The PSG midfielder is on the page of The Player’s Tribune while she and her teammates attend the Women’s World Cup in France.
I have never liked two words Goodbye. Every time I hear the goodbye, unhappy memories come back. The most heartbreaking thing is the story that happened at a train station in my hometown – Wuhan, when I was 12 years old. I remember that night very cold, right on Lunar New Year. Everyone gets a week off to gather with family and relatives, eat the best dishes. I just wanted New Year to last forever, because it was the first year I had to leave home. I attended the gifted school in Beijing, dedicated to the Chinese U17 football team. I am much younger than my peers and gnawing at loneliness away from home. There are times when I miss my parents, I cried alone.
It’s easy to understand why I’m depressed when I only get three days off, then I have to go back to school. Just when I needed my parents’ arms, I had to go back to Beijing by night train. My parents and brother sent me to the station. Dad followed me to the door to the train. At that time, I just wanted to say that everything would be fine, but I didn’t dare. People always think I’m an optimistic, life-loving baby. But the opposite is different. No matter how sad, I don’t want to let others know, especially with my parents.
That night at the station, instinct reminds me to swallow sadness inside. But this time, I couldn’t stand it anymore. “Dad, I don’t want to go,” I said. Dad said, “Don’t worry. Go ahead. I’ll follow you later.” I was surprised, burst into tears and said, “You must come. I promise”. My father promised me and say goodbye. I cried all night. Arriving in Beijing, I soon realized the truth. Dad lied. Dad didn’t come.