On my bedroom window lattice, is a small paper cup from Yunnan Province, China. This is a precious souvenir from the leprosy rehabilitation village in Lincang.
Born in Taiwan, I’ve never been to mainland China. After I moved to North America, I have never been back to Taiwan. I vowed in tears that, for me, there would be no visit to mainland China before a return to Taiwan, no visit to Hong Kong before a visit to mainland China, and no tour to other parts of the world before a visit to Hong Kong.
This oath has been kept for 30 years,

until this March, when spring time began. ..
As it turned out, I hadn't even strolled by Danshui River side in Taipei; nor had I set foot on the beach in Qingdao, where my mother conceived me, before I flew all the way to China, passing Shanghai and Kunming, traveling for about two hours on dusty mountain paths, and arrived at Ant Hill in Lincang. I never expected that the half-day visit at the rehabilitation village in Ant Hill would become the highlight of my two-week visit in Yunnan.
Surrounded by mountains, the rehabilitation village is a quiet and small world secluded from the world outside. Coming into my view were small mud houses with just a simple mud stove. Had it not been for the dark stains from oil and smoke on them, st I would have thought that I had entered the house of the seven dwarfs in fairy tales.
A man who lost his right leg sat in the sun in front of his house. One of our companions, the village doctor, went ahead to check the man's prostheses. The remainder of his right leg bled from friction with the old steel ring in the prostheses, but in his shy and kind eyes, there were no complaints, no self-pity, not even expectation of basic human dignity, only a hint of the need for human caring.
People in the rehabilitation village don’t wear shoes, because their feet are deformed and their skin is thick and coarse like that of an elephant. A mother busy with her work was limping around on her bare, deformed feet. Her 3- or 4-year-old son looked healthy and adorable, but he looked somewhat dull because he had no playmates. When I thought of the child's education and interpersonal relationship in another three to five years, I couldn’t help worrying.
It was past noon and time for us to leave. Just then, a stubby man who lost his eyebrows to leprosy came out of his small mud house, holding a large bowl. Smiling, he greeted us hospitably again and again, “Please eat with us. Do taste a little.”
His little mud stove was off, and what was left in the small iron wok was the empty dark bottom. I believe he already exhausted his daily supply of firewood and food, so although a little curious about the food in that bowl, we didn't have the heart to share his lunch.
Seeing what was going on, a dark-skinned old man brought us several cups of hot tea and put it on a dilapidated wooden table in the yard. A few thin tea leaves floated in the old yellowing paper cup. This time, without hesitation, I took up the cup and drank the tea. I knew that they had already passed the contagious stage and recovered, and that what they needed most was acceptance and love.
“Please come back and visit us again, “ they said, as we were bidding them farewell. When our car went further and further away, I carefully put the still-warm paper cup in my backpack. I no longer indulged in my nostalgia for Taipei and Qingdao. Instead, I offered up best wishes for the friends in the rehabilitation village and thanksgiving for learning from this trip.