The Road to Freedom

In my university years, I lived frugally, slung a backpack over my shoulders, crossed mountains and rivers, and traveled through nearly all of China.

After I settled in the United States, Eurasia became a powerful magnet, pulling me away from daily life and toward distant lands.

Many times,

I chose to travel alone.

I do not fear solitude.

On the contrary, I welcome it, at times, I even crave it.

On the road alone, I am not required to be a dutiful daughter, a considerate wife, or a devoted mother.

On the road alone, I am not required to be a diligent employee or a responsible leader.

On the road alone, I am not required to be a loyal friend or the keeper of the schedule.

On the road alone, I am simply myself.

No prescribed routes.

No pace set by someone else.

Each step becomes my own direction, my own rhythm.

I can sit on a train for a day and a night, then climb straight to the summit of Mount Hua.

I can spread a mat on a ship’s deck and sleep for three days, drifting down the Yangtze through the Three Gorges.

I can dance disco with strangers beneath the ancient city walls of Chang’an.

I can strap on an oxygen tank and dive into the Aegean Sea, swimming alongside octopuses.

I can wander through Amsterdam’s Red Light District and watch desire displayed behind glass.

I can sit in a Munich beer hall, gnaw on a pork knuckle, and lift a stein of dark lager.

I can stand before Michelangelo’s David in Florence and lose myself for two hours.

I can walk tens of thousands of steps along Prague’s cobblestone streets.

I can cry out for freedom at the Wallace Monument in Scotland.

Or stand in silence at Liberty Square in Taipei.

Sometimes I let myself drift, walking, watching, thinking, writing.

Sometimes memories return quietly at night and settle at the tip of my pen.

Freedom

is the wind on the road,

moving through every open pore.

This book

is the imprint

that wind has left upon my skin.

These pages are not sightseeing notes, not travel guides, not historical commentary, not biographies, and certainly not philosophical treatises.

They are a spiritual map, carved step by step by the rhythm of my own free footsteps.