Miao Li shone brightest in the summertime. Cicadas clung to trees like tiny singers, and the air shimmered above the pavement in soft, golden waves. The river cut through the town, moving lazily under the sun, reflecting rooftops tiled in faded red. In the evenings, the scent of frying garlic and fresh laundry drifted through narrow streets where children ran barefoot until the sky turned apricot.
Satine was a typical child. Bright, sweet, and a little bit silly sometimes. She laughed too loudly at her own jokes and tripped over her words when she got excited. Her hair was often half-braided because one of her sisters would start styling it and abandon the job halfway through. Despite facing small challenges like moving around plenty—cardboard boxes forever stacked in corners—turning down a boy who folded her paper stars and left them shyly on her desk, and fighting with siblings over the last piece of fried egg—it didn’t stand a hair to what she had to face in 1991.
She loved singing. Her voice would echo through the house in the afternoons, dramatic and bright, as if the living room were a grand stage. She loved dancing too—twirling in the kitchen when no one was looking, balancing on her toes and pretending the cracked tiles were polished theatre floors. She once wanted to do ballet. She had pressed her face against the glass of a small dance studio in town, watching girls in pale pink tights stretch at the barre. But her mother wouldn’t let her. “It’s too expensive,” her mother had said gently, smoothing Satine’s hair back. So Satine practiced secretly in her room instead, using the edge of her bed as a makeshift barre, rising onto aching toes until her calves burned.
The day started off like any other. Except it wasn’t.She woke up, brushed her teeth, fought over her four sisters over the comb, their elbows knocking into one another in the narrow hallway mirror. Went to the living room for breakfast, the clatter of bowls and chopsticks filling the kitchen. But then, she saw her mother holding her midriff, hunching over in pain. Again. The morning light spilled across the tiled floor, and in it her mother’s face looked pale, almost translucent.
It had been recurring for around two years now. The family doctor had suggested a checkup. But today was still a normal day. So off they went, the entire family squished up in a tiny doctor’s room that smelled faintly of antiseptic and old paper files, as they watched their mother go through an unknown machine. The machine hummed low and steady, a sound that seemed too calm for something so frightening. Satine gripped the hem of her shirt until her knuckles turned white.
Then, came the gut-wrenching news… Satine’s mother had stage four lung cancer. The words seemed to hang in the air like smoke that refused to clear. Stage four cancer is known as the last hope. It was like the illness from her lungs had learned to travel into her stomach. Since organs like lungs couldn’t send out pain signals, it had become perilous and painful. The doctor’s lips kept moving, explaining percentages and treatments, but all Satine heard was the ringing in her ears. Discovering this news sent Satine and her family out of orbit and into chaos. The world outside the clinic still bustled—vendors shouting, buses groaning to a halt—yet inside her chest everything had gone silent.
Now Satine had to balance her studies and taking care of her mother. What used to be a calm and peaceful morning descended to preparing medicine and helping with care. She learned how to crush pills carefully with the back of a spoon, how to measure liquids without spilling a drop, how to steady her mother’s trembling hand. Waking up in the morning to a blended green herb was not the most ideal choice. The bitter smell would fill the kitchen before sunrise, steam fogging the window as she stirred slowly, watching the liquid swirl like murky jade.
The house grew colder and colder day by day as her mother’s health declined— and fear became constant. Curtains were drawn more often. Laughter became rare. The television played softly in the background, but no one truly watched it. Everyday Satine would go to school with a troubled mind thinking over and over again: “When I come home, will my mother still be there waiting for me with open arms?” She would pause at the front gate each afternoon, listening for the familiar cough inside the house before daring to step in.
Her once good grades dropped at an extreme rate and she couldn’t dream anymore. Homework pages remained half-finished, dotted with eraser marks where her mind had wandered. Under the situation at home, Satine never had enough time to study anymore and sometimes lost the motivation to do it since the morale at home was low. She stopped singing around the house. Music felt too heavy in her throat. She stopped dancing in the kitchen. The tiles were just tiles again.
The hardest thing was she was also learning a new language. Satine had to go to tuition and everyday there would be a new vocabulary and a test. Foreign syllables rolled awkwardly on her tongue while her thoughts drifted back home. She began writing small reminders in the margins of her notebook—“Call Dad.” “Buy herbs.” “Check temperature.”—as if organizing tiny tasks could control something far bigger. Slowly, she adapted. She studied in short bursts while her mother slept. She carried flashcards in her apron pocket and reviewed them while waiting for water to boil. She turned memorization into rhythm, whispering words under her breath like lyrics to a song. The girl who once danced without worry learned discipline the hard way.
After Satine’s mother passed, the house she once knew as colourful and neat was now distant and cold. The kitchen felt larger without her mother standing at the stove. Her bedroom door remained slightly open, untouched. Dust settled where warmth once lived. It took her a long time to understand regret. The following days after her mother left, she kept regretting things. Satine wondered: “If I had done differently, would she still be here with me?” She replayed conversations in her head, wishing she had hugged her longer, listened more closely, complained less about ballet lessons she never had.
But time passed day by day and she soon learnt that it’s not about regretting the things you did or didn’t do in the past, but living in the present and striving for a better future. The realization did not arrive suddenly; it grew quietly, like a seed pushing through soil. She began cleaning the house room by room, folding clothes neatly, opening windows to let sunlight in. She returned to her studies, not with frantic desperation, but with steady determination. Each completed assignment felt like placing one brick toward rebuilding her life.
Soon, Satine moved away to study— since she couldn’t stand the sight of her home. The train ride out of Miao Li felt endless, fields stretching wide outside the window as if the world were expanding and she was shrinking within it. Going abroad, many things were uncertain and her student loans were rising and rising. Bills stacked up like silent reminders of responsibility. She worked in a Seven Eleven, the bright fluorescent lights buzzing overhead during late-night shifts. The automatic doors would slide open with a soft chime, letting in customers smelling of rain or cigarette smoke. She scanned instant noodles, refilled drink machines, and memorized prices the way she once memorized vocabulary. At 2 a.m., when the store was nearly empty, she would hum softly while stacking shelves, her reflection faint in the glass doors.
The difficulty level of her life had shifted again, but this time she faced it head-on. Instead of shrinking from challenges, she mapped them out—budgets calculated carefully, schedules written down to the minute.
Then, a phone call. It was her father, beckoning her to come home. His voice, rough yet gentle through the receiver, broke the dam she had built around her heart. He comforted her over and over as she wept all the tears she had long locked away in her heart and came home for a visit. The house no longer felt like a place of only grief; it felt like a place of memory. Her father paid all of her debt and accepted her just as she is. When he placed the final receipt into her hands, it was more than money—it was reassurance that she did not have to fight alone.
Satine’s childhood was filled with regrets and tears, but she did learn many valuable lessons. The hardships etched resilience into her bones. In society, the “normal” meaning of success is earning a great deal of wages, having good connections, and being well known. But Satine was just a normal girl who fought through challenges. She learned that success could also look like perseverance on sleepless nights, courage in hospital corridors, and tenderness in small kitchens before sunrise.
But now she is successful, not in the “normal” way but in the way that really matters. She had ones she loved and who loved her truest self back. She was surrounded in a good environment and had multiple friends who supported her. From all the hardships she had been through, Satine became stronger and had gained a deeper understanding of the importance of living in the present and cherishing loved ones before it was too late, together. And every summer when the air shimmered above the streets of Miao Li, she would close her eyes for a moment, breathe in deeply, and choose—again and again—to live fully in the warmth that remained.