The speech

​There will be a celebration for my dad's 70th birthday while we're there. It’s a massive event—hundreds of people are invited, with a detailed program and a host to navigate the dinner through games, entertainment, and speeches.

​I was assigned to give a speech as his daughter. "Here, this is your script for the speech," my parents told me. They had written the entire thing. I am just supposed to walk onto the stage and read it out loud.

​"How can they do this?!" my husband reacted. "They truly control everything they can, and they never give you a chance to be yourself, do they? A 41-year-old woman isn't even given the chance to write her own speech..." Even after 17 years together, my husband is still in fundamental shock every single time things like this happen.

​But it’s true. This is the authoritarian relationship my parents and I have. Or, perhaps I should say, the authoritarian relationship they have enforced upon me.

​Family dynamics vary from person to person, but my parents live in a deeply patriarchal society. On top of that, my father has spent his career working for an extremely centralized, authoritarian regime, holding the upper hand of power within his own circle. Because of this, it feels entirely natural to them to treat me like a subordinate—like a giant infant who is never going to grow up.

​That is exactly why I ran away. Throughout my entire 20s, I ran as far and as wild as possible every chance I got. Not for a single breath did I hesitate, nor did I look back. If they knew even two percent of the risks I took and the wild trips I embarked on, if they knew even two percent of how I truly act when I am given the chance to be free, they would never have been able to sleep through the night again.

​All souls are born free. Chaining them down and caging them up for decades will never change that fact, so long as you don't strip away their capability and their will to break out. In that sense, I am extremely lucky. All my parents really did was help me strengthen my wings through education, ensuring that one day, I would soar in the sky.

​I needed that entire decade to do whatever I wished, whenever, wherever, for however long, and with whomever I chose. I was healing myself. I was looking for myself.

​"You should really consider writing your own speech and giving it your own way," my husband urged me. "You're 41 years old. They need to learn to respect you for who you truly are." My husband is always right about this. He has been the most loyal confidant and gatekeeper in my wild journey of seeking liberty and truth.

​So, I think I will. I'm going to walk onto that stage and deliver a heartfelt speech that comes straight from my own soul—and shock them all.