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Home » Guest Column » Lin Gu
 
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Too Early to Say Goodbye
Lin Gu
 
Lin Gu Lu Jing and Li Jun are squatting behind the bars outside the Pingxiang Drug Rehabilitation Center in southwest China, gazing at an AIDS prevention poster featuring handsome actor Pu Cunxin, which is posted on a billboard in the yard. "With that epidemic will we really die?" they ask.

The young women grew up on the same street facing Pingxiang People's Hospital, and were inseparable friends. Later in life, they shared needles with mutual drug buddies, and were sent together in early 1998 to a re-education labour camp in Nanning, the capital city of Guangxi Zhuang Autonomous Region. They were given a term of 5 years by the local public
security bureau, but were suddenly sent back home on August 2, 1998, without explanation.
 
"I guess the only possible reason is that we had tested positive for HIV, for we both had three blood tests in Nanning before being sent back," says Lu, adding she wasn't surprised when the Pingxiang health centre confirmed her suspicions.
 
Ho Bo, Deputy Director of the Health Centre, says Lu was strangely calm when he gave her the fateful news. She said simply, "I knew this day would come."
 
Lu, 24, dark-skinned with a baby-face, turned to heroin four years ago to cope with the constant violent quarrels with her boyfriend. When the last cent of her savings from a previous job at a local casino was spent for drugs, Lu asked her family for money, but eventually they turned her out. Like many of the estimated 200,000 drug users in Guangxi, Lu became trapped in the vicious cycle of selling drugs to buy drugs. In 1997, she was sent by public security officials to a compulsory drug rehabilitation centre for three months, but resumed her habit soon after her release. She was packed off to the Nanning re-education camp in early 1998 with Li Jun, who had fallen prey to the same passions.
 
Lu's outward tranquillity belies her deep fear of HIV. The night she was sent home from Nanning, Lu's only brother and two sisters met her at a restaurant, avoiding family-related dinner conversation that might remind her of former, happier days. "They begged me to stop taking drugs, for the sake of the family," recalls Lu, "and we all cried."
 
For six months Lu did not tell her parents she had HIV. "My father disowned me, and mother used to cry every night." Lu can't explain why the desire for drugs overpowers the warmth of family love. "Temptation is always the winner," she confesses.
 
Twenty-six-year-old Li Jun listened quietly to Lu's story. Sometimes the unflattering details of drug use caused her to smile with embarrassment. "She is lucky to still have her family - my whole family, including my three elder sisters, disowned me at the news. I feel like an orphan," says Li, burying her pale face in her arms.
 
Lu says she used to go to bed every night, thinking she would be dead in the morning. "But a new day still comes, one after another, and then I begin to think maybe I should find a boyfriend and try to live like other people."
 
"I was told there are seven to 10 years before the virus turns into AIDS," says Li. "Maybe long enough to find a cure?"
 
Lu decided to educate herself about HIV/AIDS and attended a lecture given by an American professor in Pingxiang. Sometimes she called a local HIV/AIDS hotline with questions. But even knowing what she knows, temptation kicked in and four months after her last rehab release she was shooting up again. Li lasted just one week.
 
"Everybody knows you in a small world like Pingxiang," says Lu, "and more and more are suspicious about why I was sent back from Nanning so quickly."
 
A rehabilitation centre with only 62 patients leaves little room for secrets. Lu and Li have endured the sometimes vicious gossip of fellow recovering addicts since they were returned to the centre more than a month ago. In the daily hour-long outdoors recreational breaks, hateful looks are shot their way, and they have been singled out as untouchables in this already marginalised world.
 
Lu sometimes escapes the present by retracing golden memories of her years as a junior high school student making good grades. "I would have graduated from college by now if nothing unhappy had happened," she says softly.
 
Lu and Li have promised not to give up on each other. The childhood friends are thinking about starting a small business together when they are released from this three-month confinement.
 
"Is Beijing snowing now?" Li wonders, for in her 26 years she has never seen snow. Her face glowed. "If I were in Beijing now, guess what I'd do? I'd hold the snowflakes in my hand and take a long look."
 
Note: The girls' names have been changed in order to protect their identity.
 
 
(All the views expressed in this column are entirely that of the author)
 
 
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