Family Is Crucial To Our Identity

• Sharon Leung, Grade 11
• Short Story
• 2012

I remember her pleadingly frightened eyes boring into mine as she struggled in the violent grip of the officer, her limbs flailing wildly. Her resemblance to her mother was uncanny; in her determination, her mouth was set in an unwavering line and her ears a fiery red. I wanted to reach out and shake the officer by the neck, telling him that he had the wrong girl, that she was too young; that he had no right to do this – any useless excuse that might have had him hesitating. But all this struggling would mean nothing to him – this was just another removal of a half caste child, in another place; from another family.


She was only four when they took her away from me. Life never felt so lonely in our small wooden house; silence hung in the air and haunted me, a constant reminder of the loss of my child. I went for days without food; without sleep. Some may say I looked delirious; that I was delirious. It was all I could do to keep from physically hurting myself, for my heart was heavy; too heavy for my own good. How I longed to kiss her forehead and tuck her into bed one last time, to hear her cheery giggle or to hold her chubby warm hands in mine once more.


It’s my turn now. I’m the officer and I’m the one holding the child. I’m the one pulling them away from their parents’ grasp, the one driving them away from their family; their cultures; their life. There’s not a day when I don’t regret volunteering for this horrible, ruthless job I now call mine. There’s not a day when I don’t remember being in their shoes as they grasp tightly onto their child’s hands, shouting hysterically; knowing that there’s nothing they can do. I watch them as they run to the car, rattling the window, tears raining down their face; grieving for their child. I want to say ‘I’m just trying to help your child have a better life’ and assure them, but who am I really reassuring?


My sense of morality is no more; I’m just doing my job. But every time I see a glimpse of her warm brown eyes, her knotty and curly long hair; her joyful smile, my heart is at ease. She’s the reason why I work here; the reason I’m the officer. She’s the only one I’ve got left; the only hope I’ve got left.


As I look into the barn of half caste children slumbering into the night, my eyes look only to my precious daughter; turning in her sleep.


You would do the same, wouldn’t you?