At the age of 72, Wang Li finally decided to live for herself. Photo Credit: Huiyee Chiew

Death

Wang Li and her husband never said the words “I love you” to each other in the 44 years they were married. 

Living in Shanghai, China with their adult son, the daily routines of the elderly couple were quite repetitive—taking care of their son’s family and their grandchild. Sometimes, although unspoken tension with their daughter-in-law lingered in the air, life was easier and happier as long as the couple were together.

Occasionally, Wang would mention her plan to visit the United States to her husband. He never strongly opposed it but often teased her for having such an unrealistic idea. She once mentioned it to her sister, who asked, “Could you leave your husband behind? He doesn’t know how to cook or take care of himself. What would you do?” Silent, Wang buried her plan.

But, unexpectedly, the Covid-19 pandemic hit the world in 2020. The Chinese government imposed the strictest Zero-Covid policies across the country. At first, the old couple and their son’s family were not seriously affected, but that changed with the lockdown in Shanghai in February 2022. The whole family was confined to their apartment for over a month, initially without any food or ingredients. Prices of meat and vegetables rose. Neighbors connected through the Chinese messaging app WeChat to exchange food and share information.

Her husband was already not feeling well during the lockdown. A doctor had arranged heart surgery for him, and everything seemed ready. But at the end of December, the government’s abrupt lifting of the lockdown led to widespread Covid infections, including at the hospital. Doctors, nurses, patients, and her husband were infected. His surgery was postponed. After suffering a high fever for ten days and being unable to get any fever medication, he passed away. He was in his 70s. The last words he said were “Should we go?” when he learned he might be sent to the expensive intensive care unit. He never returned.

After he died, Wang Li’s mind was blank for a long time. She couldn’t recognize her clothes, her bed, her home—nothing. She didn’t dare to go out, afraid of seeing old couples shopping for groceries together or simply walking in the park. 

On the anniversary of his passing, Wang wrote her husband a eulogy with a poem.

In this life, you are a lofty mountain

And I am the stream that flows within

I nestle against you

Under your care, I live freely

In this world, you are a vast ocean

And I am a fish swimming within

I cling to you

Under your embrace, I roam willfully and carefree

You left so suddenly

My heart has gone with you

Yet, his death also set her free.

Life

Years later, Wang would remember from her youth a political slogan which said that personal growth, experiences, and the fate of the republic were interconnected. People of her generation had their entire lives shaped by this slogan.

Wang’s dad was a soldier. As a half-Manchu, he was tall, with a high-bridged nose and big eyes—a handsome and intelligent man. Once a Kuomintang soldier, he was captured during the Chinese Civil War of 1945 to 1949 and later recruited to become a Chinese Communist soldier because of his literacy. After being injured in a battle, he retired and met his wife. Together, they formed a family.

In the winter of 1951, Wang was born. She spent her childhood growing up in Northeast China with her two younger sisters. Being the eldest, Wang always took on the responsibility of caring for her siblings and often found herself caught in the middle of her parents’ conflicts. Tensions in the household were somewhat common, with her parents quarreling over family relationships or financial pressures. 

Life was neither easy nor wealthy. The family valued traditional festivals, where everyone came together to celebrate, prepare meals, and enjoy each other’s company. Wang would recall taking the bus to temple fairs with her siblings, while their dad followed behind on his bicycle. It was one of the happiest moments of her childhood.

But one day, the family realized that something was wrong.

It was 1959. There wasn’t enough food to eat, and even basic staples were impossible to buy. The Great Famine had begun to devastate China. Food coupons were distributed, allowing people to buy limited quantities. At the age of eight, Wang managed the coupons, ensuring they were used before they expired and that the meals were sufficient for the family.

At school, her teacher would take the class to the mountains to forage for wild vegetables because everyone was too hungry to stay focused. Wang always brought the vegetables home for her family. But it was never enough. They felt perpetually hungry, and her only coping mechanism was to drink water. Even so, families like hers that had more female members were considered fortunate because women consumed less food, which was crucial for a family’s survival. 

Her grandpa lived with them. His face and legs had already begun to swell––a common symptom of starvation. His nephew visited him and gave him money to buy food. Standing in line early in the morning with her younger siblings, Wang used all the money to purchase a meal set with dumplings and buns. But the children, overwhelmed by hunger, rushed to finish the food. Their grandpa didn’t take a single bite. He simply watched them eat. 

He died a few days later. Wang would always blame her younger self for not realizing that the money her grandpa’s nephew left was intended to buy him a good meal and help send him off on his final journey. 

The three-year disaster ultimately ended in 1962, having claimed the lives of approximately 16 million people. Some experts would blame the famine not on natural disasters but on the policies of the Great Leap Forward and the People’s Communes launched by Mao Zedong, then Chairman of the Chinese Communist Party. 

Even though the memory of starvation still haunted them, Wang’s family slowly rebuilt their lives. The first bit of great news came when Wang’s youngest brother was born, and she entered secondary school. Just when life seemed to be returning to a sense of normalcy, the Cultural Revolution broke out in 1966. 

Wang left school. Young, passionate, and ambitious, she threw herself into the revolution. In response to Mao’s call to combat revisionism, she joined students in criticizing and beating her school principal, and participated in house raids. 

One day during a house raid, she and other demonstrators discovered a “Zhongzheng Sword.” Excited by the find, she eagerly shared the news with her dad. But he asked her not to take part in any more actions. The sword, he explained, was a ceremonial weapon symbolizing military honor, which meant that the person they had beaten might have been an “anti-Japanese hero” during the Second Sino-Japanese War of 1937 to 1945. Wang was genuinely shocked by her dad’s words. 

For many nights, she wrestled with the idea of denouncing him. Doing so would mean her dad would be brought before the public, beaten severely, and humiliated. This wasn’t uncommon. People denounced teachers, parents, children whom they had once respected and loved. And if she did, she would be celebrated as a successful revolutionary. 

Looking back, Wang teases herself. The only thing that gave her relief was that, as she would later describe it, “my human nature ultimately triumphed over revolutionary ideology.” She didn’t denounce her dad in the end. Otherwise, she would have lived with regret for the rest of her life. 

In 1976, the revolution ended with Mao’s death. And again, everything slowly returned to normal. Wang found work in a factory, where she met her husband. The two soon fell in love, marrying in 1979. The following year, they welcomed their son. Two years later, Wang became pregnant again. Carrying a second child in her early 30s wasn’t permitted, and under the country’s one-child policy implemented in the 1980s, she was forced to have an abortion.

Wang could only accept it and move on. The family then moved to Shandong, on China’s eastern coast. Her husband worked as an experienced engineer, and Wang finally found time to complete her studies and become an accountant. 

The plan

Life as a family of three was simple and stable.

What always made Wang proud was that the family barely spent any money on repairs. Whether it was broken lights, leaky pipes, or damaged doors and windows, her husband would fix them all. Wang, in turn, took care of the meals. Her husband had never criticized anything she cooked. “I always told him, ‘You can cook for yourself otherwise,’” she would say with a laugh.

Family life and their son’s future were the priorities. They would visit nearby exhibitions on weekends and the couple worked tirelessly for decades to support their only son, ensuring he had access to a good education and a comfortable life. After their son graduated from university and started his own family in Shanghai, Wang and her husband also moved there to help care for their grandchild. 

Her retirement life was satisfying. Wang had time to travel, and the rise of the internet in 2011 opened up a whole new world of information that changed her forever. It was there that she stumbled on stories about Chinese veterans who had fought the Japanese for the Kuomintang Governments—and then fought on the government’s side against the Communists during the Chinese civil war. 

Link after link, click after click, she discovered the plights these veterans left behind after the Communists defeated the Kuomintang army 1949. While some Kuomintang soldiers retreated to Taiwan, those who remained under the Chinese Communist party endured poverty, mass trials, and forced labor.

These stories filled her heart with sorrow. She found herself learning a history that she had never been taught. 

Wang began contacting aging veterans across the country, collecting their oral histories and raising funds to support them. The more veterans she approached, the stronger her desire to share those stories grew. Determined to tell these untold stories, she posted them online. But her accounts were repeatedly blocked, and eventually, the government officials found her. 

Her husband had mixed feelings. 

Throughout his entire life, he supported the Communist Party, believing in the slogan that “No Communist Party, No New China.” Even though he disagreed with his wife’s political opinions, he continued to support her until she, and even their son, were harassed by government officials. 

That was when Wang became disillusioned with the government. 

Her husband asked her to stop posting online, and her son told her not to be the “mantis trying to stop a chariot”—an idiom describing someone attempting the impossible.

The plan, then, was slowly taking shape in Wang’s mind. What about telling the veteran’s story in the United States? she wondered. 

Sharing these stories with the “beacon of democracy” might help unify overseas Chinese activists and, hopefully, bring about change in China. So she applied for a U.S. tourist visa but was denied twice. When she shared her plan with her sisters and husband, they thought it was unrealistic. 

But Wang would come to see things differently. Her husband’s unexpected death prompted her to reevaluate her life and plan. As a daughter, a wife, and a mother, her entire life has been dedicated to living for her country and the people around her. 

“I had been planning this for so long, but I just couldn’t let go of my husband,” she murmurs, “He knows me well, so he let me fly. He let me live for myself.” 

And so, the plan was reborn.

After arranging her husband’s funeral and celebrating her mother’s 90th birthday, she began her journey in November 2023 which would become the toughest experience of her life: walking through the Darien Gap between Colombia and Panama, at the age of 72. 

The Darien gap

Wang didn’t tell her son or her mother where she was going.

She flew to Ecuador, traveling by bus and on foot to the U.S.-Mexico border—a route known in Chinese as “zou xian,” or “walking the line”—joining the many Chinese citizens who have entered the U.S. illegally in recent years. Even the smuggler she contacted hesitated to take her due to her age, as this elderly woman planned to cross one of the most dangerous migration routes in the world. Migrants have been found dead or gone missing on the route. Worse still, she was traveling alone.

Countless worries crossed Wang’s mind. Could she summon the stamina to endure the route? Could she make it to the U.S. safely? To get prepared, she spent $20,000—most of her savings—to secure the safest route possible. Her plan included hiring a guide to assist with her belongings on some sections.

Fearful yet determined, she wrote herself a poem, “The Vow of a ‘Zou Xian’ migrant.” 

If I were to fall on the route

I would wish to become a piece of soil to fill the hole

Allowing those who come after to walk steadily

If I were to fall in the rainforest

I would wish to be a lofty tree

Shielding those who come after from the wind and rain

Along the way, she recorded short videos—days spent at the Guatemalan border, and nights in refugee camps. She shared her thoughts, like how Costa Rica was not as underdeveloped as she thought, and documented her daily schedule, like crossing borders.

The easier parts were recorded. But the hardest moments weren’t.

Elderly migrants like her received no special care along the route. Everyone was struggling, all risking their lives. Wang remembers how terrified she was to hear others yelling “Go! Go! Go!” as she struggled to keep up. She was afraid to jump onto boats to cross rivers. She also lost the stamina to pull herself up on the undulating paths. Others walked past her without stopping to help. She feared taking risks—a broken leg could spell the end of her journey.

Then the scariest moment happened: Wang got lost on her way to Panama’s refugee camp. She barely remembers, but that night, all she could see was the jungle around her, with the eerie sounds of animals haunting her. She prayed that if the wolf did come, it would eat the cows and goats instead of her. When morning finally came, she was fortunate to meet a kind person who gave her a ride to the camp.

Eventually, after a month-long journey, Wang reached the U.S. Southwest border in December 2023. 

In a video she recorded, the huge southern border wall stood beside her, as migrants around cheered, “Here we come! Here we come!” The sounds of her heavy breathing could be heard as she said:

“Leaving a memory to cherish—this is the great Trump wall. It didn’t stop us from moving forward, and we’ve successfully arrived in the U.S. I’m so excited. I heard that some people were walking it at night and it took about an hour, but we did it during the day. Now, even if I get lost during the day, I’m not afraid. I’ll take it slow.”

At the end of the video, she cheered out loud, “Long Live freedom!”

Queens

Flushing, Queens has become the top destination for many recent Chinese migrants, with established networks for work, legal services, and job opportunities. Walking through Flushing, one sees Chinese signboards, hears Chinese spoken, and catches the sound of Chinese pop songs. This is where Wang has chosen to settle down.

She rents a small room with a single window in an apartment shared with other Chinese housemates. The space fits only the essentials: a double bed, a side table with medicine tucked in the drawer, a table holding a rice cooker and a microwave, and two chairs. Her clothing hangs from the back of the door. Next to the mirror hangs an American flag.

Most weekends, Wang sets up a small booth on a busy street in Flushing, displaying boards that tell the stories of Chinese veterans. If the weather allows, she stays the entire day. When someone pauses in front of the boards, she stands up from her chair to tell the stories. 

She traces her connection to the veterans to her father and the “Zhongzheng sword” that once nearly led her to denounce him. She regrets not asking her father more about his life and battles before he died.  

Wang cannot find any long-term job. With a wry smile, she says she dyes her hair to look younger. But her stamina reveals her age as employers often tell her she is too slow. 

For now, she lives off savings and a pension. Each week, she lines up at churches for free meals.  She shows her mother the free milk, eggs, and bread she  gets when they video chat and tells her that she is doing fine. A simple diet is enough for her. Having lived through the Great Chinese Famine, she always says that she “doesn’t really ask for much in life.” 

Wang made herself lunch in the shared kitchen of her rented apartment in Flushing, New York City. Photo Credit: Huiyee Chiew

But when it comes to her mother and son, she has a lot on her mind. Though she worries, she believes her son can take care of himself, and she refuses to become a burden for him. As for her mother, she dreams of bringing her to the United States if she is granted a green card, although she knows the chances are slim. As for herself, she has no regrets about leaving China and has decided that she will never return unless China becomes a democratic country. 

Wang has given herself a new name: “Xin Sheng,” “reborn” in English. The new version of her has a dream. In her next life, if given the chance, she hopes to be born in a democratic country where she could become a politician fighting for the rights she believes in. 

And she would never forget her love—the husband whose death set her free.

In the eulogy that Wang wrote on the anniversary of his death, she reminisced about his childhood, his work, and their relationship. Though her face reveals little emotion, deep down, she will always be that stream flowing toward him, that fish clinging to him. The last two lines read:

In the next life, we will still hold hands

In the next world, we will continue our fate across three lifetimes

The poem was accompanied by a photo of the elderly couple sitting together, holding each other, both smiling brightly.