This is a part of my life story I’ve never publicly shared before.
I’m opening up now because recently, many people have asked me what brought me to Taiwan. Normally, I give shallow or surface-level answers. But the truth is, there’s a deeper story — a life chapter that made me determined to move to Taiwan, and today I’m ready to share it.
A few days ago, May 21st, would have marked my dad’s 60th birthday — if he were still alive. He passed away when I was 18 after a tragic car accident. He didn’t survive, but my mom and I did.
To this day, he remains in my heart as the kindest, most intelligent, and most honest person I’ve ever known. He and my mom have always been the true loves of my life — the most beloved people I’ve ever had, and that will never change.
Appreciate your parents. Always.
After his passing, I had to grow up fast — not only financially, but mentally and spiritually too. I lost my anchor, my guru, my safe space — the one person I could talk to about everything from books and life philosophy to, well… high school boys. He could read people so well, while I was still learning.
By then, I had completed my first year of college with mostly A’s. But my mom and I couldn’t afford the second year. She had just come out of the hospital after a complicated surgery for her badly broken arm. I was only 18, but the weight of life felt heavier than anything I’d experienced — even heavier than growing up in poverty. I was grieving the loss of my father while trying to stay strong for my mom, who was in pain and unable to work.
I was ready to quit school and find a job to support both of us. But my lovely aunt stepped in to help. She and I went to my college dean, who, recognizing my academic record, kindly granted me a scholarship. For some reason, academics had never been hard for me — I loved learning. I was the type to skip boring lectures and sneak off to the library to read more interesting books with my classmates.
Then came a turning point. At the start of my final year, a few seniors from our Foreign Politics department returned from a year of Chinese language study in Taiwan. They spoke of Taiwan like it was a fairy tale — and I was enchanted.
Since childhood, I had always dreamed of living somewhere tropical, eating fresh fruit every day — a stark contrast to my snowy Siberian hometown, where winters lasted five months. I remembered sitting with my dad, exploring the world map together, talking about places like Ecuador and dreaming about a warm life surrounded by ocean and greenery.
Once again, my kind dean supported me. He encouraged me to take a year off and apply for a Chinese language program in Taiwan. There were only two scholarship spots, and my classmate and I got in.
I’ll never forget my first impression of Taiwan:
“Indeed, it’s a fabulous place,” I thought as the plane descended. Having never flown over the ocean before, I felt like we were about to land on it. The lush green landscape reminded me of the lyrics from my dad’s favorite song, “My White Birds”:
“Go and find the distant isles
Where the grass is green for miles —
There still live the words of peace and love
That we’ve forgotten up above.”
My first 10 months in Taiwan were life-changing — and not just academically. I had to learn to survive in a foreign country with limited funds (our scholarship only covered tuition) and minimal language skills — basic English and beginner-level Chinese.
When I boarded the plane back to Russia, I burst into tears — and I rarely cry. A Korean girl sitting next to me gave me a candy to comfort me. It was sweet and funny… and I’ll never forget her kindness.
Back in Russia, I felt another wave of depression. Once again, I didn’t feel like I fit in. I was used to it. In both high school and college, I had few friends — most of them boys. For some reason, I’ve always found it difficult to form close friendships with women. My way of thinking has always been a little different, so my circle remained small, even if I knew many people.
Maybe all of this — the loss, the loneliness, the longing for something more — led me to realize I had nothing to lose by leaving my country. I believed there was a whole other world waiting for me, and Taiwan felt like it.
I learned that the only way to legally work in Taiwan as a foreigner from a non-English-speaking country was to graduate from a local university with a master’s degree. So, in my final year of undergrad, I applied for a Taiwanese government scholarship.
To make ends meet, I started selling French meal replacement supplements and saving for the plane ticket. I skipped classes (which I rarely did) to work — and then studied on my own at night. I also earned a bit of money by writing short publications for my city’s local government on Taiwan’s science park policies. My beloved dean arranged the payments.
At the same time, he tried to convince me to immigrate to Israel. I declined. I also turned down an offer from the Russian FBI. Why? Because Taiwan never left my mind — just like my dad never left my heart.
“Go and find the distant isles
Where the grass is green for miles —
There still live the words of peace and love
That we’ve forgotten up above.”
Looking back, I realize that every experience — no matter how painful, uncertain, or unexpected — was guiding me back to something deeper. Something I had forgotten:
My inner strength, my clarity, and the part of me that always knew where I belonged.
Sometimes, life takes everything away so we can finally come home to ourselves.
Losing my father, facing financial hardship, leaving my homeland — all of it led me to rediscover not just a new place to live, but a new way of being.
We often think we need to chase the future, but often, it’s the journey itself that brings us back to the forgotten parts of who we truly are.
Let your pain be a compass. Let your dreams lead you. And most importantly — listen to that quiet voice within you. It always knows the way home.
Energy Clarity Heart
Written by Irina Le
Earthetics 