has been edited for grammar and readability. See the original letters images below.
