FAMILY TRIANGLE

Between 2021 and 2025, life has quietly shifted, the elders around me growing older, some falling ill, some beginning families and welcoming new lives, and I, too, have been carried into what they call the “next stage” of my own life. 

There is no evading it; I find myself compelled to face the questions within me that have long remained unanswered. Through the practice of creating this work, I return to my younger self, that slightly androgynous girl whose inner world was constantly measured against that of boys, who learned to compete, to prove, to insist on her own worth. In tracing that impulse, I begin to understand that I am someone who clings to the past, and what I fear most is loss that cannot be undone.

To grow up is, in some way, to lose; to leave home and to form a new one is also to confront departure.

It is like waking one afternoon at thirty and, for a brief moment, believing I am still lying in the bed of my childhood home, like driving down a long, straight road, moving forward without deviation.

All these contradictions within me—whether they belong to life or to the work itself—I place them into the theatre, perhaps, to get myself an answer.

• Ray Tseng (Tseng, Jui-Hsuan)

This experiment began with a question of “fairness”: when my partner, Ray, and I longed for a child—one that would carry the imprints of both our families—what would it take to reach a true balance?

I proposed what I believed to be a “perfect plan”: to use my wife’s egg, with my younger brother as the sperm donor, and for me to carry the pregnancy. Within this peculiar, yet balanced triangular structure, they represent the “other halves” of my life. With my wife, I share the future—raising this child, the daily rhythms and expenses, and the life we will build together. With my brother, I share the past—our roots, our bloodline, and even the old family sorrows we’ve both inherited.

My pursuit of equality is almost an obsession with balance. I’m searching for a way to live within these complex blood ties where no one has to compromise or give in—a place where everyone can simply feel at ease.

In both life and art, absolute equality might be impossible, but that is the heart of this journey: it is an act of empowering myself. Beyond existing systems, we’ve found a gap in the law to define a life contract that belongs only to the three of us—one where we all feel whole. This isn’t just a choice of technology; it is my most radical way of sharing power.

I am fortunate—to have found this possibility in life, to co-create, on equal terms, with my closest partner and my dear brother.

• Hung Chien-Han

This production is like a wrestling match between the three of us—we question, debate, and grapple with one another. So, I have to find my own perspective to make this fight even more compelling.

The core theme is about a same-sex woman couple wanting to bear a child, but as a straight Asian man, to me this feels like an entirely different issue. For them, it’s about breaking free from tradition; for me, it’s about the pressure to carry on the family lineage. Both relate to having a child, yet the feelings they evoke are worlds apart—this is the perspective I contemplate in this work.

Through this piece, I want to raise another issue; if they use my sperm to have a child, aside from the fact that I need to donate my sperm, everything else seems unrelated to me. But is that really the case? Once I joined this project, I became part of it. I must face all the “possible” consequences that might arise. In the end, after interviewing my uncle in the play, I seemed to arrive at a different answer—every family is unique in its makeup, but as long as there’s love between them, nothing seems too difficult. I know this sounds cheesy, but it really might be that simple.

For me, putting a true story on stage is a very risky choice, but also an interesting challenge. The risk is: how do I make it resonate with the audience, or even the world, rather than it just being a dull, heartfelt confession on stage? As for the interesting part, through the theatrical presentation, no one knows whether these events are true, yet they feel so real. This interplay between truth and illusion feels deeply romantic to me.

• Hung Wei-Yao