Introduction

After exiting the station ticket gates and descending the stairs, I walked for a while before the qigong treatment centre came into view. In that moment, no matter the state I was in at the time, I felt a profound sense of relief wash over me, as if my entire being were wrapped in the reassurance of “this is going to be alright.”

The clinic was run by two practitioners whom my mother and I affectionately refer to as “the teachers.” Even after all the years since our first encounter, my impression of them has never wavered: they are genuinely sincere and true in everything they do.

Originally, my mother—who had a chronic condition—was the one receiving care. A few years later, circumstances led me to become a patient as well.

It was during my first year as a working adult, a particularly difficult period. I had moved out of my family home for the first time and was living alone, feeling completely overwhelmed by an unfamiliar job and the stresses of workplace relationships. In the midst of this, I learned that a friend from university had taken their own life. This friend had always been cheerful, smiling, and well-liked—no one could have imagined such a tragic end. I was utterly confused as to how to process it. At the time, simply getting through each day was a struggle, and I deliberately shut out my grief and shock, trying not to “feel” them at all.

During that period, my mother had come to stay with me in my apartment for a while. One evening, while we were having dinner, she remarked, “You never seem to smile.” “I am smiling,” I replied, but she insisted that my lips barely moved and that something was off. In the end, despite my reluctance, she persuaded me, and I found myself being sent off to visit the teachers at the clinic at very short notice. On the way there, my mind was filled with unease: “Am I allowed to go if I’m not ill?” “Am I wasting their time by having no physical complaints?”

Upon arriving, I met the teachers I had heard so much about from my mother. Their gentle and warm demeanour immediately put me at ease as I explained why I had come. Suddenly, I began to cry uncontrollably. It wasn’t so much that grief had surged up, but more that the physical and emotional tension I had been holding back for so long was finally released, and I remember sobbing with hiccups for what felt like an eternity.

“You’ve been wanting to cry, haven’t you? Poor thing, you’ve been holding it all in,” the teacher said softly, placing a box of tissues on the small round table beside me. “Cry as much as you need to, and let it all out.” They waited patiently until I had calmed down. It was the first time in my life I had cried in front of someone I had just met. This was my first experience at the clinic of how deeply my body could respond in ways even I hadn’t anticipated.

I had always been clumsy with my emotions and with life in general, and I was far more vulnerable—both physically and mentally—than I am now. At that time, I had no clear idea of how to live, or even how I wanted to live at all. I was constantly preoccupied with others’ expectations and reactions, and the stress manifested as various physical symptoms. Meeting the teachers during such a period is something I remain endlessly grateful for.

Even now, I cannot fully comprehend what their treatments actually entail. Immediately after a session, my body and mind would feel relaxed, and a few days later, I would experience a sense of energy filling me completely. I observed not only my own experiences but also my mother’s gradual improvement over time, listening closely to how she felt after each session. The transformations were undeniable—though I could not rationally understand the treatments, the changes in body and mind made the results self-evident.

Over time, I began to feel that the words spoken by the teachers during sessions carried wisdom and strength for living while protecting one’s life. I started jotting them down in a notebook—initially as rough notes on my phone or in scattered pages—until eventually compiling them into a single volume. Even now, when faced with challenges or in little everyday moments, these words continue to provide invaluable insight.

Though these words were directed personally to me, I have come to feel that they carry a universal message—a message imbued with the wish that every individual life be protected and enabled to live with true happiness and fulfillment. I hope that by sharing these long-cherished messages, they may resonate with others who may find something in them.