Chapter 3
The Daughter They Raised
The conversation was never an argument.
阿嬤 had already achieved what thousands of students across Taiwan
dreamed of. She had earned a place at National Taiwan University,
the country's most prestigious university, and enrolled in the
Department of Political Science.
Many parents would have simply celebrated.
Her parents did celebrate.
Then, quietly, they asked a question.
Was Politics really the best path for her future?
阿嬤 never described the moment as a conflict.
There were no raised voices.
No dramatic family meeting.
Her parents had spent their lives running a business. They viewed the
world through practical eyes and believed that Economics would give
their eldest daughter broader opportunities than Politics.
阿嬤 listened.
After her first year, she transferred into the Department of Economics.
When she told the story decades later, there was not the slightest hint
of regret.
To modern ears, that decision might sound like sacrifice.
To 阿嬤, it was simply trust.
She trusted her parents' judgement because, throughout her life, they
had quietly earned that trust.
That trust had been built over many ordinary years.
阿嬤 was the eldest of six children—three girls and three boys.
No one ever formally explained what that meant.
She simply grew into the role.
She helped care for her younger brothers and sisters. She understood
that younger eyes were watching her. Without realising it, she became an
example long before she became an adult.
Responsibility arrived gradually, woven into everyday family life rather
than announced with ceremony.
It was simply who she became.
Her parents rarely taught through lectures.
They taught through example.
Her father worked tirelessly to provide for a large family. He
celebrated education not because it brought prestige, but because he
believed it opened doors that hard work alone sometimes could not.
Her mother carried a different kind of wisdom.
Having grown up during the Japanese era, she spoke fluent Japanese and
possessed a quiet confidence that came from adapting to enormous change.
Years later, when a young banker needed help preparing for a job
interview, she willingly shared that knowledge.
阿嬤 remembered these things not because anyone told her they were
important.
She remembered them because kindness and generosity were simply how her
parents lived.
There was one memory that revealed both the values of the family and the
realities of the time.
阿嬤's younger brother was exceptionally bright. She often encouraged
him to work harder because she believed he was capable of even more.
Eventually, he entered National Cheng Kung University before continuing
his studies in Japan to become an architect.
Her parents were prepared to send him overseas.
Not her.
“There wasn't enough money to send everyone,” 阿嬤 explained.
She never expressed disappointment.
She never suggested the decision was unfair.
She simply accepted it as one of life's circumstances.
For many Taiwanese families during the 1960s, overseas education
represented an extraordinary financial commitment. Sons were often given
that opportunity first because they were expected to shoulder future
responsibilities for the family.
阿嬤 never allowed that reality to define her.
Instead, she built an extraordinary life with the opportunities she had.
Across her stories, a pattern quietly emerges.
Whenever she speaks about an important decision, she almost always
begins by talking about someone else.
Her father.
Her mother.
Her brother.
Rarely herself.
It is a quiet habit of memory that says something profound about the
woman she became.
She measured her life not by individual achievement, but by the people
who shaped it.
As 阿嬤 left university and prepared to begin her working life, she
carried more than a degree.
She carried the example of parents who had taught without preaching.
Who had guided without controlling.
Who had shown that love was often expressed not through grand
declarations, but through patient advice, steadfast support and
unwavering belief in their children.
Those lessons would accompany her into every chapter that followed.