For Trần Nghiệp Phương (Chen Yeh-Fang), becoming a writer was never a life she had planned. She did not sit at a desk with the intention of becoming one; rather, it was life itself—through repeated shifts of identity—that led her onto this path. From a small village in West Kalimantan, Indonesia, to construction sites in Taiwan, her life has been one of constant movement, while learning how to stand firm amid many different roles.

When she first arrived in Taiwan, she could not speak a single word of Taiwanese or Mandarin. At construction sites, she relied solely on hand gestures to communicate and began with the most basic tasks. The language barrier, coupled with the isolation of being unable to express herself, often made her feel excluded. Yet it was precisely under these constraints that she began to write down every Taiwanese phrase she heard at work, using Indonesian Latin phonetic spelling—from individual words to everyday colloquial sentences—until she was gradually able to converse naturally with senior workers.

After getting married, she enrolled in literacy classes for new immigrants, only to discover that there were no advanced Mandarin courses available. Left with no choice, she devised her own learning methods. She used the Indonesian alphabet to record the pronunciation of each Zhuyin symbol (for example, ㄍ = ke) on small pieces of paper and taped them onto her keyboard to practice typing. She even downloaded Taiwanese online games, using in-game chats with other players to practice typing Chinese, pushing herself to keep up with the flow of conversation. Each game mission became a reading exercise; every dialogue became a language lesson.

One day, she found an elementary school Mandarin textbook in a neighbor’s pile of discarded paper. She brought it home, erased all the pencil marks, and rewrote every Zhuyin symbol and every Chinese character. She even practiced forming sentences using newly learned vocabulary and idioms.

At the same time, she began borrowing books from the library—starting with illustrated comics, then storybooks with Zhuyin but no pictures. Once she could fully comprehend the text, she challenged herself with novels without Zhuyin. Eventually, she even borrowed books on labor law, turning language into a tool for understanding social systems and the wider world.

When her children began attending school, she took on her first formal job: working as an interpreter for migrant workers. She translated labor contracts and documents, helped migrant workers adapt to their work environments, communicated with employers, and explained work procedures. This experience taught her how to transform complex information into clear, accessible language.

Later, she was hired as a consultant for migrant workers at a local government office. There, she learned how to write official documents, labor-law promotional notices, and various teaching materials. Through extensive, repeated writing practice, her language skills became increasingly refined and precise.

In 2023, she submitted her work for the first time to the Migrant Workers’ Literature Award. Writing in Indonesian, she received a Jury Commendation (Second Prize). The following year, she submitted a bilingual Indonesian–Chinese piece and won First Prize. In that moment, she realized that writing was her way of conversing with the world—creating, giving voice, and imbuing life with meaning.

Today, Trần Nghiệp Phương is a regular contributor to the Independent Opinion column of CommonWealth Magazine (天下雜誌), continuing to speak out through her writing for cultural diversity.

To all new immigrants and migrant workers striving in Taiwan, she offers these words:

“Give it your all. If things do not turn out as hoped, there is always a deeper meaning hidden within.
God does not give failure, and no one is ever a loser.
Every obstacle exists to sharpen your wisdom and forge a stronger version of yourself.”