I was only a child when it happened. My mom told me we were going to a parade. I craned my neck, looking for Minnie and Micky, but everyone around me were echoing unintelligible words that were being shouted from a megaphone.
I was too young to understand the Tiananmen Massacre. But even now, this memory is singular in my childhood. It is also one of my last memories of living in Hong Kong as a child.
I was stuck in a law lecture tonight, or else I would have been in the streets, camera in hand. Tonight, on the anniversary of the massacre, we remember the idealists and dreamers. The fallen young who dared to speak.
In many ways, twenty two years ago this day, my life completely changed course. Because of the massacre, we emigrated to Canada. My family, who for the past three generations had experienced war and revolution, instilled in me the importance of the rule of law, and passion to advocate for those who cannot be heard. And though I rarely volunteer my idealism among my peers, it is ultimately this reason why I am studying law. Because some experiences are seared into our memories. Individually, and collectively.