Translator: Trang Bui Reviewer: Ivana Krivokuća
I'm not supposed to be here.
I'm not supposed to be seen, or heard, or stand out.
After all, traditionally in our culture girls are supposed to be unseen,
to be quiet, to speak only when spoken to,
to be deferential.
Well, actually the truth is I am not supposed to be here.
I'm not supposed to be here in the way that my paternal grandmother had expected.
Because my father was the firstborn son of a firstborn son of a firstborn son
and I was supposed to be next.
My grandmother was waiting to be revered, but I lowered her status.
Because I was not a boy.
But luckily for this little girl, she had two brave protectors.
a mother and a father who vowed to commit to their truth and to mine,
that we would find love, and peace, and common;
a life defined by us not predetermined by others.
So when my sister came into this world, we were off to a different one.
From Hong Kong we moved to Canada, and we changed our stars.
Once upon a time, there was a little girl.
It was me, and she stuck out.
She couldn't help that she was only one of the few Asian kids
in a school full of hundreds, a minority.
And even though she was shy - and she was shy -
she could not stay hidden for long.
It was really good training, and fear was an early teacher.
I became its most attentive student because fear teaches you one thing:
you can either let it defeat you or you can let it inspire you
to be brave, to be courageous, to act.
I remember walking home from school one day, and I got ambushed.
Early on in the day,
I had gotten into a fight with two older girls.
They were picking on my cousin; they had it in for me.
I was this close to home, when they pushed me down to the ground
and started kicking, and punching, and spitting, and scratching,
and I got roughed up pretty bad.
I escaped, I ran home in tears.
And luckily for me, that day, my father was home early.
And as I was trying to explain, as tears were running down my face,
not rolling down and -
He ascertained pretty quickly what had happened.
"Where are they?", he demanded,
and soon we were on a real life car chase.
We spotted two of the girls, one spotted us; she ran into the house.
But it was too late; we saw where she had gone.
My dad pulled up into the driveway, got out of the car, rang the door.
A woman came out, looked a little confused,
then upset, then concerned, then dragged her daughter out,
and started publicly scolding her.
And from my view, in the car, I knew,
that girl would never bother me again.
My dad, my hero.
And it wasn't until he started walking to the car that I realized,
he was still in his socks.
(Laughter)
That in his haste to defend his little girl,
he had forgotten to put on his shoes.
So it doesn't matter if you've forgot to put on your shoes.
Just stand up, stand up for what is right.
In very many ways, I think,
that's why I became a journalist today: to give voice to the voiceless,
to defend those who can't defend themselves
because I remember what that felt like.
It is a priviledge, it is a passion, and it is a recognition
that what we do is so much more important than what we are.
My mother was my very first role model.
She was a registered nurse here in Hong Kong,
but in Canada she was anything but.
Her accreditation was simply not recognized,
so she had a choice to make.
To honor her vocation, or to let fear and two little girls
named Angie and Bridget divert her from her focus.
So she decided instead to love us.
And made it very clear
that when that light went on over her desk in the corner,
and her medical school books were out,
we were to leave mom alone.
She went on to get her degree, and she finished her career as a nurse
in the maternity ward at St. Michael's Hospital in Toronto,
helping to bring in
so many more little girls and boys into this world.
That may not sound like much, but to me, it was everything.
Because my mother followed her passion with hard work and determination.
And she found value for herself and in herself.
It is a choice.
From Canada to the US to Hong Kong,
I've never dreamed that I would continue to grow my broadcast career
here in the city in which I was born.
And I took a lot of things for granted that were shattered almost immediately,
including the battles won in the West continue to be battles fought
to this day by so many men and women.
Like asking too many questions and being too "mafan".
"Mafan", you've heard it right?
It's an often used phrase here, locally,
often used to demean someone for being too bothersome.
Local colleague of mine told me one day
her daughter had been wait-listed from her school.
I didn't get it.
How do you wait-list a little girl from the school she was already attending?
But apparently, this is how some schools weed out students that they don't want.
And mom was upset.
Did her daughter do something? Did her daughter get into a fight?
Maybe mom didn't do enough; maybe mom didn't volunteer enough.
Turns out through the grapevine,
indeed her daughter had been blacklisted for asking too many questions,
for being too "mafan".
She was five years old.
Recent news headline shows just what can happen
to all of these little girls and boys if this continues.
"Hong Kong grads 'lack skills' solving live problems".
In other words, international firms simply didn't want to hire local grads
because they could not think for themselves.
But things are evolving.
Occupy Hong Kong.
These are the images undoubtedly burned
in our collective psyche here in Hong Kong and really around the globe watching.
Thousands of hands outstretched with cell phones in the air
lighting up the night sky, voices as one.
And it doesn't matter which side of the argument you're on here.
It doesn't even matter if you agree with this or not.
One thing you cannot deny
is that by speaking out, these Hong Kongers
have changed the course of the conversation forever.
There's a Chinese saying, goes something like this:
"The nail that stands up gets hammered down."
Well I stand here before you today.
A very proud nail
with the realization that the only hammer that can slam us down
is often the one we hold in our own hands.
So put that hammer down
and stop getting in our own way.
You have stories to tell; we all have stories to tell
and there will be those who seek to silence us.
Now here's a cool thing about your voice.
The more you share it,
the more clear it becomes.
The more you use it, the more powerful it becomes.
It's a muscle. Use it or it will atrophy.
Honor it.
And so I want to thank you for letting me stand here
in front of you today. (Applause)
After all, I was not supposed to be here.
I was not supposed to be any of the things I am today.
Because I am not a boy.
I'm so much more. (Applause)