COMMENTARY: The faith of my father has sustained him through years of imprisonment. Now, as I face cancer, his example is teaching me to find grace and meaning in my own suffering.
Pope John Paul II once described a Nazi death camp as being “built for the negation of faith.” The conditions of my father’s imprisonment in solitary confinement are clearly designed to crush his spirit.
The humid Hong Kong summers are the harshest. Summer 2026 was particularly volatile, with both heatwaves and thunderstorms that left the prison floors damp. The windows in his cell are covered over, blocking access to fresh air and natural light.
In the nearly six years he has been kept in declining conditions, and despite his many ailments and advanced age, he has seldom been overwhelmed — by anything. But when he was told recently that I have cancer, he broke down.
His eyes filled with tears. He dropped to his knees to pray, turning directly to God. I am his baby girl. The one he always took care of. His warm embrace when I was injured was one thing I could always count on growing up. It was just slightly different this time.
