A Life-Changing Conversation in a Tiny Bathroom

Fear makes us crave clarity, but life changes when we stop the overthinking and just say yes

(Click below to read it with my voice.)

How often do we let the unknown stop us from doing something we want? We tell ourselves we’re not ready, or we need more time, more certainty. Fear pushes us to seek clarity, because clarity feels safe.

But risk, as scary as it is, can lead to the most satisfying rewards. Sometimes it means saying yes to something new, leaving behind what’s familiar, and going for it even when we don’t have all the answers.

This is a story about one of those moments, a decision that ended up changing the direction of my entire life.

I sat in the front corner of a classroom, surrounded by a group of college students with blonde, red, brown and black hair. I had never felt so alone, so out of place in my life.

“I don’t belong here,” I thought. “What have I gotten myself into?”

I didn’t have an answer because I had even surprised myself by agreeing to my mother’s request to go to college in the U.S.

At 17, I was sent to a small, rural part of Texas with a population of only 27,000, where people were few and far between. Every time someone passed by, they greeted me, a complete stranger, with a “hi” or “good morning.” How strange!

It was the opposite of Hong Kong, where I grew up and one of the world’s most densely populated cities. Everyone had black hair and dark eyes. Saying hi to strangers just didn’t happen. I rubbed shoulders with people, packed like sardines on trains during rush hour.

I still remember the night my mother quietly pulled me aside and led me into the tiny bathroom of our 380-square-foot apartment, where our family of five lived. My dad said it was considered spacious in a city where limited land and a growing population meant housing was always scarce and cramped, especially after earlier waves of mainland Chinese refugees fleeing political instability and poverty had crowded the city.

Our bathroom had white tiles, their gaps darkened by dirt, and a damp, musty smell, especially in the summer, when temperatures soared into the 100 degrees and humidity passed 90%. It was tucked away in the far corner of our apartment and was barely big enough for two people. Once the door was closed, it became my sanctuary, a place to escape the noise of my family, enjoy long showers and study in peace.

I once recorded myself in the bathroom reading aloud for an English homework assignment. My teacher praised me and even played the recording in class. But there was nothing glorious about it. I couldn’t help but cringe every time I heard the faint, embarrassing drip of a leaking pipe in the background.

Given its location, the bathroom naturally became the place where my mother would pull me aside for a private chat.

That night, she whispered, “Why don’t you join your sister in the U.S. to study?” she said. “There’s no future here.” Her voice carried urgency, and her eyes anxious as she waited for me to reply.

My mother was afraid; she had good reasons to be afraid.

In just five years, China’s Communist Party would reclaim the city from Britain after over 150 years of colonial rule. I still remember the newspaper photos of what I thought was minced beef until I realized they were actually the mangled bodies of university students and citizens, mowed down by Chinese military tanks for refusing to leave a peaceful protest demanding for greater democracy. The 1989 Tiananmen Square massacre, as it was later widely known, remains a censored and taboo subject in China today.

The thought of tanks rolling into Hong Kong and dissenting voices being silenced made us shudder.

My mother wanted my siblings and me to be among the tens of thousands planning their escape. For many, becoming a student abroad was the most viable path.

We were a working class family. Money was tight. At 17, I had only traveled out of Hong Kong twice. I could never have imagined living in the West. It’s completely different, like black and white.

Still, I blurted out a “yes.” I even chose to study journalism even though I could barely speak English! Like I said, I had no idea what had gotten into me!

I became one of the 66,000 people who joined the exodus in 1992, the peak year of emigration from Hong Kong.

Now, at 50, I can say that simple “yes” was one of the most courageous things I’ve ever done. That “yes” eventually led me to travel and work across the world. It led me to this country with people of different backgrounds, races, hair colors and eye colors. What a privilege.

Life has a way of nudging us even in a tiny, humid bathroom. What’s clear to me now is this: one thought, one action, one word can change the course of your entire life.

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Dear Wong Out Loud readers,

There are several messages embedded in this story, and here are some things I’d like you to ponder:

Message 1: Sometimes, your life’s biggest shift starts with a small, scared “yes.”

A question to ask yourself: “What small ‘yes’ am I being invited to say right now, even if I feel unsure?”

Message 2: You don’t have to come from privilege or certainty to take bold action.

Tell yourself this: “Even if I feel underqualified or like I don’t belong, I can still show up and surprise myself.”

Message 3: Life’s most defining moments don’t always happen on a stage, they happen in small, ordinary spaces.

A question to ask yourself: “What conversation or moment have I dismissed as small, but might actually have power?”

Message 4: You can feel like an outsider and still belong. You can be afraid and still move forward.

Tell yourself this: “Even if I feel out of place, I have a place. I can grow into belonging.”

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