韓李慧嫻-傑出又充滿挑戰的一生

文/ 韓李慧嫻，40級；楊淑芬，67級

前言

今年三月間，南女TIMES編輯部收到一份不尋常的投稿，來自40級學姐韓李慧嫻的全英文自傳，長達17頁；韓李慧嫻是府城名醫韓石泉的媳婦，她的媽媽黃炯忻和韓石泉太太莊綉鸞是二高女第二屆的同班同學，同樣都是優秀的南女人成為一家人，結婚時引為美談。

韓李慧嫻自傳是在2018年寫，就寫她從小在香港、台南生長，台大醫學院畢業後短暫執醫，就和夫婿韓良信到美國，相夫教子， 44歲那一年為了籌備孩子的高昂教育學費，復出通過考試，並且經過3年訓練，47歲成為美國放射科醫師；在美國空軍基地Kirtland Air Force任職，成為台灣人首位女性美國軍醫，從醫期間輾轉派駐在美國、日本；從醫生涯歷經許多疑難雜症，最令她難忘是以鋇低侵入性的治療，治癒13個月小寶寶休克狀態中的腸套疊。從醫23年，直到70歲才正式退休，目前和夫婿長住夏威夷，過著清風明月的優游生活。

收到學姐的傳記後，為她強韌毅力感動，學姐是台南女中第一位考上台大醫學系的南女人，生活的時代從日治到民國，經歷過從日本人變成中國人的複雜身世，挨過美軍大轟炸，度過二二八，是一個時代的見證；唯一美中不足是傳記中沒有談到台南女中的生活，央求學姐回憶當年學生生活，學姐表示她還沒忘記中文，以中文寫了一段當年的記憶。以下是學姐回憶省南女時代的生活。

「我只能想起幾位老師及同學的名字而已，最高興的是在臺南女中校慶一百週年紀念活動的網站上看到了教務主任劉大澄老師在照片中、很懷念。 回想起來我每次回台南時有去看母校、在前門拍照。可惜進去裡面都沒有人。

我記得最要好的同學是郭釆蘭，王愛真，最崇拜的高班學姊是王秀蓮及楊䴡嬌，最佩服的學妹就是我的表妹謝淑媛。我記得每天早上升旗唱國歌時由我上台指揮，運動會開幕式時我背上一個大鼓在最前面打拍子，繞運動場一週。我喜歡做的運動是打壘球，擲標槍及打排球。我又記起了敎三角課是景生然老師、化學課是黃永璋老師，音樂課由柯明珠老師、物理課由李潤村老師敎。

高二、高三時參加台南市鋼琴比賽時接連兩年都得到第一名獎品是純金製的竪琴型錘子，當時生活不好過，媽媽拿去變賣換白米。初三畢業晚會時我當了花木蘭，借穿了我母親的旗袍在最後一幕上台。」

延伸閱讀

美國太平洋時報專訪

接下來是學姐全英文自傳，請大家慢慢閱讀。

Moments of My Life (2018.08.28)

Recently my short-term memory loss seems to be getting worse; it worries me that I am really growing more and more forgetful. I turned 86 years old on August 28, 2018. That is the reason I’ve decided to jot down the past events of my life, while I can still remember them. I am not sure whether any of my sons or grandchildren will be interested in their mother or grandmother’s life history, but I am happy that I’ve finally completed this essay (originally written in Japanese, and now, in English). After all, this is still a part of their family history.

I was born two years after my big brother, Ing-Tze Lee 李英哲 in Tainan, Taiwan. My paternal grandfather Seng-Chin Lee 李先進 was a coal dealer in a time when all families in Taiwan cooked with coal. I didn’t know my paternal grandmother, whose name is unknown, except for seeing a black framed portrait of her hanging on the wall in the living room. The picture disappeared after my grandfather passed away. Our paternal grandfather, 李先進 , was kind to us. He always brought us candies and live hens when he visited us so that my mom could slay the chicken and cook it as a big treat.

My maternal grandfather, 黃廷禎 Ting-Cheng Huang was a physician who had three daughters but no sons by his wife, my grandmother, 莊水漂 Tsui-Piew Tsung. My mother, 黃烱炘 Kent-Him Huang, was their eldest daughter. She was born on November 11, 1908. Because her father also wanted sons, after the birth of his three daughters he took a concubine, who bore him two more daughters and three sons. (My mother died in 1987. Of her two sisters, the middle sister died of spinal tuberculosis at a young age while the youngest sister, whose name was 黃珠蘭Ju-Lan Huang, played two important roles in my life later on, as I will tell. After Ju-Lan Huang passed away I lost contact with the rest of her family.)

After graduation from Medical College in Taipei 台灣總督府醫學校, my father 李添枝Tien-Chi Lee (August 26, 1902 – 1941) was sent to Kuantong 広東, China, for obligatory service at Pok-Ai 博愛 Hospital when I was three years old. A year after that, we moved to Hong-Kong 香港, where my father opened a private medical clinic in Wan-Chai 灣仔. My life in Hong Kong was very happy. Our family increased from four to seven with one sister and two more brothers.

These are my siblings and me, in order of birth:

My big brother, 李英哲 Ing-Tze Lee (August 7, 1930 – 2009);

Myself, 韓李慧嫻 Hwei-Shien Lee Hahn (born August 28, 1932);

My younger sister, 李佩綾 Pei-Lin Lee (September 26, 1934 – 1991);

My first younger brother, 李英騰 Eddington Lee (December 21, 1936);

My next younger brother, no name, who died of tuberculous meningitis as an infant;

My youngest brother, 李英偉 Wylie Lee (born August 18, 1941, died August 15, 2018, just a month before I finished this essay on my life).

I have many pleasant memories of my Japanese elementary school, which I attended since we were considered Japanese when Taiwan was a colony of Japan. On the Japanese Emperor’s birthday, we all bowed to the sacred portraits of the Emperor and the Empress, which were hidden behind a veil that was opened for just a few seconds for us to worship and bow to. Then, we all were sent home carrying a gift of box containing red and white buns filled with red beans. They were delicious. I made many Japanese friends whom I keep in touch with even now.

One day, in the kitchen, our maid found a litter of newborn mice and quickly gave them to the cook and chef in the restaurant downstairs. They happily deep-fried alive them one by one and ate them all. I was astonished and scared but was told that this was a Cantonese favorite treat. I wonder whether they are still doing that nowadays.

We had a Cantonese maid whose hair was twisted in a long single braid 長辮子 and who would always wear a black top and long black pants. She helped my mother by taking us to school, and took care of my three-year old younger brother Eddington 英騰. When he cried, the maid, whom we called “ a-Ma’a” 阿嬤, used to scare my brother, saying, “Hush! Hush! Don’t cry. Otherwise the Tza-Pak (查伯 Indian British police who wore turbans on their heads) will put you in jail!”

I also have more pleasant memories, such as visiting the nearby park or to the Woo-Mun Hoo (胡文虎）Recreational Park. The picture in my mind of my mother and us standing there by the bridge is very beautiful and nostalgic to me. I recall the vendor on the street selling hot chestnuts fried with black gravel on a wok; they tasted so delicious that my mouth still waters when I think of the taste. Years later when I visited Wan-Chai 灣仔 again, those vendors were all gone.

After Eddington, another younger brother was born. Unfortunately, he passed away at when he was not yet a year old, a victim of tuberculous meningitis transmitted from my father, who had had pulmonary tuberculosis since his medical college years. Back then, there was no effective cure. The only treatment was bed rest and rich nutrition such as eggs, meat and milk etc. Even with his illness, my father continued his medical practice because he had to feed his growing family. I felt sad when a framed, black-ribboned picture of this little baby brother was laid on the table.

My parents bought a new upright piano in Hong Kong when I was seven years old. I started piano lessons together with my younger sister, 佩綾 Pei-Lin. At the first annual piano teachers’ association guild event, my mother dressed me in a fancy dress and took me to the performance room. I received a report card with a grade of 95/100 for my performance and a remark telling me to lower my pinky when playing.

With war raging in both the West and the East, Taiwanese and Japanese citizens in Hong Kong were sent back to Taiwan or to Japan 1940. Because my father’s open case of pulmonary tuberculosis kept progressing, my mother asked a Japanese friend to bring my big brother 英哲 and me back to Taiwan by ship so that our elementary schooling would not be interrupted. My mother gave me a silver necklace with a heart-shaped pendant which contained small pictures of my father and mother, for us to look at whenever we missed our parents. I was then ten years old and my brother was 12.

We lived with and were cared for by my aunt, 黃珠蘭 Ju-Lan Huang, my mother’s youngest sister, who had children about the same age as us. My uncle changed his Taiwanese last name 陳 Chen into Japanese 和泉 Izumi so his family received an award as a model, Japanese-speaking family (國語常用家庭). There were many elementary schools for the Taiwanese, which were called 公學校. However, we (my brother, my cousins and I) were sent to Hanazono Elementary School (花園國民學校), a Japanese school. I enjoyed the years I spent in the elementary school and in junior high. There I made a few close Japanese friends with whom we have continued our friendship to this day. Decades after World War II ended, we visited each other back and forth between Japan and Taiwan many times, renewing our friendship each time, even after we were all married.

Our class teacher’s name was 益滿 先生 Masumitsu and he was a military retiree. He was very strict with us. He never showed a smiling face. He struck our male Taiwanese classmates often, making them cry. When I attended our class reunion in Yokohama (橫濱) on May 30, 2005, we talked about our former teachers. We missed those teachers who were kind and nice to

us. We felt great grief when learning of their pamssing except 益満先生. No one liked 益滿先生.

By the time the rest of our family moved back to Taiwan, in 1941, my father was in the terminal stage of tuberculosis. My mother travelled from Hong Kong to Taipei (in northern Taiwan), bringing my father to the hospital there, and then from Taipei to Tainan (in southern Taiwan), bringing my three younger siblings to her sister, Ju-Lan Huang, in Tainan, where my older brother and I were already living with her. My mother then returned to Taipei and stayed with my father at National Taiwan University Hospital 台大医院 (Taita Hospital) until he passed away a few months later, in 1941.

When my mother finally came to Tainan, she brought us a two-month old baby brother, 英偉 Wylie, who needed milk badly. My maternal grandfather, a practicing physician, asked the prospective wet nurse; “How can I be sure that my grandson will get enough milk from you?” She unfastened her dress and squeezed her breast, shooting milk across the room so that it reached the opposite wall. This made a deep impression on me, but I don’t think my baby brother Wylie got enough milk from her because he was small and skinny throughout his life. I recall that my grandfather had to buy a female goat to feed Wylie when the wet nurse was fired.

I walked to school with my big brother 英哲. But because of the air raids (the American Boeing-29 bombers flew over Taiwan almost every day), we had to rush to the shelter every time the siren went off. Mothers had to attend classes for firefighting and emergency medical rescue. We all had to wear Mompe もんぺ (ankle-length long pants) and a padded cotton hoods. Often we heard that an entire family had been killed instantly by a bomb that hit a shelter directly.

On March 1, 1945, the first and the heaviest bombing in the central part of Tainan city set the entire city in flames. My mother bought a water buffalo cart for us to escape 疏開 from Tainan with her precious jewelry. Our 80-year old maternal grandma with bound feet 纏足and the important household items were put on the cart; the rest of us all walked through the night to a nearby village called 大內庒. When we stopped and rested under a tree and turned our heads to look back, we saw the scorching of Tainan, staining the pitch-black night sky and leaving the

entire city in a bright red haze. This sight and the sad memories are deeply engraved in my brain and have stayed with me forever. After I got married, I found out that my husband’s older sister, 淑英 Su-Ing Hahn, 18 years old, who had just graduated from high school, was also a victim of the bombing on that very day. She was buried under the ruins near the Hahn Clinic, which had disappeared. We graduated from elementary school that year but never received our diplomas.

The war ended in 1945 shortly after the atomic bombs hit Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Japan surrendered unconditionally and we, the Taiwanese, were released from Japanese control. Chang Kai Shek’s political party, Kuomintang 國民黨 took over Taiwan. The Japanese citizens were sent back to Japan by boat. My best friend, 時任久子 Hisako Tokito was one of them. We kept in touch throughout our lives until she passed away in 2015. Thanks to her diligent letter-writing, I received the benefit of being able to write and speak Japanese just as the Japanese do, without a Taiwanese accent.

After the defeat of Japan, we Taiwanese had to switch from speaking Japanese to Mandarin in public places. Because my mother had learned Cantonese and Mandarin in Hong Kong, she instantly became a tutor of Mandarin classes. In my high school, I won first place in the Mandarin speech contest. The school presented me with a plaque engraved with the words “Perfect and correct pronunciation”. I was in 8th grade then.

When I was in 9th grade, in 1947, the 228 Massacre took place throughout the island. (This was the violent suppression of an anti-government uprising in Taiwan by the KMT, The Kuomintang of China or Nationalist Party of China, who murdered 18,000 – 28,000 people of the opposition, and was one of the most important events in Taiwan’s modern history). It was a period of horror in our lives. Many of the Taiwanese elite, famous physicians, social leaders, old and young, were shot without trial. Many were executed and their corpses were left exposed by the riverside or in public parks, showing the cruelty and brutality of the KMT against the Taiwanese who opposed them. The families of the victims were not even allowed to cover their loved ones’ bodies on the streets with blankets. There was great fear in every Taiwanese mind because the KMT was terribly brutal.

Fortunately, Tainan city had the least bloodshed because of the efforts of my father-in-law 韓石泉 Shyr Chyuan Hahn, Dr. 侯全成 Tsuan-Seng Hou, and a few others. They risked their lives and worked tirelessly to calm the rage of citizens and prevent violence and bloodshed. Even

though over 20,000 people were executed throughout Taiwan, only one was in Tainan, a lawyer named 湯德章Tek-Chiong Tan who was executed as a scapegoat. I did not see his corpse, but my husband did. The image haunted my husband so badly that nothing could pass down his throat for several days. A statue of the lawyer was erected later in the park where he was executed decades after Chiang-Kai Sek died. Chian Kai-Sek 蔣介石 fled to Taiwan in 1949.

My piano teacher 周慶淵 Keng-Eng Chiu registered me in the annual Tainan piano competition sponsored by the municipal government when I was in 10th and 11th grades. I won first place two years in a row. I received pure gold harp-shaped pendants as awards and was invited to broadcast on the air at the radio station for a period of time. I gave both of the award pendants to my mother when she lost her job. She exchanged the pendants for white rice on the black market to feed us five children.

One time we had visitors: a medical school student 吳秀惠 Shou-Hwei Wu and her mother, from Taipei, who stayed overnight at our house. I immediately became a big fan of 吳秀惠 and made up my mind to follow in her footsteps. After going back to Taipei, she sent me preparatory books together with a letter encouraging me to become an MD. I was accepted by the National Taiwan University Medical College the next year. In the same year, my piano teacher, hoping to send me to his alma mater 上野音樂學校 Ueno Music College in Japan later, advised me to take the entrance examination to the Music Department of Normal College. Eventually I was accepted by both colleges. Without hesitation, I chose the medical college.

I graduated from medical school in 1958. My maternal grandfather 黃廷禎 had graduated from the same medical college in 1906, my father 李添枝 in 1929 and my father-in-law 韓石泉 in 1918.

As a student from a low-income family, I had applied for and received a scholarship for financial support and in return had to clean the classroom windows on campus. And while studying I also taught beginning piano players for a side income to make financial ends meet. The biochemistry professor 董大成 Ta-Cheng Tan offered me a job of teaching piano to all three of his daughters for extra income. And he recommended me to the American Military Officer’s

Club for a schollarship, which I won. I can never thank Professor 董 enough for all he did for me.

My medical school life was uneventful and very happy. There were exactly one dozen female students in my class out of 76 students. We often went out together for a nightcap or outdoor activities. We organized 杏林 a string orchestra and performed frequently, along with other activities for entertainment. I was the piano accompanist throughout my school life. We had field trips to do medical research, conducting statistical surveys of endemic black-foot disease 烏腳病 or simple goiter 甲狀腺腫 patients in rural areas. At the farewell parties in aboriginal villages, some of our female students wore aboriginal costumes and danced while singing their songs 高山青. I learned how to ballroom dance, went out with classmates and had fun.

In my final year of medical college before internship, my aunt, Ju-Lan Huang, who had helped raise me and who was a professional matchmaker, came to see my mother and recommended that I marry the second son of 韓石泉 Dr. Shyr-Chyuan Hahn, a famous physician of internal medicine and pediatrics in Tainan city. My mother and Mrs. S-C Hahn had been high school classmates. 韓良信 Mr. Liong-shin Hahn was a math major at the National Taiwan University. We had our first meeting at my sister’s and my joint piano student recital. Liong-shin and his two younger brothers came to the recital. One year later we were married, on September 14, 1958. My eyeglasses were taken away by my mother on my wedding day. She told me a bride with glasses would look ugly. Therefore I couldn’t see anyone or anything clearly, and knew neither where it took place nor who attended my wedding that day.

Our first son, Samuel 信一 was born the next year, on September 24, 1959 in Tainan. My father-in-law named him 信一. The name has three meanings: 1) the number one son of Liong-shin, 2) one as the unit in mathematics, 3) faith in the one and only God. After having worked as an intern, rotating between wards for one year, I remained at the National Taiwan University Hospital as a fixed intern in pediatrics. In the second year, I became a first year resident in internal medicine. When I was on night duty, I brought my baby with me to the residents’ dormitory. I was the very first female resident who got married; my classmates helped me take

care of my baby son 信一 Sam. Two years later, my second son, 信仁 Jim was born. Between Sam and Jim, I suffered a miscarriage of twin girls. I was handling viruses in the research laboratory then.

On the Mid-Autumn Festival Day in 1962, my husband left to pursue his advanced degree at Stanford University. Professor 許振榮 Chin-Eng Koh a math professor at National Taiwan University, was going to UC Berkeley on the same plane. While they were looking at the bright, shiny, full moon at a hotel in Tokyo, thinking of their families they left behind, I was weeping in Tainan with two sons. Since that night, whenever I see the full moon, I think of Liong-shin.

My parents-in-law, Dr. and Mrs. S-C Hahn, were a pair of very kind and devoted parents. They treated me no differently than their own children. 信一 Sam was Dr. and Mrs. Hahn’s very first grandson. They graciously took over the task of caring for Sam while I returned to work in Taipei. This went on after I had our second son 信仁. In spite of their busy lives, seeing the patients, caring for their very first two grandsons, Dr. S-C Hahn still left me with many fond memories which I cherish often. He still made the time to write many letters to his children who were in Taipei for further study. I had to go back to National Taiwan University Hospital for my work in the Diagnostic Laboratory section as a lecturer. As I was leaving my two sons under the care of my parents-in-law, in tears, Dr. S-C Hahn told me, “Your sons are also our precious grandsons as well; they are in good hands; nothing to cry about.“ Sure enough, Sam became Dr. S-C Hahn’s mascot. At the age of three, Sam followed his grandfather everywhere, even to medical meetings whenever permitted. At night, while my mother-in-law was changing their diapers, my father-in-law would hold a jar for his grandsons to urinate into. The nurses gave Sam a new title of Uncle Number 8, as an extra little brother after 良憲 Liong-Hsien. Dr. S-C Hahn passed away suddenly on June 30, 1963 of a stroke due to stress and overwork brought on by attending many meetings, working late hours and other duties. His wife, my mother-in-law, lived until 2001.

After a separation of three years, my two sons and I finally rejoined 良信 Liong-shin in Stanford, California, U.S.A. in the summer of 1965. Sam was then six years old and Jim was four. They didn’t speak a single word of English. But Sam’s class teacher told me at the PTA meeting at the end of first grade, “Congratulations! There are four girls wanting to marry your son!” When he was a 6th or 7th grader, Sam won first place in a spelling bee at his school. Sam’s story and photo appeared in the local newspaper.

After completing his Ph.D. at Stanford in 1966, Liong-shin accepted the position of an instructorship at Johns Hopkins University, so we moved to Baltimore, Maryland. Two weeks after driving across continental U.S.A. from Palo Alto to Baltimore, I gave birth to our third son, Paul 信宏. He was “made in the U.S.A.”

Two years later, Liong-shin accepted an offer from the University of New Mexico in Albuquerque. I was busy raising three sons as a full-time housewife, cooking, driving the children to the school, attending PTA meetings, going to sons’ music performances with a youth symphony group, etc. for seven years.

When our sons were approaching college age, my husband discussed with me how to finance their expensive college education. We concluded that I should return to the medical profession. It took me two years to pass the ECFMG (Examination Committee for Foreign Medical Graduates) and FLEX (Federal License Examination). I was already 44 years old. After undergoing radiology residency training at Mercy Hospital in Pittsburgh for three years, I was finally able to practice medicine in the United States of America.

During my residency training away from home, my husband took care of our sons in addition to teaching at UNM. I started looking for a job as a radiologist in Albuquerque in January, 1978. But there were no openings at the local medical facilities except on the military base, Kirtland, where they were offering bonuses to MDs. When I went to see the hospital commander, he asked me to start the very next day. I was by then already 47 years old. As a requirement, I had to take basic military training for one week in San Antonio, Texas. The training included gun shooting, long-range marching, combat casualty training, camping in the wild, cliff climbing, etc… Luckily, I survived without any bodily injury and obtained the ribbons. At times we were divided into groups of five. One person had to be the “casualty” and the other four had to carry the “wounded victim” on a stretcher going through low-lying barbed wires, passing over high cliffs and so on. The others chose me as the casualty every time because I was the smallest and lightest person and it was easiest with me for them to duck or to carry me above their heads.

I was soon promoted from the rank of captain to the rank of major. After five years of service in Kirtland USAF Base Hospital, I was transferred to the Yokota USAF 横田空軍基地 Hospital in Fussa city 福生 Japan. I was the sole radiologist there and had to do all the radiology examinations, including fluoroscopic examinations, venography, arthrography and mammography in addition to film readings. I was in contact with the local Japanese radiologists when we needed to refer our American patients to the local medical center for further examinations. When there

were joint medical symposia held locally, I was assigned as the interpreter, translating from English to Japanese and vice versa. A year after being assigned to Japan, I was promoted to the rank of lieutenant colonel. I had a “high ranking officer” decal on my car bumper. When driving in and out of the base, the guard at the gate always saluted me. This amused my husband when he took sabbatical leave from the university and was living with me for two years. He taught mathematics at the International Christian University and Sophia University in Tokyo during his second year of staying on the Yokota Base. And I moonlighted at the US Navy Hospital in 横浜 Yokohama, the U.S. Air Force Hospital in Misawa Base 三沢, Kunsan Base and 厚木 Atsugi Base several times.

Among my many moonlighting jobs, there was a most memorable and exciting event I experienced at the Lyndon Johnson USAF Medical Center in American Samoa in 2001. A surgeon asked me whether I would be willing to accept the task of trying to save the life of a 13-month old baby girl. This young patient had an intussusception of the intestine that was threatening her life. Trying to avoid an aggressive operation, the surgeon asked me whether I could try a barium enema, that was less invasive. There was no reason to refuse, so I decided to try. On the first two attempts, the intestinal blockage didn’t budge. I held up the baby, and cleaning the soiled radiology table, I prayed to God to help me save the baby. As I slowly began the third attempt, suddenly the mother of the baby, who was holding her under the fluoroscope, shouted out, “Thank you, Doctor! My baby is saved!” When I looked at the fluoroscopic monitor, the blockage had loosened and the barium was rumbling into the small intestine happily and merrily! I thanked God for His mercy.

One day, when I realized I was going to be 70 years old, I made up my mind to retire. Altogether I had worked for 23 years in the US Air Force, as an active duty officer and a civilian contract radiologist. On my 70th birthday, in 2002, I retired from my final post at the Tripler Army Medical Center in Honolulu, Hawaii. The department held a big celebration party with two large cakes, one for my retirement and the other for my birthday on August 28, 2002.

After retirement from my work I began engaging in public service, serving as president of the Honolulu Chapter of the Taiwanese Association of North America for one busy year, during which time I published a 40-page TAA News Magazine. And I have been a member of the Taiwanese Evergreen Club and NATWA (Taiwanese Women’s Association in North America) as well as NATMA (Taiwanese Medical Association in North America).

At this point I would like to tell a little bit about my religious faith. My mother was a Buddhist. Every month she would cook dishes, making an offering to Buddha on every 1st and 15th day of the lunar month before we ate. After I married my husband, I was baptized without my

consent as a Presbyterian Christian. (The majority of Christian Taiwanese are Presbyterians.) It happened in this way: after my father-in-law passed away of a stroke in 1963, the priest, 謝再生 Rev. Tsai-Seng Shieh came to see my grieving mother-in-law. He found that although my father-in-law had occasionally given a sermon at our church, there was no record of his ever having been baptized. He had become a Christian when he lost his first son at the age of one year and 13 days of pneumonia. He then wrote a little pamphlet in Japanese with the title 『死滅より新生へ』“From Death to Rebirth“, declaring that he had been reborn as a Christian. Nevertheless, the priest was willing to hold the funeral at our church only under the condition that all of us family members would be baptized on that day. Therefore, my mother-in-law, my three sisters-in-law and I were asked to stand up and so with them, I was baptized in 1963.

I attended many churches after I came to the U.S. I was still uncertain what the meaning was of being a Christian. Reading the Bible, buying many books, including a book of a Japanese Christian, 内村鑑三 Kanzo Uchimura, talking to many faithful Christians and priests, I was still unsure for myself why I was a Christian. I attended a few recruiting meetings, prayed with other believers and listened to the members’ testimonies, hoping that one day I would meet God in my prayer, but never so far.

My cousin Susie and I went to Israel. I attended the midnight prayer for two nights. I prayed that God, the Holy Ghost would come into me. On the second night, when I started to pray, I already felt that The Holy Ghost was inside me. Every time when I am in trouble or don’t know what to do to solve my problem, I pray to God to save me or give me instructions. So far, somehow, the situation has taken a better direction or the problem has been solved. For that I thank God. I have read the Bible but not systematically; I go to Bible class weekly. When I read that someone was suddenly filled with glory and converted, I wish I could have that moment one day. But so far I don’t think I have had it.

One day, my priest, 蔡一信 I-Shin Tsai was giving a class to church members who were considering baptism. After a baby is born and the parents have the baby baptized without the baby‘s consent, he or she can have a second chance, to be re-baptized, when grown up; this is called “confirmation baptization”. I asked to undergo confirmation baptization and my wish was granted. I was happily baptized on October 26, 2008 in the Taiwanese Presbyterian Church in Honolulu, Hawaii.

My husband retired from teaching at UNM and moved to Irvine in California, in 1999. In November 2017 he decided to join me in Honolulu. Now we are living comfortably in a house in

Alewa Heights. Life here is pretty simple: going grocery shopping about once a week, playing piano and ping-pong with Liong-shin, and doing exercise riding on a stationary bicycle. Since I stopped driving, my friends give me rides to my singing class and to church and Bible class.

I am grateful for this quiet and peaceful life my husband and I have been given in this nice house halfway up the mountain. I thank God for giving me this happy life.

Completed on our Diamond (60th) Wedding Anniversary date, September 14, 2018

Moments of My Life (2018.08.28)

Recently my short-term memory loss seems to be getting worse; it worries me that I am really growing more and more forgetful. I turned 86 years old on August 28, 2018. That is the reason I’ve decided to jot down the past events of my life, while I can still remember them. I am not sure whether any of my sons or grandchildren will be interested in their mother or grandmother’s life history, but I am happy that I’ve finally completed this essay (originally written in Japanese, and now, in English). After all, this is still a part of their family history.

I was born two years after my big brother, Ing-Tze Lee 李英哲 in Tainan, Taiwan. My paternal grandfather Seng-Chin Lee 李先進 was a coal dealer in a time when all families in Taiwan cooked with coal. I didn’t know my paternal grandmother, whose name is unknown, except for seeing a black framed portrait of her hanging on the wall in the living room. The picture disappeared after my grandfather passed away. Our paternal grandfather, 李先進 , was kind to us. He always brought us candies and live hens when he visited us so that my mom could slay the chicken and cook it as a big treat.

My maternal grandfather, 黃廷禎 Ting-Cheng Huang was a physician who had three daughters but no sons by his wife, my grandmother, 莊水漂 Tsui-Piew Tsung. My mother, 黃烱炘 Kent-Him Huang, was their eldest daughter. She was born on November 11, 1908. Because her father also wanted sons, after the birth of his three daughters he took a concubine, who bore him two more daughters and three sons. (My mother died in 1987. Of her two sisters, the middle sister died of spinal tuberculosis at a young age while the youngest sister, whose name was 黃珠

蘭Ju-Lan Huang, played two important roles in my life later on, as I will tell. After Ju-Lan Huang passed away I lost contact with the rest of her family.)

After graduation from Medical College in Taipei 台灣總督府醫學校, my father 李添枝Tien-Chi Lee (August 26, 1902 – 1941) was sent to Kuantong 広東, China, for obligatory service at Pok-Ai 博愛 Hospital when I was three years old. A year after that, we moved to Hong-Kong 香港, where my father opened a private medical clinic in Wan-Chai 灣仔. My life in Hong Kong was very happy. Our family increased from four to seven with one sister and two more brothers.

These are my siblings and me, in order of birth:

My big brother, 李英哲 Ing-Tze Lee (August 7, 1930 – 2009);

Myself, 韓李慧嫻 Hwei-Shien Lee Hahn (born August 28, 1932);

My younger sister, 李佩綾 Pei-Lin Lee (September 26, 1934 – 1991);

My first younger brother, 李英騰 Eddington Lee (December 21, 1936);

My next younger brother, no name, who died of tuberculous meningitis as an infant;

My youngest brother, 李英偉 Wylie Lee (born August 18, 1941, died August 15, 2018, just a month before I finished this essay on my life).

I have many pleasant memories of my Japanese elementary school, which I attended since we were considered Japanese when Taiwan was a colony of Japan. On the Japanese Emperor’s birthday, we all bowed to the sacred portraits of the Emperor and the Empress, which were hidden behind a veil that was opened for just a few seconds for us to worship and bow to. Then, we all were sent home carrying a gift of box containing red and white buns filled with red beans. They were delicious. I made many Japanese friends whom I keep in touch with even now.

One day, in the kitchen, our maid found a litter of newborn mice and quickly gave them to the cook and chef in the restaurant downstairs. They happily deep-fried alive them one by one and ate them all. I was astonished and scared but was told that this was a Cantonese favorite treat. I wonder whether they are still doing that nowadays.

We had a Cantonese maid whose hair was twisted in a long single braid 長辮子 and who would always wear a black top and long black pants. She helped my mother by taking us to school, and took care of my three-year old younger brother Eddington 英騰. When he cried, the maid, whom we called “ a-Ma’a” 阿嬤, used to scare my brother, saying, “Hush! Hush! Don’t cry. Otherwise the Tza-Pak (查伯 Indian British police who wore turbans on their heads) will put you in jail!”

I also have more pleasant memories, such as visiting the nearby park or to the Woo-Mun Hoo (胡文虎）Recreational Park. The picture in my mind of my mother and us standing there by the bridge is very beautiful and nostalgic to me. I recall the vendor on the street selling hot chestnuts fried with black gravel on a wok; they tasted so delicious that my mouth still waters when I think of the taste. Years later when I visited Wan-Chai 灣仔 again, those vendors were all gone.

After Eddington, another younger brother was born. Unfortunately, he passed away at when he was not yet a year old, a victim of tuberculous meningitis transmitted from my father, who had had pulmonary tuberculosis since his medical college years. Back then, there was no effective cure. The only treatment was bed rest and rich nutrition such as eggs, meat and milk etc. Even with his illness, my father continued his medical practice because he had to feed his growing family. I felt sad when a framed, black-ribboned picture of this little baby brother was laid on the table.

My parents bought a new upright piano in Hong Kong when I was seven years old. I started piano lessons together with my younger sister, 佩綾 Pei-Lin. At the first annual piano teachers’ association guild event, my mother dressed me in a fancy dress and took me to the performance room. I received a report card with a grade of 95/100 for my performance and a remark telling me to lower my pinky when playing.

With war raging in both the West and the East, Taiwanese and Japanese citizens in Hong Kong were sent back to Taiwan or to Japan 1940. Because my father’s open case of pulmonary tuberculosis kept progressing, my mother asked a Japanese friend to bring my big brother 英哲 and me back to Taiwan by ship so that our elementary schooling would not be interrupted. My mother gave me a silver necklace with a heart-shaped pendant which contained small pictures of

my father and mother, for us to look at whenever we missed our parents. I was then ten years old and my brother was 12.

We lived with and were cared for by my aunt, 黃珠蘭 Ju-Lan Huang, my mother’s youngest sister, who had children about the same age as us. My uncle changed his Taiwanese last name 陳 Chen into Japanese 和泉 Izumi so his family received an award as a model, Japanese-speaking family (國語常用家庭). There were many elementary schools for the Taiwanese, which were called 公學校. However, we (my brother, my cousins and I) were sent to Hanazono Elementary School (花園國民學校), a Japanese school. I enjoyed the years I spent in the elementary school and in junior high. There I made a few close Japanese friends with whom we have continued our friendship to this day. Decades after World War II ended, we visited each other back and forth between Japan and Taiwan many times, renewing our friendship each time, even after we were all married.

Our class teacher’s name was 益滿 先生 Masumitsu and he was a military retiree. He was very strict with us. He never showed a smiling face. He struck our male Taiwanese classmates often, making them cry. When I attended our class reunion in Yokohama (橫濱) on May 30, 2005, we talked about our former teachers. We missed those teachers who were kind and nice to us. We felt great grief when learning of their pamssing except 益満先生. No one liked 益滿先生.

By the time the rest of our family moved back to Taiwan, in 1941, my father was in the terminal stage of tuberculosis. My mother travelled from Hong Kong to Taipei (in northern Taiwan), bringing my father to the hospital there, and then from Taipei to Tainan (in southern Taiwan), bringing my three younger siblings to her sister, Ju-Lan Huang, in Tainan, where my older brother and I were already living with her. My mother then returned to Taipei and stayed with my father at National Taiwan University Hospital 台大医院 (Taita Hospital) until he passed away a few months later, in 1941.

When my mother finally came to Tainan, she brought us a two-month old baby brother, 英偉 Wylie, who needed milk badly. My maternal grandfather, a practicing physician, asked the prospective wet nurse; “How can I be sure that my grandson will get enough milk from you?” She unfastened her dress and squeezed her breast, shooting milk across the room so that it reached the opposite wall. This made a deep impression on me, but I don’t think my baby brother Wylie got enough milk from her because he was small and skinny throughout his life. I recall that my grandfather had to buy a female goat to feed Wylie when the wet nurse was fired.

I walked to school with my big brother 英哲. But because of the air raids (the American Boeing-29 bombers flew over Taiwan almost every day), we had to rush to the shelter every time the siren went off. Mothers had to attend classes for firefighting and emergency medical rescue. We all had to wear Mompe もんぺ (ankle-length long pants) and a padded cotton hoods. Often we heard that an entire family had been killed instantly by a bomb that hit a shelter directly.

On March 1, 1945, the first and the heaviest bombing in the central part of Tainan city set the entire city in flames. My mother bought a water buffalo cart for us to escape 疏開 from Tainan with her precious jewelry. Our 80-year old maternal grandma with bound feet 纏足and the important household items were put on the cart; the rest of us all walked through the night to a nearby village called 大內庒. When we stopped and rested under a tree and turned our heads to look back, we saw the scorching of Tainan, staining the pitch-black night sky and leaving the entire city in a bright red haze. This sight and the sad memories are deeply engraved in my brain and have stayed with me forever. After I got married, I found out that my husband’s older sister, 淑英 Su-Ing Hahn, 18 years old, who had just graduated from high school, was also a victim of the bombing on that very day. She was buried under the ruins near the Hahn Clinic, which had disappeared. We graduated from elementary school that year but never received our diplomas.

The war ended in 1945 shortly after the atomic bombs hit Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Japan surrendered unconditionally and we, the Taiwanese, were released from Japanese control. Chang Kai Shek’s political party, Kuomintang 國民黨 took over Taiwan. The Japanese citizens were sent back to Japan by boat. My best friend, 時任久子 Hisako Tokito was one of them. We kept in touch throughout our lives until she passed away in 2015. Thanks to her diligent letter-

writing, I received the benefit of being able to write and speak Japanese just as the Japanese do, without a Taiwanese accent.

After the defeat of Japan, we Taiwanese had to switch from speaking Japanese to Mandarin in public places. Because my mother had learned Cantonese and Mandarin in Hong Kong, she instantly became a tutor of Mandarin classes. In my high school, I won first place in the Mandarin speech contest. The school presented me with a plaque engraved with the words “Perfect and correct pronunciation”. I was in 8th grade then.

When I was in 9th grade, in 1947, the 228 Massacre took place throughout the island. (This was the violent suppression of an anti-government uprising in Taiwan by the KMT, The Kuomintang of China or Nationalist Party of China, who murdered 18,000 – 28,000 people of the opposition, and was one of the most important events in Taiwan’s modern history). It was a period of horror in our lives. Many of the Taiwanese elite, famous physicians, social leaders, old and young, were shot without trial. Many were executed and their corpses were left exposed by the riverside or in public parks, showing the cruelty and brutality of the KMT against the Taiwanese who opposed them. The families of the victims were not even allowed to cover their loved ones’ bodies on the streets with blankets. There was great fear in every Taiwanese mind because the KMT was terribly brutal.

Fortunately, Tainan city had the least bloodshed because of the efforts of my father-in-law 韓石泉 Shyr Chyuan Hahn, Dr. 侯全成 Tsuan-Seng Hou, and a few others. They risked their lives and worked tirelessly to calm the rage of citizens and prevent violence and bloodshed. Even though over 20,000 people were executed throughout Taiwan, only one was in Tainan, a lawyer named 湯德章Tek-Chiong Tan who was executed as a scapegoat. I did not see his corpse, but my husband did. The image haunted my husband so badly that nothing could pass down his throat for several days. A statue of the lawyer was erected later in the park where he was executed decades after Chiang-Kai Sek died. Chian Kai-Sek 蔣介石 fled to Taiwan in 1949.

My piano teacher 周慶淵 Keng-Eng Chiu registered me in the annual Tainan piano competition sponsored by the municipal government when I was in 10th and 11th grades. I won first place two years in a row. I received pure gold harp-shaped pendants as awards and was invited to broadcast on the air at the radio station for a period of time. I gave both of the award

pendants to my mother when she lost her job. She exchanged the pendants for white rice on the black market to feed us five children.

One time we had visitors: a medical school student 吳秀惠 Shou-Hwei Wu and her mother, from Taipei, who stayed overnight at our house. I immediately became a big fan of 吳秀惠 and made up my mind to follow in her footsteps. After going back to Taipei, she sent me preparatory books together with a letter encouraging me to become an MD. I was accepted by the National Taiwan University Medical College the next year. In the same year, my piano teacher, hoping to send me to his alma mater 上野音樂學校 Ueno Music College in Japan later, advised me to take the entrance examination to the Music Department of Normal College. Eventually I was accepted by both colleges. Without hesitation, I chose the medical college.

I graduated from medical school in 1958. My maternal grandfather 黃廷禎 had graduated from the same medical college in 1906, my father 李添枝 in 1929 and my father-in-law 韓石泉 in 1918.

As a student from a low-income family, I had applied for and received a scholarship for financial support and in return had to clean the classroom windows on campus. And while studying I also taught beginning piano players for a side income to make financial ends meet. The biochemistry professor 董大成 Ta-Cheng Tan offered me a job of teaching piano to all three of his daughters for extra income. And he recommended me to the American Military Officer’s Club for a schollarship, which I won. I can never thank Professor 董 enough for all he did for me.

My medical school life was uneventful and very happy. There were exactly one dozen female students in my class out of 76 students. We often went out together for a nightcap or outdoor activities. We organized 杏林 a string orchestra and performed frequently, along with other activities for entertainment. I was the piano accompanist throughout my school life. We had field trips to do medical research, conducting statistical surveys of endemic black-foot disease 烏腳病 or simple goiter 甲狀腺腫 patients in rural areas. At the farewell parties in aboriginal

villages, some of our female students wore aboriginal costumes and danced while singing their songs 高山青. I learned how to ballroom dance, went out with classmates and had fun.

In my final year of medical college before internship, my aunt, Ju-Lan Huang, who had helped raise me and who was a professional matchmaker, came to see my mother and recommended that I marry the second son of 韓石泉 Dr. Shyr-Chyuan Hahn, a famous physician of internal medicine and pediatrics in Tainan city. My mother and Mrs. S-C Hahn had been high school classmates. 韓良信 Mr. Liong-shin Hahn was a math major at the National Taiwan University. We had our first meeting at my sister’s and my joint piano student recital. Liong-shin and his two younger brothers came to the recital. One year later we were married, on September 14, 1958. My eyeglasses were taken away by my mother on my wedding day. She told me a bride with glasses would look ugly. Therefore I couldn’t see anyone or anything clearly, and knew neither where it took place nor who attended my wedding that day.

Our first son, Samuel 信一 was born the next year, on September 24, 1959 in Tainan. My father-in-law named him 信一. The name has three meanings: 1) the number one son of Liong-shin, 2) one as the unit in mathematics, 3) faith in the one and only God. After having worked as an intern, rotating between wards for one year, I remained at the National Taiwan University Hospital as a fixed intern in pediatrics. In the second year, I became a first year resident in internal medicine. When I was on night duty, I brought my baby with me to the residents’ dormitory. I was the very first female resident who got married; my classmates helped me take care of my baby son 信一 Sam. Two years later, my second son, 信仁 Jim was born. Between Sam and Jim, I suffered a miscarriage of twin girls. I was handling viruses in the research laboratory then.

On the Mid-Autumn Festival Day in 1962, my husband left to pursue his advanced degree at Stanford University. Professor 許振榮 Chin-Eng Koh a math professor at National Taiwan University, was going to UC Berkeley on the same plane. While they were looking at the bright, shiny, full moon at a hotel in Tokyo, thinking of their families they left behind, I was weeping in Tainan with two sons. Since that night, whenever I see the full moon, I think of Liong-shin.

My parents-in-law, Dr. and Mrs. S-C Hahn, were a pair of very kind and devoted parents. They treated me no differently than their own children. 信一 Sam was Dr. and Mrs. Hahn’s very first grandson. They graciously took over the task of caring for Sam while I returned to work in Taipei. This went on after I had our second son 信仁. In spite of their busy lives, seeing the patients, caring for their very first two grandsons, Dr. S-C Hahn still left me with many fond memories which I cherish often. He still made the time to write many letters to his children who were in Taipei for further study. I had to go back to National Taiwan University Hospital for my work in the Diagnostic Laboratory section as a lecturer. As I was leaving my two sons under the care of my parents-in-law, in tears, Dr. S-C Hahn told me, “Your sons are also our precious grandsons as well; they are in good hands; nothing to cry about.“ Sure enough, Sam became Dr. S-C Hahn’s mascot. At the age of three, Sam followed his grandfather everywhere, even to medical meetings whenever permitted. At night, while my mother-in-law was changing their diapers, my father-in-law would hold a jar for his grandsons to urinate into. The nurses gave Sam a new title of Uncle Number 8, as an extra little brother after 良憲 Liong-Hsien. Dr. S-C Hahn passed away suddenly on June 30, 1963 of a stroke due to stress and overwork brought on by attending many meetings, working late hours and other duties. His wife, my mother-in-law, lived until 2001.

After a separation of three years, my two sons and I finally rejoined 良信 Liong-shin in Stanford, California, U.S.A. in the summer of 1965. Sam was then six years old and Jim was four. They didn’t speak a single word of English. But Sam’s class teacher told me at the PTA meeting at the end of first grade, “Congratulations! There are four girls wanting to marry your son!” When he was a 6th or 7th grader, Sam won first place in a spelling bee at his school. Sam’s story and photo appeared in the local newspaper.

After completing his Ph.D. at Stanford in 1966, Liong-shin accepted the position of an instructorship at Johns Hopkins University, so we moved to Baltimore, Maryland. Two weeks after driving across continental U.S.A. from Palo Alto to Baltimore, I gave birth to our third son, Paul 信宏. He was “made in the U.S.A.”

Two years later, Liong-shin accepted an offer from the University of New Mexico in Albuquerque. I was busy raising three sons as a full-time housewife, cooking, driving the children to the school, attending PTA meetings, going to sons’ music performances with a youth symphony group, etc. for seven years.

When our sons were approaching college age, my husband discussed with me how to finance their expensive college education. We concluded that I should return to the medical profession. It took me two years to pass the ECFMG (Examination Committee for Foreign Medical Graduates) and FLEX (Federal License Examination). I was already 44 years old. After undergoing radiology residency training at Mercy Hospital in Pittsburgh for three years, I was finally able to practice medicine in the United States of America.

During my residency training away from home, my husband took care of our sons in addition to teaching at UNM. I started looking for a job as a radiologist in Albuquerque in January, 1978. But there were no openings at the local medical facilities except on the military base, Kirtland, where they were offering bonuses to MDs. When I went to see the hospital commander, he asked me to start the very next day. I was by then already 47 years old. As a requirement, I had to take basic military training for one week in San Antonio, Texas. The training included gun shooting, long-range marching, combat casualty training, camping in the wild, cliff climbing, etc… Luckily, I survived without any bodily injury and obtained the ribbons. At times we were divided into groups of five. One person had to be the “casualty” and the other four had to carry the “wounded victim” on a stretcher going through low-lying barbed wires, passing over high cliffs and so on. The others chose me as the casualty every time because I was the smallest and lightest person and it was easiest with me for them to duck or to carry me above their heads.

I was soon promoted from the rank of captain to the rank of major. After five years of service in Kirtland USAF Base Hospital, I was transferred to the Yokota USAF 横田空軍基地 Hospital in Fussa city 福生 Japan. I was the sole radiologist there and had to do all the radiology examinations, including fluoroscopic examinations, venography, arthrography and mammography in addition to film readings. I was in contact with the local Japanese radiologists when we needed to refer our American patients to the local medical center for further examinations. When there were joint medical symposia held locally, I was assigned as the interpreter, translating from English to Japanese and vice versa. A year after being assigned to Japan, I was promoted to the rank of lieutenant colonel. I had a “high ranking officer” decal on my car bumper. When driving in and out of the base, the guard at the gate always saluted me. This amused my husband when he took sabbatical leave from the university and was living with me for two years. He taught mathematics at the International Christian University and Sophia University in Tokyo during his second year of staying on the Yokota Base. And I moonlighted at the US Navy Hospital in 横浜 Yokohama, the U.S. Air Force Hospital in Misawa Base 三沢, Kunsan Base and 厚木 Atsugi Base several times.

Among my many moonlighting jobs, there was a most memorable and exciting event I experienced at the Lyndon Johnson USAF Medical Center in American Samoa in 2001. A surgeon asked me whether I would be willing to accept the task of trying to save the life of a 13-month old baby girl. This young patient had an intussusception of the intestine that was threatening her life. Trying to avoid an aggressive operation, the surgeon asked me whether I could try a barium enema, that was less invasive. There was no reason to refuse, so I decided to try. On the first two attempts, the intestinal blockage didn’t budge. I held up the baby, and cleaning the soiled radiology table, I prayed to God to help me save the baby. As I slowly began the third attempt, suddenly the mother of the baby, who was holding her under the fluoroscope, shouted out, “Thank you, Doctor! My baby is saved!” When I looked at the fluoroscopic monitor, the blockage had loosened and the barium was rumbling into the small intestine happily and merrily! I thanked God for His mercy.

One day, when I realized I was going to be 70 years old, I made up my mind to retire. Altogether I had worked for 23 years in the US Air Force, as an active duty officer and a civilian contract radiologist. On my 70th birthday, in 2002, I retired from my final post at the Tripler Army Medical Center in Honolulu, Hawaii. The department held a big celebration party with two large cakes, one for my retirement and the other for my birthday on August 28, 2002.

After retirement from my work I began engaging in public service, serving as president of the Honolulu Chapter of the Taiwanese Association of North America for one busy year, during which time I published a 40-page TAA News Magazine. And I have been a member of the Taiwanese Evergreen Club and NATWA (Taiwanese Women’s Association in North America) as well as NATMA (Taiwanese Medical Association in North America).

At this point I would like to tell a little bit about my religious faith. My mother was a Buddhist. Every month she would cook dishes, making an offering to Buddha on every 1st and 15th day of the lunar month before we ate. After I married my husband, I was baptized without my consent as a Presbyterian Christian. (The majority of Christian Taiwanese are Presbyterians.) It happened in this way: after my father-in-law passed away of a stroke in 1963, the priest, 謝再生 Rev. Tsai-Seng Shieh came to see my grieving mother-in-law. He found that although my father-in-law had occasionally given a sermon at our church, there was no record of his ever having been baptized. He had become a Christian when he lost his first son at the age of one year and 13 days of pneumonia. He then wrote a little pamphlet in Japanese with the title 『死滅より新生へ』“From Death to Rebirth“, declaring that he had been reborn as a Christian. Nevertheless, the priest was willing to hold the funeral at our church only under the condition that all of us family members would be baptized on that day. Therefore, my mother-in-law, my three sisters-in-law and I were asked to stand up and so with them, I was baptized in 1963.

I attended many churches after I came to the U.S. I was still uncertain what the meaning was of being a Christian. Reading the Bible, buying many books, including a book of a Japanese Christian, 内村鑑三 Kanzo Uchimura, talking to many faithful Christians and priests, I was still unsure for myself why I was a Christian. I attended a few recruiting meetings, prayed with other believers and listened to the members’ testimonies, hoping that one day I would meet God in my prayer, but never so far.

My cousin Susie and I went to Israel. I attended the midnight prayer for two nights. I prayed that God, the Holy Ghost would come into me. On the second night, when I started to pray, I already felt that The Holy Ghost was inside me. Every time when I am in trouble or don’t know what to do to solve my problem, I pray to God to save me or give me instructions. So far, somehow, the situation has taken a better direction or the problem has been solved. For that I thank God. I have read the Bible but not systematically; I go to Bible class weekly. When I read that someone was suddenly filled with glory and converted, I wish I could have that moment one day. But so far I don’t think I have had it.

One day, my priest, 蔡一信 I-Shin Tsai was giving a class to church members who were considering baptism. After a baby is born and the parents have the baby baptized without the baby‘s consent, he or she can have a second chance, to be re-baptized, when grown up; this is called “confirmation baptization”. I asked to undergo confirmation baptization and my wish was granted. I was happily baptized on October 26, 2008 in the Taiwanese Presbyterian Church in Honolulu, Hawaii.

My husband retired from teaching at UNM and moved to Irvine in California, in 1999. In November 2017 he decided to join me in Honolulu. Now we are living comfortably in a house in Alewa Heights. Life here is pretty simple: going grocery shopping about once a week, playing piano and ping-pong with Liong-shin, and doing exercise riding on a stationary bicycle. Since I stopped driving, my friends give me rides to my singing class and to church and Bible class.

I am grateful for this quiet and peaceful life my husband and I have been given in this nice house halfway up the mountain. I thank God for giving me this happy life.

Completed on our Diamond (60th) Wedding Anniversary date, September 14, 2018