My Journey into Law, Part I: My Background, First Encounter, and Preparing for Graduate School

My Background

Someone who was extremely picky about what she wanted to learn.

Back in junior high, I was actually quite interested in the humanities. I loved reading, Chinese, and English. I still remember an excellent social-studies teacher at my cram school who was a wonderful storyteller and an outstanding teacher. Because of him, I also came to enjoy history, geography, and civics, and doing well on the exams gave me an enormous sense of achievement. For a while, I thought I was probably meant for the humanities track. But I liked the natural sciences far more, so I chose the science track in high school. Looking back now, the evidence is pretty conclusive: I really did prefer science.

Once I entered high school, the academic pressure became intense—so intense that physics and chemistry alone nearly overwhelmed me. On top of that, my English teacher relied almost entirely on rote drilling, while Chinese class loved dictation questions where even the punctuation had to match exactly. I completely lost interest in both Chinese and English. Soon, the sight of any humanities subject made me recoil, and I ended up hating the social sciences along with everything else.

For all three years of high school, I basically never listened in any humanities class. Before exams, I would scribble whatever came to mind and answer by instinct. Looking back, the fact that I still got into a good university was nothing short of a miracle XDDDDD

Because I had grown to hate the humanities so thoroughly, I graduated from high school with almost no humanistic literacy at all. How little did I know? I did not even know that Taiwan’s government had five branches—the five Yuan. Civil law and criminal law were, of course, complete blank spaces too.

At university, I had to earn general-education credits in addition to completing courses in my major. General education is supposed to expose you to fields outside your own, so science majors often need humanities courses for those credits. This gave me a headache. Every time I opened the course list, I found absolutely nothing that interested me. I would enroll anyway, rely almost entirely on my group members, and barely scrape through without failing. I also stayed away from the more humanistic and social-science-oriented courses in public health, such as health policy and healthcare management. I did not want my own refusal to engage with the humanities to become a burden on my classmates.

Science was a completely different story. Starting in my first year, I took general physics, chemistry, and biology with students from the physics, chemistry, and life-science departments simply because those versions covered more material. I was visibly more willing to spend time on the assignments. Five minutes of research for a humanities report already felt unbearable; three days on a science problem set felt deeply satisfying. By my second and third years, most of my courses had drifted toward engineering and science: engineering mathematics, even statistics in the mathematics department. Within public health, I chose environmental and occupational health without hesitation, and my course plan gradually veered all the way toward environmental engineering. I felt that any amount of time spent on knowledge I loved was worthwhile. When I had no interest in a subject, however, my preferred solution was simply to give up on it.

Even in university, my humanistic literacy was still about as low as a pile of crap. Oh, and despite having taken a general-education course related to constitutional law, I still did not know that Taiwan’s government had five branches. Even worse, there was a period when I genuinely thought the Six Codes had only one punishment: death. You can see it in my first reaction to the Zheng Jie case: “Why not just execute him?”

My First Encounter with Law

The story of how I first encountered law—and eventually decided to enter the field—feels like the accumulated result of one coincidence after another. Looking back, it almost seems destined.

After finishing my master’s degree at National Taiwan University’s Institute of Environmental and Occupational Health Sciences, I wanted to give myself a break. My cram-school work was not yet especially stable, and I was still spending a great deal of time designing teaching materials and preparing lessons, so finding a full-time job did not feel practical. Besides, I had only just finished a thesis and submitted a paper. My mind, body, and soul clearly needed a long recovery period. (Writing a thesis absolutely requires an extended convalescence...) I decided to wait about six months before looking for work.

I still remember the moment after my oral defense, after I had submitted the final thesis and graduated. I swore: “I am never writing another thesis in my life. Ever.” Looking back, you should never say things like that too soon. I am an absolute master of setting flags for myself.

One day, my adviser emailed to ask whether I had found a job and whether I wanted to return as a full-time project assistant. I thought it over. Designing teaching materials and preparing lessons did not require long stretches of uninterrupted concentration; lesson preparation really had to be handled week by week as the classes progressed. Earning some money in the meantime sounded reasonable, so I went to my thesis adviser’s office for a chat.

“This project is about occupational safety and health regulations...” my adviser said while outlining its general direction and structure.

“L-law?” I thought. This did not sound good. “I have never touched it. Not even a little.”

“It will not be that difficult. It is still within the field of occupational safety and health,” my adviser said.

I have no idea what possessed me, but I agreed.

The first third of the project dealt with employers’ liability for occupational accidents. I needed to understand legislative purpose, systemic interpretation, and even comparative law. Naturally, someone like me—a person who did not even know that Taiwan’s government had five branches and who basically lacked common sense about society—had no idea how the Occupational Safety and Health Act and the Civil Code fit together or applied. I did not even know that common-law and civil-law systems were fundamentally different. The first third of the project was excruciating. Every day, I had no idea what I was doing.

To be completely honest, looking back now, I was absolutely making a mess of that first third.

Fortunately, my adviser found the breakthrough that allowed us to get through it. Even so, I still feel deeply sorry about how irresponsible I was at the time. Orz

The remaining two-thirds of the project were closer to the occupational-safety-and-health work I already knew. We had to establish the content of employers’ duties of care in certain industries and conduct a questionnaire survey. That part was much more enjoyable.

At one expert roundtable, I met the professor who would later become my adviser at NCCU’s Graduate Institute of Law and Interdisciplinary Studies. That meeting also sparked my interest in law. Our project team had been deeply confused about how a department-store sales associate could seek compensation after an occupational accident. This professor clearly explained how subrogation could address the problem in law. Suddenly, I thought: this is fascinating. I do not think I had ever heard anything so interesting in my life.

“So this is what law is?”

The professor also seemed extraordinarily knowledgeable, and I desperately wanted to learn from him. I looked up his background and began investigating whether there was any way to study under him—or whether, more precisely, I would have to start all over again in an undergraduate law program. Then I found NCCU’s Graduate Institute of Law and Interdisciplinary Studies, where I might have the chance to work with him.

There was another reason too. I felt guilty about how badly I had handled the first third of the project and how much I had let my adviser down. The only way I could think of to make amends was to take a proper journey through the legal field myself and fill in what had been missing.

“All right! I have decided—I am applying to NCCU’s Graduate Institute of Law and Interdisciplinary Studies!!!” By then, I had completely forgotten the vow I had made after my previous thesis: “I am never writing another thesis in my life. Ever.”

Preparing for the Graduate Institute

The NCCU admissions process had several parts: document review, a written examination, and an interview. Strictly speaking, I did not prepare. More precisely, I had no idea where to begin.

The natural first step in preparing for an examination is to ask someone in the field. At the time, the only person I knew was a lawyer friend. When I told him I was applying, he frowned and asked, “Are you sure you want to enter the legal field?” To this day, he remains one of the people who tirelessly tells me, “Do not take the bar exam. Hurry up and switch careers!” In retrospect, his attempt to warn me off was completely understandable. But I kept telling him, “I’m already in this deep, so I might as well keep going.” XD

That said, my lawyer friend did vaguely recommend reading Professor Wang Zejian’s books. So I went to a bookstore the next day and flipped through them. “Uh... which one of Professor Wang’s books did you mean?” The shelves held General Principles of Civil Law, Principles of the Law of Obligations, Unjust Enrichment, and many more. Every volume was impossibly thick. There was no way I could finish them before the exam, and the walls of densely packed text gave me a headache the moment I opened one.

There were simply too many books, and every one was too thick. “Forget it. I am not preparing.” I decided to go in cold, show them whatever I already had, lay it all out, and see whether the people grading my exam thought I belonged there. If I was not admitted, I would simply return to my original plan and look for a job. Applying to NCCU was just one additional possibility; failing would not cost me much.

I can no longer remember what the questions were, much less what I wrote. I am sure the answers had no structure whatsoever—I probably wrote down whatever occurred to me, without anything resembling a framework for analyzing an infringement of fundamental rights. I feel sorry for the professors who had to read that pile of material. More than anything, when I first saw the exam, I did not understand why anyone was asking me these questions. I did not even realize the issues were... issues.

And somehow, I stumbled into the interview stage.

On the day of the interview, I casually wore purple corduroy trousers, a crew-neck T-shirt, and a leather jacket. I had worn the same outfit to my interview at NTU’s Institute of Environmental and Occupational Health Sciences, where the atmosphere had been wonderful. This time, however, everyone else arrived in suits. I looked completely out of place—not to mention that I was not wearing makeup. I immediately thought, “Oh no. I look exactly like cannon fodder.” I even saw someone leave the interview room and burst into tears at check-in, which suggested a fairly severe atmosphere. Someone as glib, unserious, and generally suspicious-looking as me was clearly about to be buried alive in that room.

“I should probably start revising my résumé and applying for jobs,” I thought. While waiting, I scrolled through vacancies on 104 Job Bank and considered which résumé layout I should use. I had even begun wondering whether I should email my NTU adviser and ask for help finding a job. XD

When my turn came, I gave a short self-introduction, followed by a series of questions. They were fairly pointed, and I still remember them. I genuinely cannot remember who the interviewers were. I do remember that the professor I had hoped to work with was not there, nor were the labor-law faculty members whose backgrounds I had researched. All my advance research for the interview was therefore com★plete☆ly★use☆less. (Agony.) Still, I learned a tremendous amount from the interview.

As expected, I was criticized for dressing too casually. It made me realize that different schools and disciplines have different cultures. In future important situations, I would need to pay closer attention instead of applying the same approach everywhere. Because I could clearly see my weakness in this area, I later made a point of learning about clothing and makeup—but that is another story. XD

The first question concerned proof of English proficiency. I had never found time in university to take the TOEIC or the General English Proficiency Test (GEPT). I had barely satisfied both my undergraduate and graduate English requirements by taking a course called “Advanced English,” so the section asking for proof of English proficiency was completely blank. I replied, “My previous thesis was written entirely in English. Does that not demonstrate my English ability?” One interviewer then noticed “Advanced English” on my transcript and explained that I should have listed it as evidence. Only then did we move on.

Because this was my second graduate-school interview, the next question was whether I was sufficiently confident in my performance during my previous master’s program. An interviewer asked, “Do you think I could call your former adviser and ask about your performance?” I replied, “Of course—3366-XXXX, Prof. Chang-Fu Wu at National Taiwan University.” After working as his assistant for so long, surely I was supposed to recall the office number instantly. I almost recited the university’s tax ID instead. Thank goodness I did not, or that would have been truly ridiculous =口=

The question I remember most clearly was: “What do you think you can give our institute?” I did not understand what the interviewer was asking. I answered the wrong question entirely: “I want to gain enough legal knowledge from this institute to complete the framework of my master’s thesis.”

“My question is what you can give this institute—not what the institute can give you,” the interviewer corrected me.

I froze. I had never considered what I might offer a department or graduate institute. At that point, I had no status or social standing. What could possibly qualify me to give anyone anything? More to the point, would they need anything I could offer?

Unable to think of an answer, I finally said, “My master’s thesis can integrate law and public health.” The interview time ended, and I was shown out. Looking back, after my failed outfit, missing proof of English proficiency, and chaotic written examination, that was probably the only answer I got right—and perhaps the reason I was admitted at all.

When I say I was admitted, I mean I got in from the waitlist. Only later did I learn that applicants to interdisciplinary law institutes generally try several schools; few apply to only one, as I did. One of the applicants ranked ahead of me was also admitted to National Taiwan University’s Graduate Institute of Interdisciplinary Legal Studies. I was simply lucky enough to move up when that person chose NTU.

Throughout the admissions process, I believed I had been accepted through sheer luck, plus that final and relatively crucial answer. When I finally saw that I had cleared the waitlist, I immediately thought, “It looks like I will have to start climbing from the absolute bottom.” As it turned out, even that resolution was not enough. I had not yet understood that I really was starting from the bottom of the bottom—and that none of my old ways of learning would work here.

Conclusion

I had begun by genuinely hating the humanities and somehow ended up walking down this road. The whole process seems absurd in retrospect: hardly thought through at all, driven almost entirely by momentum, curiosity, and a string of accidents. Even now, I still do not fully understand why I was chosen from among all the applicants.

But because I believed I had obtained the place by pure luck, I later adopted a study method and plan at the institute that differed completely from everyone else’s. That part of the story will have to wait for the next article!