Chapter 6 Cocoon Weeks passed before we were called back to the Immigration Processing Center. We dressed in our best clothes, hoping for good news this time. When we got there, we saw Aunty Tam and her family leaving the office. They had already had their interview, so Mom asked her what had happened. “They asked about general stuff. How many people are in the family? Does anyone in the family have any health problems? Why we left Vietnam, where we wanted to go… and so forth,” Aunty Tam told us. “They say anything about sponsors?” Mom inquired. “No.” Aunty Tam’s voice made it obvious she was disappointed. “I think the meeting’s only procedural to get information about the family…. so they know who they are sponsoring. They took notes on what we told them.” “All right then,” Mom said. The twelve of us followed a Chinese interpreter into the office. Mom was especially pleased because we would finally get a chance to meet with representatives from the United States. Upon seeing us the two American men stood up from their chairs and smiled benignly. Our parents and grandparents went over with grateful smiles to exchange handshakes with the two American men as eight little ones followed right behind them. The Americans directed the parents and grandparents to sit. And they sat on the creaky wooden chairs. The eight of us stood behind them and smiled like little angels. It was as if the parents and grandparents were in school because their children and grandchildren got into trouble and now they were meeting up with the principals to hear their questions, to be briefed on what the issues were. The wood table separated them. The interpreter took a seat at the side of the table. The Americans started their questions, directing all their queries to Mom and Dad, and the Chinese interpreter translated. “Why do you want to go to America?” “A future for the children,” Mom responded, smiling and the Chinese interpreter translated. The Americans casually wrote down what Mom said. They glanced at eight angelic faces. They didn’t smile but also didn’t frown. “Exactly how many people are in the family?” the interpreter translated. “Twelve… I want my parents, young niece and nephew to be claimed as members of the same household,” Dad said proudly. I’m sure the Americans knew how many people were in the family. After all, weren’t they supposed to review our applications before seeing us? The applications had been filed weeks ago. It had to be procedural to confirm things. But the Americans’ expressions remained neutral upon hearing Dad’s response, though they wrote a lot on the forms sitting on the table in front of them. Now and again, they shot glances at us and headed right back to the forms. At this point, Dad asked, “Phuong, come to Uncle.” And she walked toward Dad as
she was told. He reached over to Phuong and lifted one of her pant legs, to show the Americans one of her leg’s deformities. Dad was aiming for sympathy points. He hoped that, like the Swiss, the Americans would give us special consideration on account of Phuong’s disability. Surprisingly, Dad’s tactic worked. “So what had happened to the lovely child for her leg to develop such an unfortunate condition?” the interpreter translated. “At the age of five or maybe six,” Dad began to tell Phuong’s story, “while playing outside with her brothers and sisters, she stepped on some sharp fragments of bone. She was brought to the hospital, where the doctors massaged her injured limb and placed it in a cast. They must have done something wrong, though, because her leg gradually withered, the muscles shrank, and her toes curled under… clenching like a fist. Eventually, her leg stopped growing altogether and came to this… like a dog’s paw.” Dad looked the Americans in the eyes, showing them how sad he was that his niece had encountered this misfortune in life. “There’s no legal recourse in the event of malpractice in Vietnam.” The Americans seemed moved by the story and wrote continually on the applications. When the interview came to a close, the adults stood and shook hands. Mom and Dad nodded their heads and smiled thankfully as we left. On our way home, Mom criticized Dad and glared at the grandparents. “I knew we would have our chance to go to America if we were just a little patient.” Dad brushed her off sourly, “Yeah yeah… you’re always right.” Thank God we had been granted an interview with the Americans otherwise Mom and Dad would have still been treating each other as if they didn’t exist. And the grandparents would not have ceased to fan the fire. Good-bye We had reached the end of November. Uncle Dony and Uncle Chu and Uncle Chu’s fiancée Ah Kieng were to be transferred to another camp where they would wait for an airplane to take them to Canada. It was a sad occasion when all nineteen of us gathered for a farewell dinner. After that night, there would be three fewer of us. Mom and Aunty Tam outdid themselves, preparing their very best dishes. Despite the festivities, we were all sad. The food was great, but no one felt like eating. Mom and Aunty Tam’s eyes welled with tears the entire evening. Mom mumbled to her brothers, “You have to take care of yourselves and be careful with everything you do. We’ll no longer be there to watch over you, to inform you what’s right and what’s wrong. Remember to have on extra clothes when it’s chilly out, eat well… and drink your soup so you don’t get sick.” Mom was especially worried about Uncle Dony, having promised Grandma Vuong that she would personally watch out for him. She had no choice but to delegate her responsibilities. “Chu,” Mom looked him in the eyes. “You’re older than Dony so you have to keep an eye on your younger brother… and don’t just care for your fiancée and not your own blood brother. You hear
me?” Uncle Chu nodded his head without saying a word. Uncle Chu and Dony were stronger this time… all their experience of choking back the tears worked now. Their eyes welled, but there were no teardrops. They nodded their heads in acknowledgement of their sisters’ words of care and when they spoke finally, their voices cracked. “Can you stop worrying about us so much.” Uncle Chu responded defensively, “It’s not like we are children… I mean Dony’s already twenty… we both can very well take care of ourselves.” “We know you’re older now and very capable of caring for yourself. We just want to make certain that you do.” Aunty Tam remarked maternally. “Young men… well… they’re distracted easily. We simply don’t want you to take the wrong steps… if you know what I mean.” When morning came, we woke up earlier than ever to finish our chores so that we would have plenty of time to see our uncles off. We gathered our water and then the whole family hurried over to Aunty Tam’s house. We escorted the uncles to the compound entrance to say our final good-byes. We embraced tightly, over and over, unwilling to stop hugging and unable to stop crying. Utterly consumed by grief, our faces were a dripping mask of anguish, wet with tears. Especially the youngsters, Anh, Kim and Ngan, Dad and Grandma Ho, who carried them, already had purposely stayed steps away from Mom and the uncles and yet, they could not stop the youngsters from crying and screaming for Mom. Nor could Uncle Yi Jieng stop Chi and Quy from demanding Aunty Tam. The only people who had dried eyes that morning were Dad, Uncle Yi Jieng and the grandparents. Mom continued to offer words of wisdom to her brothers between sobs. “I know you don’t want me to have long breath, yapping my mouth and all. But I don’t know when I’ll see you two again so let me say what I want to say. I don’t care if you’re going to listen to me or you believe that I’m whistling. You two have to take care of each and watch over each other because no one else will. You’re blood brothers and there’s to be absolutely no fighting or arguing. Chu, you’re older so you have to be more forgiving and Dony you’re younger… you listen to your older brother. You have to do well in school, and remember to eat your meals and drink your soup. Without proper food, you have no energy for anything. Ah Kieng,” Mom turned to face Uncle Chu’s fiancée, “You’ll be the only woman in the family now. You make sure there’re always proper meals… none of this instant noodles stuff. I’m talking about rice, vegetables and meat. You hear me, yes?” Ah Kieng nodded, too teary to drum up a response in word. “Canada’s cold in the winter,” Aunty Tam added, “You make sure you’re dressed warm. And stay away from alcohol and cigarettes, they’re bad for you. When you arrive in Canada, you remember to write us and inform us of your safe arrival so we do have to worry.” “Yes. Yes. Yes…” That was all Uncle Chu and Uncle Dony said as tears streamed from their faces. With their heads down, they turned and walked through the gates.
We waved till our arms were sore. It was hard for them to board the bus. They stood rooted there, wishing that time would stop. And we felt likewise. But it was time to go. They were told to get on the bus, or it would leave without them. They closed their eyes, turned around, and step by heavy step they climbed onto the bus. Like all the other passengers, Uncle Dony, Uncle Chu, and Uncle Chu’s fiancée Ah Kieng stuck their heads out of the windows, shouting and waving frantically. With all the noise we could not hear what the uncles were saying, but our eyes stayed fixed on the yellow bus. Soon it vanished in the distance. “It’s time to go,” Dad told Mom. She asked for the twins, Kim and Ngan. She held onto them tightly, one on the left the other on the right. “There, there,” Mom said as she affectionately kissed them, “Why are you two misbehaving when mommy’s saying goodbye to your uncle, huh?” she kissed them again and rocked them. Mom was depressed and withdrawn and stayed that way for the remainder of the night. She only spoke when spoken to and kept herself busy. By now, I knew it was her habit to work compulsively to cope with her feelings of vulnerability. And if she had scrubbed those pots and pans any harder, she would have made holes in them. Then we would have to search the trash for replacements. **** In mid-December, an interpreter brought us a letter from the uncles. With a beaming smile and many thanks to the bearer, Mom opened it with extreme care, handling the letter as delicately as the way she held and cared for the twins. Her eyes glowed with new life and her voice reverberated with joy as she read the letter out loud. Our dear beloved sisters: We have arrived at the camp safely and are doing well. You need not worry for us. There is plenty of food where we are, and a few small shops run by Malaysian-born Chinese. We are waiting for the departure date. We will write as soon as we arrive in Canada. We hope everyone is well and the good news to go to America comes soon. Take care of yourselves and each other. Your brothers, Chu and Dony The letter was brief and general, not as descriptive as we would have wished. Had they written at greater length, we might have detected inconsistencies that would have caused us more anxiety. Their letter was not informative, but it was obviously a great relief for Mom to hear from her brothers. When she had finished reading, she sighed loudly as though a heavy burden had been lifted from her shoulders. She rushed over to her sister’s house to share the good news. Aunty Tam too, was overjoyed, and they talked between themselves as if the rest of us did not exist. Since the women were so deeply involved in their conversation, Uncle Yi Jieng
thought he would take the opportunity to bring Chi and Quy to church. Fong, Kuang, and I decided to tag along, leaving our youngest sisters with Mom. We walked until we reached the chapel at the other end of the compound. It was a modest little building with a trim green lawn bordered by picket fences. There was a tableau in the front yard, consisting of a group of painted plaster figures. At one end of the display, there were several statues of men attending a mother with her infant in a cradle. In another corner, there were sculpted sheep, cows, horses, and goats. The statues of the bearded men bore sophisticated looks. The single woman of the group was warm and gentle looking, smiling radiantly as she gazed into the cradle. The straw-filled cradle itself was humble. The evident focus of the entire display was the baby inside, reposed in mystery and appealing contentment. With colored lights illuminating the scene, we were awestruck. Its splendor captivated our young eyes, although we did not grasp its significance. All we could say was, “Wow, it’s so beautiful!” Later, we were to find out that these statues represented the Wise Men, Mother Mary, and the baby Jesus. Although we had heard of Christians before, we had never been to a church. In Vietnam, most Chinese families were Buddhist, like ours, while many ethnic Vietnamese were Catholic or Taoist. Uncle Yi Jieng was Vietnamese and a devout Catholic. For this reason, and because he had already been married, Grandma Vuong did not at first agree with him marrying Aunty Tam. She had conservative notions regarding mixed marriages. Many Chinese stereotyped Vietnamese as self-indulgent, lazy, and stupid. The men were said to beat their wives. The Chinese used these and other stereotypes to account for their economic superiority in Vietnam. Despite the language barrier, they had achieved more financial success and owned more land than did the Vietnamese. Grandma Vuong originally believed that all Vietnamese were the same. Eventually she overcame her prejudice, and she learned to accept Uncle Yi Jieng when she saw that he treated Aunty Tam with respect, care, and love. Anything that a good Chinese man could offer, Uncle Yi Jieng was able to provide. The atmosphere in the church was foreign and spooky, full of paintings, candles, darkness, echoes, and priests and attendants in rich regalia. We sat close together in one of the pews, awed into silence. Most of the worshippers were Vietnamese. With eyes closed, they rested their foreheads on their folded hands and muttered quiet words. Uncle Yi Jieng did the same and we all smiled. We didn't understand what he was doing, but we tried to follow his lead. I, too, closed my eyes and rested my forehead on my hands, but I did not know what to mumble. My heart skipped a beat when the voices grew increasingly passionate during the mysterious litany. Everything was so strange to me. I opened my eyes and sat even closer to my siblings. My uneasiness progressed to horror when I noticed a statue of a man with his hands and legs nailed to a cross with painted blood dripping from his wounds. The candles heightened the macabre effect.
I became more comfortable when everyone opened their eyes and leaned back in their seats. A colorfully attired man started to speak, holding a text in his hand. He was Vietnamese, probably one of the refugees volunteering his time to offer strength and guidance to those who followed Jesus. He spoke so fast and my Vietnamese was so poor that I could not understand a word he said. When the pastor finished his address, Uncle Yi Jieng rose and lined up in the aisle with the other adults. One by one, they walked up to the altar. As people approached the priest, he put a pale round wafer into their mouths. Later, they were all given a red drink. I was curious about what they were given but I did not dare ask. I was extremely relieved when the ceremony was over. When we got to Aunt’s house, Mom and the youngsters had already gone home. We sat down and Aunty Tam explained what the statues represented. That was the first time we had heard of Jesus and Christmas. Her tale and what we learned of Jesus captivated us. My apprehension faded, to be replaced by a sense of reverence. By the time Aunty Tam finished, the sun had already set. We thanked her for the lovely story and said our goodnights. The next morning Fong, Kuang and I met up with our cousins and we told them what we had learned about Christmas and how we wanted to make our own statues. They agreed to join us before we had even told them exactly what we wanted to make. We tiptoed to where the guards lived, talking only in whispers. Since the guards were remodeling their barracks, we had no problem finding clay and cement to fill our pails. After we gathered our materials, we walked back to the church for inspiration. We examined the Nativity tableau for every detail, carefully noting the appearance and placement of each figure. When we felt we had studied our prototypes sufficiently, we returned home and started modeling. After dinner, the five of us went to our hideaway near the beach, a fenced-in sandy hill away from the water. We sat on the sand and planted our statues in the dune. We had Mother Mary standing next to baby Jesus as he lay on a bed of straw. We arranged the Wise Men and various animals around them. We set up two rows of candles leading up to the display and lit them. The result was beautiful. We sat in speechless admiration of our accomplishment. Our nativity scene was not even close to the one we were attempting to emulate, but we were satisfied nevertheless. We criticized each other’s sculptures and laughed hysterically at how deformed some of them looked. We lay down, rested our heads on the sand and stared at the stars. We tried to count them all, but kept losing track. That night was exceptionally still and peaceful. Somehow, it imparted the warmth and joy I associated with the meaning of Christmas. Whether or not it was because of a sudden spiritual insight, I experienced an inner serenity and a sense of love. None of us wanted to leave, but it was getting cold and dark. A gale was gathering strength, tossing the waves and blowing sand in our eyes. We had to keep lighting the candles as the wind extinguished them. Huddling closely together was not keeping us
warm any longer, so we decided to leave. We turned around for one last fond look at our masterpiece. The camp was very quiet when we returned. It was so late that we asked our cousins to stay over. It was not dangerous for them to walk back at that hour, but we wanted their companionship. We tiptoed into our sleeping area and, thankfully, our entire family was already asleep. In the morning, our cousins helped us with the chores and we were done in half the usual time. We wandered over to our hideaway to see if our statues were still intact. Upon arriving, we found that some of them were half-buried in the sand and others were cracked and disintegrating. We picked up our proud creations to examine them, and laughed at how absurd they looked in the bright light. We were not surprised. The previous night would remain a memory that could not be recaptured. **** Our parents were not as carefree as we were, as each day they anxiously awaited a favorable decision from the Americans. So the women of the family went to the toe day g-own (God of the Earth) altar. The altar was the shape and size of a doghouse and was made of simple wood. It was painted red with carved Chinese inscriptions. The women went there to ask the saint cups, which were also made of simple wood, for guidance. After kneeling, bowing, and placing incense into the urns, a pair of saint cups would be tossed in the air. If the saint cups landed on the floor with one head and one tail, it represented good luck: we would be going to America very soon. After such visits the women would usually return upset because the results were unfavorable. This gave Dad a chance to mock their superstitions. On Chinese New Year’s Eve, Mom and Dad talked about the past year. Their reviews seemed to conclude with a new sense of purpose. Even though we did not have much of a life here, they felt hopeful for the future. After all, the Chinese New Year is a celebration of change… out with the old and in with the new. Soon after, a Chinese interpreter came to our house with good news: there were sponsors in Massachusetts currently reviewing our files. They were interested in sponsoring us, and he was waiting to hear from them regarding our departure date. Mom and Dad jumped for joy. They were laughing so loudly that even our neighbors could hear them. The neighbors came by our house to congratulate us on our good fortune for the New Year. Mom asked the interpreter, “What about my sister and her family?” The interpreter struggled a little before telling her, “I’m sorry. They have not been as lucky… but I’m certain good news will arrive at their front door soon.” He didn’t realize there was no such thing as a door where we lived. Mom’s smiles turned to frowns. Upon seeing this, the interpreter reached quickly into his pocket, pulled out a letter, and handed it to her. The mail was from the uncles, who were living on a farm with a Canadian family.
She smiled once again and just like the previous letter she opened it with care. Our dear beloved sisters: We have arrived in Canada safely. The three of us are doing well. We have plenty of food so there is no need to worry. There is a lot of snow here and it is very cold, but you should not be too concerned. The host family we are staying with is quite generous to us. Besides plenty of food, they have kindly bought us clothes and shoes and have given us nice clean rooms and beds to sleep in. In return, we only have to help the host family milk the cows and clean the barns in the morning before going to school. We are waiting anxiously for your good news, and looking forward to the date we reunite in the United States. Please write and inform us of your situation. Take very good care of yourself and each other. We hope everyone is doing well! Your brothers, Chu and Dony Tears welled in Mom’s eyes while she smiled. Mom wiped away her tears. “Thank you so much for delivering these good tidings.” “You’re welcome,” he smiled. “You’ll see your brothers, again,” he said confidently. And as he left, he waved goodbye and wished the family luck and prosperity in the coming year. It was the day to get our supplies, so we picked up the buckets and walked to the gate with Dad. Usually Mom stayed home with the little ones, but she wanted to come along this time to give Aunty Tam the news. When we got to Aunty Tam’s home, we wished her a happy New Year and Mom excitedly told her about our potential sponsor from Massachusetts. Aunty Tam was thrilled and congratulated us. Mom handed her the letter from the uncles, which Aunty Tam proceeded to read aloud. When Aunty Tam was done, the ink was running on the pages. They sighed nostalgically while Mom said, “It’s nice to hear they’re doing well.” Dad impatiently ordered them to cut it out. “You two should know better. Your tears will jinx the New Year.” The Chinese believe that if you cry on New Year, tears will be your fortune throughout the year. Sheepishly the women composed themselves, and Mom invited everyone over for dinner. And while Mom returned home with the youngsters, Fong, Kuang, and I followed Dad to get our provisions. On this occasion, the Red Cross made an unusually ample distribution. Not only did we receive extra food, but also tangerines and red watermelon seeds, which were the traditional fare for the holiday. Another time-honored custom was married adults handing out red envelopes stuffed with money to the kids. We kids
especially liked that one, but this year we received no red envelopes. With so much tension in the family, it had been a while since we had all assembled together for a dinner. We now numbered sixteen. For the appetizer we had our holiday goodies, crunchy red watermelon seeds and fresh tangerines. The tangerines were a bit sour, but they seemed sweet to us at the time. Fresh fruit was a rare delicacy, and we relished the treat. We laughed and spat watermelon-seed hulls, discussing what the uncles had mentioned about milking cows. We wondered if that was what we would end up doing. We made a grand mess, red watermelon-seed hulls and tangerine skins covered the floor. Mom did not scold us, since it was considered bad luck to use profanity at the start of the New Year. The red hulls and tangerine represented luck… and why not cover your home with luck when you have nothing? The women started to serve the main course; we put down our appetizers and sat in a decorous circle, filled with hungry anticipation. The feast was a culinary achievement. When we were not stuffing our mouths, we talked incessantly. The adults made a New Year’s wish: the two families would be united to celebrate the next New Year in America. When we were ready for sleep, we lowered the mosquito netting against the chilly night. We had to pile all of our blankets on top of us and cuddle together for warmth. We did not have much on that New Year’s day, yet I felt full of warmth that no money could buy. **** By now, we had explored every nook and cranny of the refugee settlement. As our lives became more or less routine, Fong, Kuang and I wished for the first time to leave the camp. And God must have heard our prayers. The news came in mid-April. The interpreter stopped by our home and told us that our resettlement plans had been concluded, and that the Massachusetts sponsors had gathered enough money to send for us. “You should start packing right away,” he said enthusiastically, “You’ll be relocated to another camp tomorrow.” Fong, Kuang, and I began shouting and bouncing up and down on our flimsy beds, while Mom and Dad smiled with unusually placid indulgence. They probably would not have scorned us even if we were to break the bed… that was how thrilled they were. Anh, Kim and Ngan joined us, they too wanted to jump to express joy. Mom and Dad bobbed their heads in grateful assent. “Thank you so much for such good news,” they told the man as they shook his hand passionately. We were so excited that the entire family scurried down the rough roads to see our grandparents to tell them the good news. Luckily, Grandpa passed his physical exams and did not have tuberculosis as one of doctors had thought. If he had not, we would not have
been accepted by the American sponsors. I could not imagine what would have become of the family if Grandpa Tang was the reason we had been prevented from immigrating to the United States. Mom looked over at Aunty Tam’s shelter across the way. We had been so loud that Aunty Tam and her family had already heard the news. Aunty Tam and Uncle Yi Jieng with Chi and Quy in their arms rushed over to congratulate us. At a loss for words, Mom just hugged her sister tightly. It was going to be a very difficult separation for both of them, as they were closer than most sisters. Since the death of their father, and their mother’s subsequent crippling accident, they had been each other’s greatest source of support. During supper that night, Mom secretly gave some American dollars to Aunty Tam. Although most mothers would tell their kids to go out and play because they were too young and not supposed to see or hear the secret things, Mom never hid this from Fong, Kuang and me. But she reminded us, “Don’t say a thing to your father or talk about it.” It was unnecessary. Besides loving Aunty Tam and her family, we simply did not want Mom and Dad to argue. We knew if Dad’s folks were aware of it, they would fill his ears with more malicious comments. Who would want their parents to argue and fight? Aside from Quy being ill with chicken pox, there was not much for Mom or Aunty Tam to worry about, with the Red Cross providing as much food as was needed. In addition, to supplement our diet we had planted some melons and vegetables when we first came to the camp. Aunty Tam’s family could count on a good crop from the garden, which was now thriving. Dinner was ample and excellent as always, but an almost unendurable feeling of loss muffled the evening in a painful silence. We kept our composure and no one shed a tear. Mom spent most of the time after dinner instructing her sister in the proper care of her ailing baby. Mom promised, “As soon as I arrive at the new camp, I’ll mail back some herbal medicine since Chu and Dony said that this location has a number of little shops run by Malaysian-born Chinese. They’re bound to have a Chinese pharmacy where we can find whatever herbs are necessary.” While Mom and Aunty Tam whispered, we placed our clothing on some square pieces of cloth, tied together the four corners, leaving enough cloth for a handle. Mom did not want to bring anything extra. She anticipated a quick departure just like the uncles from the American camp. For some reason America got all the credit, despite the fact that some of the people here were going to other countries. With mixed feelings, we watched Aunty Tam and her family shuffle home, carrying our spare clothing, pots, and pans. Sleeping was difficult that night. Mom tossed and turned provoking Dad to say, “Can you stop… get some sleep, will you. We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow.” Mom kept still after what Dad had said but I knew she wasn’t asleep. I was certain she was thinking about Aunty Tam, worrying for her and her family. When morning arrived, we washed up, grabbed our things, and walked out in grim
silence. Our grandparents, Phuong, Cong, Aunty Tam and her family were already waiting. The bus had arrived and people were beginning to file into it. We set our luggage down and Mom went over and hugged Aunty Tam, Chi, and Quy. Tears trickled down our faces like raindrops. The wailing increased as Aunty Tam hugged all of us in turn. We embraced tightly, over and over, unwilling to stop hugging and unable to stop crying. Between cries, Aunty Tam instructed us, “Be good children, listen to your mother and work hard in school. We’ll see each other again one day, I promise.” Anh, Kim and Ngan started to bawl louder and then Aunty Tam’s children Chi and Quy followed along as if they were betting on who would win in the crying competition... but their award was a separation of families. I don’t think they understood what was happening, but they just felt compelled to cry along with the rest of us. It was supposed to be a joyful day but all we could feel was pain at leaving our relatives. Dad finally pulled Mom away from her niece and nephew as she was kissing them, afraid the bus would leave without us. “We have to go,” Dad said. “You’re scaring the children.” And so Mom took the twins, Kim and Ngan, one from Grandma Ho and the other from Fong while Dad had Anh in his arms, shushing her. “There, there,” Mom began, “Sorry mommy has frightened you… okay, no more crying and say bye to your aunt, uncle and cousins then.” We gave Aunty Tam, Uncle Yi Jieng, Chi, and Quy one last embrace before boarding. Everyone on the bus was sobbing, many sticking their heads out of the windows to say their last farewells. We grabbed our seats and had to squeeze tightly together. Everybody looked dazed and disappointed. We never expected to have to leave more loved ones behind. The uncertainty of whether we would ever see them again was hard to bear. Mom locked her eyes on the windows though Aunty Tam and her family were no longer in sight. Tears continued to stream down her face but she made no noise… here and there she smiled when she met the twins’ eyes. She wiped the tears and cleared her running nose with the bottom of her shirt. Now and again, she would pull the twins close to plant kisses on them. Hours passed before we reached our final destination. Again, the gate was crowded with strange faces and dark, skinny bodies. They pointed, stared, and whispered. Their aggressiveness was quite intimidating. One security guard opened the gate as the other guards made room for us to enter. This camp was more attractive, and not as heavily guarded as the previous one. We were enchanted by the newly built hospital operated by foreign doctors. Humbly constructed brick houses were surrounded by small pots of flowers, but those houses belonged to the Malaysian families. The refugee quarters were similar to those in the previous camp. There were no doors, and mosquito tents and clothes dangled in every room. The only difference was that the houses in this camp had sturdier metal roofs, which did not rattle as loudly in the wind and rain. It would be nice to finally have a home that did not leak but that would be too hopeful. The streets in this camp were
cleaner and true to what Uncle Chu and Uncle Dony had told us, there were little shops and stores on every corner, which made it resemble a sort of flea market. Because all the shacks at the camp were taken, we would be living in the church for a couple of days. We were speechless as we set foot inside, seeing its well-designed gigantic columns that rose from a marble floor. At the far end was a big cross on which a sculpted Jesus was nailed. Beneath the cross was a platform about six feet high, built of white marble. There were exquisite, colorful pictures painted on each wall. Since there were twelve of us, we had no problem claiming the stage for our quarters. We climbed the stairs and deposited our luggage on it, thus securing our turf. If anyone else climbed up, our evil stares instantly drove them away. While Mom, Dad, and the grandparents explored the camp, they instructed Phuong, Cong, Fong, Kuang, and me to keep watch over our bags and the youngsters, Anh, Kim and Ngan. Normally, we would have tried to convince them to take us along, but since we were exhausted from the bus ride we were happy to stay behind. They returned an hour or so later, carrying buckets of water. They had to go and ask the neighbors for it. As long as there was water, we could cook food. Mom boiled the water and added bags of instant noodles into the pot. As usual, I was famished and my mouth watered as I waited to eat. It had been an entire day and nothing was in our stomachs! When dinner was ready, we ate, loudly slurping the noodles. Nothing was wasted, not even the MSG broth. The lights were out in a room packed with people, yet no one made a sound. If a mosquito flew by, one could have easily heard it. I kept staring at the streets. The moon made the pavement shine like silver. Strangely, I was not afraid of the dark that night. Perhaps subconsciously I knew we would soon be going to America, and that thought gave me comfort. The next morning, we went out to have a look around the camp. There were two public bathrooms that served the entire camp. They were always crowded, but always kept clean unlike the previous camp. In addition, there was sufficient water, so there was no longer a need to wake up extra early. There were small stores selling jewelry, clothes, accessories, noodle soup, rice plates, sodas, fruit, herbs, and much more. Most of the Malaysians spoke fluent Cantonese with a Malaysian accent, using difficult words that even I did not understand. They would shout loudly to attract attention, boasting about the quality and price of their products. There were crowds of people shopping. Refugees who had not been robbed by pirates still had money. Some refugees even ran little Vietnamese and Chinese noodle shops, setting aside extra cash for rainy days in foreign lands. Indeed those dollar bills were attractive. Some of the women who had been raped by Thai pirates wanted to set aside money for their future too — especially those who had become pregnant from the rape. They sold their bodies to the doctors, the foreign representatives, the police… whoever could afford those couple of dollars.
Mom stopped at an herbal shop to purchase some Chinese herbs for Aunty Tam. Dad bought three glass bottles of Coca-Cola to share with the family. It was the first carbonated beverage we had ever drank, and we quickly developed a craving for it. We bugged our parents for Coca-Cola every second, but because we had no extra money, we could only look on as other people enjoyed theirs. Soon we discovered that we could make money selling blankets, pots, pans, and bottles, so we began to search the dumpsites and alleys every day. It took us a couple of days to make enough money to buy a few bottles of Coca-Cola, but it was worth every sore muscle. Mom did not have to worry about cooking for us anymore. Refugee chefs prepared breakfast, lunch, and dinner for the entire camp. All we had to do was stand in line at scheduled hours. Each day they prepared something different, and we lined up for extra helpings since they did not keep track. We always went home with buckets filled with food, keeping the extra for snacks. After exploring the camp, we stopped by the Foreign Affairs Office. The offices were nicely furnished and clean. Mom talked to a Chinese interpreter. She filled out some forms and dropped off the Chinese herbs and a letter. The interpreter explained to Mom, “It’ll probably take a week before it will reach your sister.” Mom expected the delay, though she was still upset. She could not do a thing but pray that Quy would remain strong and that Aunty Tam had been able to get some antibiotics with the American dollars she had left her. After dinner that night, we heard a lot of noise at the entrance of the church. We followed Dad to see what was happening and found people gathering around a big movie screen. They pushed and swore, fighting for a place close to the screen. Some were sitting on rags while other crouched on the floor. All the lights suddenly went out. The Incredible Hulk was our first English-language movie. Impossible as it seemed, everyone sat in complete silence. The pushes, the screams, the anger, the desperately crying babies all vanished. Though we could not understand a word, everyone sat and gazed at the screen as if we were under a magical spell. In less than a week Dad found a job in the kitchen. He was hired quickly because most of the chefs were leaving for the States, Canada, or Europe. He was given a key to a private bathroom, shared only by the families of other chefs, where there was soap, a pipe that could be used as faucet, and toilets that had seats. A rope dangled above our heads which flushed the toilet. The bathroom was a privilege for the chefs and their families because there was no pay for the job. However the extra food and the bathroom privileges made it a worthwhile endeavor. In addition, we were assigned three cubicles for our living space. It seemed as if we were all set. We had a big living space, a private bathroom, and an unlimited food supply. All we had to do was to wait for our day to depart. But one day without warning, Dad collapsed in the kitchen. His co-workers carried him to the hospital and one of his friends came to tell us the news. Devastated but still
very calm, Mom grabbed the twins, Fong carried Anh, and we all rushed to the hospital. My heart was beating so fast that I had trouble breathing. The news was such a shock that we did not have time to think. When we got to the hospital, the doctors were examining Dad. There were tears dripping from his eyes as he gripped his stomach and moaned in pain. The doctors would not allow us to get close to him. Chills swept across my body. I was shaking, yet I felt numb from head to toe. All six of us cried loudly while Mom kept her composure and told us, “There, there… there’s no need to cry. Your father will be fine.” Fong, Kuang and I were able to lower our cries but the twins cried louder when Mom put them down, one for me to hold, the other one for Kuang. This provoked Anh, whom Fong was carrying, to add more thunder to her cry. The winner would get the ultimate prize: Mom. Mom went to speak with the interpreter. The interpreter conversed with the doctors before translating back to Mom. Dad’s appendix was infected and he would need an operation immediately. “What do you mean? How could he be fine one day and be so ill the next that he requires an operation?” Mom asked confusedly. “Your husband’s appendix is severely inflamed and he must have felt pain in the past but chose to ignore it. He needs to have his appendix removed immediately because it could burst any minute now, at which time it’ll probably be too late to save him,” the interpreter told Mom matter-of-factly. And he tried to comfort her. “The surgery’s really not a big deal. The appendix is an unnecessary organ, so removing it will do the body no harm.” That was easy for him to say. Surgery of any sort was a big deal in our family, because we were brought up with pills and herbs. To have surgery meant death. Dad heard what the interpreter had been telling Mom. “I don’t need any surgery. I’m feeling better,” Dad rose from the bed to show the interpreter that he was better. But the doctors would not allow him to get out of bed. “Mr. Ho, it’s necessary to have the appendix removed,” the interpreter insisted. “Look, I’m not going to let someone cut me up and kill me,” Dad informed the interpreter with authority in his voice. He was determined to change the mind of the interpreter and doctors with his voice. And if his voice was not clear, the strength of his glare was to make his decision final. Mom trusted the doctors and knew the operation was necessary. She stood beside Dad and spoke with a maternal air. “You do know it’s necessary to remove the bad organ. Western doctors are more qualified than those in Vietnam. And we have to trust them.” Dad was stubborn. “I’m not going to let them kill me.” Dad refused the operation despite Mom’s assurance. Mom took hold of Dad’s hand and sat beside him. It was the first time she showed any public display of affection toward Dad. “You have to stop saying bad things. The surgery is a simple one. It’s not life-threatening… and you’ll be in and out of the hospital
in a few days. The family’s going to America together. You must remember that. But if you don’t have the surgery, things will get worse, and the rest you don’t need me to tell you.” Hearing their conversation terrified us even more. We wailed loudly, hoping that God would hear our desperate cries now that we gave it some more strength. And sure enough He did hear us. Mom finally talked some sense into Dad. Still in great pain, he agreed to have the surgery. Mom quickly signed the papers in case Dad changed his mind. She told Dad’s friend to take us to our grandparents. She was going to follow the doctor to a hospital in Kuala Lumpur city. Mom walked over to us and whispered, “You three take care of the youngsters and ask grandma to cook you dinner since the kitchen is already closed. I’ll be home as soon as Dad’s surgery is done. The three of you have to stop crying so the three youngsters won’t be frightened.” Fong, Kuang and I immediately wiped off the tears. Mom was right, if we continued to cry, the youngsters would be even more afraid. When we got to our grandparents’ place, Dad’s friend told them the whole story. Grandma Ho and Grandpa Tang were old, but they had a lot of courage. They told the youngsters, “No one in the family has died and if you three continue to cry you’ll surely jinx us.” It was clear they were too young to comprehend what was said to them. They kept screaming for Mom and Dad no matter how much we tried to comfort them as we walked to our home. They ran out of energy and fell asleep in our arms. Finally, Mom lifted up the mosquito netting and climbed in. Her puffy eyes indicated how exhausted she was. She must have been crying all night. “How was the operation?” Grandma Ho asked. Mom sighed, “It was a success. The operation went smoothly.” “I’m glad to hear that.” Grandma Ho lifted up the mosquito netting and searched for her flip flops. “Why don’t you stay the night? It’s already so late and we have room here.” Grandma Ho was stubborn. “I know there’s room… but I prefer to sleep in my own bed.” “All right then.” Mom handed Grandma Ho the lantern and reached into a brown bag, which she had brought home from the hospital. She pulled out two shiny red apples and handed them to Grandma Ho. “A Chinese nurse gave them to me. She must have pitied me while I was waiting outside the operating room.” After Grandma Ho left, Mom turned to Fong, Kuang and me. “Why are you still awake?” We were stunned by her question and could not find words to answer her. “You three go to sleep this instant… even though Dad is ill we still have to wake up early to do our chores.” Without a word, we closed our eyes. Knowing that Dad was fine, I finally fell asleep. Early the next morning, Fong, Kuang, and I grabbed our little pails and lined up for food. Dad’s friends were very kind. They had saved us food so we did not have to wait.
We thanked them. They patted our heads, saying, “It’s the least we can do while your father’s in the hospital.” Mom was surprised by their kindness, because Dad had not been working there long. After breakfast, Mom opened the little brown bag. She took out the rest of the red apples, and there were three. She washed them and cut each in half. She gave half to each of us. There were six of us so she had none for herself. “No. no, mommy’s not hungry. Go ahead… eat it.” She didn’t even steal a bite from our apple when we insisted on just one bite. And just like the Coca-Cola, those apples became an indulgence we craved… there were apples sold in the camp, but we never had the money for such luxuries. As we continued to take tiny bites of our apples to savor the crunchiness, the juiciness, Mom began her lessons. “Your father has always been healthy. This is the first time that I’ve seen him so sick. This journey has weakened his body. So from now on I want the three of you to help with his chores before going off on your own in search of things to exchange for money. You have to behave and do well in school when we arrive in America. You have to succeed in life. Your father has given up a lot so you guys can have that chance.” Fong, Kuang and I nodded as we listened. Several days passed and still none of us were allowed to leave the camp to visit Dad, not even Mom. All we could do was patiently wait for the news every day. We missed our father. Fong, Kuang and I imitated how he used to discipline us, with his shouting all the time, and that made us laugh. Since Dad would usually take the whole family to watch the movies at the entrance to the church, Phuong, Cong, Fong, Kuang and I took on his responsibilities and took the three youngsters, Anh, Kim and Ngan out. Mom did not want to go. She was too worried about Dad. She wanted to remain at home in case something happened to Dad and people were looking for her. As we took our seats, a mean-looking Vietnamese woman pushed our straw mats aside and took our spaces. We yelled at her and she ignored us. We were angry and swore at her. Because of that, she and her kids purposely blocked our view. Mom came by and saw what was happening. She immediately confronted the woman. “My family was here first. Your children are nothing but liars,” she shouted at Mom in Vietnamese. “My kids might not be angels.” Mom defended us and she stood with her hands on her hips. “But they know better than to pick fights with an adult woman. This is where we sit every time we come to watch a movie.” The woman became angry and shouted louder, “You goddamn Chinese people are possessive. You want to take over everything.” Mom barked right back, “Let me tell you, you should be fucking ashamed of yourself for picking a fight with young children, trying to steal their seats.” Narrowing her eyes like a cat catching sight of its prey, she pointed two fingers at the woman. “A great example you’re setting in front of your own children. If I were you, I’d find a hole and shove my head in there to hide. If you can’t find a hole, dig one.”
The woman became violent and pushed Mom. Did she mess with the wrong family! With her face red like fire, Mom used both of her hands and shoved the woman with such force that she staggered backward and would have fallen if her kids had not been there to support her. Mom might be petite, barely five foot two in height, but she stood taller than any woman. Her presence, strong persona and confidence commanded attention. The woman and her kids were going to charge, yet they saw that they were outnumbered. All of us stood next to Mom, holding our fists close to our chests. The mother ordered the kids to back off. Angrily, they picked up their mats and moved to another side. People stared and gossiped loudly as they pointed and grinned, which only made matters worse. Mom shouted at the nosy people. “You mind your damn business and return to your places.” Anh, Kim and Ngan were crying dreadfully now. Mom quickly reined in her temper and knelt on the floor to comfort the youngsters. “There, there… my precious, my love... there’s absolutely nothing to be fearful about. Your mother’s here and no one will dare to harm you.” She hugged and kissed them. They eventually stopped crying when the movie began. That night, watching Black Beauty, I felt warm and safe. I had not felt that way since Dad had been taken to the hospital. The Return of the Sun The day that Dad came home we hugged him so tightly that he screamed “Ouch!” He had lost a lot of weight, and he was very pale and quite frightening to see. But when he spoke, we realized he was okay. His loud voice was still there. We were curious about the operation and pleaded, “Please please… show us your scars.” He proudly lifted up his shirt to reveal a huge line with lots of stitches. We were repulsed and yet at the same time wanted to feel it. We gently ran our fingers over it and giggled. “Does it hurt? we asked. And Dad cockily said, “No. Within a couple of days, the stitches will be removed. After that, your father here can kill a lion with one hand. Ha ha ha…” “I didn’t see you being so brave when you were in the hospital bed,” Mom teased. Dad smiled at Mom’s remark. And he sure knew how to distract us. He reached into a brown bag and brought out some apples. We could never get enough apples. Two days later, Dad went back to work. His co-workers were kind to him. They did not let him do any heavy lifting so as to allow the surgery to heal. Everything had been grand since Dad had come home. Everyone was happier as we resumed our daily routines: wake up, do house chores, get food, eat, hunt for goods, eat, nap, wander around the camp, shower, eat, and then sleep. But our parents were becoming impatient. They went to the Foreign Affairs Office to ask when we would be leaving. “More than a month has already passed,” they said, “Shouldn’t we have left by now?” “The people who sponsored you were having difficulty finding your large family a place to stay. They also need to make sure that there’ll be enough money to take care of all of you… moreover, they need more time locating the right school for the children.” “Can you give us the possible date we’ll depart here then?” Mom asked.
“I don’t know for sure, but I believe it to be very soon,” the interpreter answered vaguely. Thinking that we would be leaving within couple weeks, Mom had already spent a lot of money on clothing and shoes for our big day. But hearing we had to remain on the island a little longer, Mom decided to find work. In the mornings, she worked for a Malaysian-born Chinese man selling noodle soup. He paid her three dollars a day. That was a lot of money, as he also gave us food at no charge as a reward for Mom’s good work. In the afternoon, she helped a Malaysian-born Chinese woman selling clothes, Chinese herbs, and women’s accessories. For this she was paid five dollars a day. This woman also was very generous and sometimes gave us clothes… as by now the clothes we had brought with us were so worn out they tore easily and Mom no longer could patch them up. Because of her bosses’ show of kindness, Mom felt obligated to work even harder. Dad began to help a Malaysian-born Chinese man, who owned a jewelry store, to pawn gold in exchange for U.S. currency. Dad was very good with words, and he made more money in one day than Mom did in a week. He easily persuaded his clients, most of whom were women, to sell him their gold at a low price. He told them, “It’s better to have cash than gold. How are you going to spend gold? America’s not like Vietnam. Gold’s worthless, but you can spend cash as soon as you set foot in the States.” Rich refugees pawned their gold at very low prices because they were scared that the immigration office would confiscate it. Dad bought this gold and sold it back to his boss at a higher price, but one that was low enough so that they could both make a profit. One night, one of Dad’s customers brought a few of his friends to our house, armed with long sticks and knives. They were swearing loudly and attracted onlookers. Dad’s client, a bony man, accused Dad of cheating him over the purchase of a ring a week prior. “I bought a ring from him and when I needed money and resold it just a couple days later, he gave me a lower price. Don’t trust this man, he has a slippery tongue, rinsed with oil.” The accuser pointed his knife at Dad as he briefed the onlookers. We were frightened. They looked as if they wanted to kill Dad. Yet Dad, at only fivefoot-four, with a medium build, stood confidently and addressed his accuser sternly. What Dad lacked in height, he made up for with his muscular voice and strong persona. “I’m absolutely not going to pay full price for something that’s worn and has scratches on it. If there’s any businessman who is that stupid, you come and tell me. I’ll sell my gold to him.” Dad brought out his portable scale, which his boss had provided. He weighed the ring and showed the accuser and his friends that the ring indeed weighed less than it did at the time Dad sold it. Dad also pointed out the small scratches and indentations on the ring. “What person in their right mind would pay full price for such a ring? You tell me!” he looked the accuser straight in the eyes. Though Dad carried no weapon… his eyes were already stabbing the accuser with daggers. Even after being proven wrong, the man would not give up. “The scale belongs to
you and you must have done something to it. There are no scratches on the ring. I want my money back in full.” This only made Dad more angry, and he started swearing, “Let me fucking warn you!” Dad pointed his finger at the guy’s face. “You don’t want to piss me off any further. You’ll be wise to leave immediately.” Seeing Dad so fired up, the accuser’s friends took the man away. But the accuser didn’t want to leave. He struggled with his friends but they overpowered him. Ironically, because of the incident, more people in the camp came to know that Dad bought and sold gold. He had more customers and made more money than before. As for the accuser, he never showed his face again. Knowing Dad, he may have tampered with the scale. However, his explanations were reasonable enough. Since Mom and Dad were so busy, they had very little time left to discipline us. We made sure that we were always on our best behavior. The worst we did was to take the youngsters with us when we dug into the trash for goods. We did this to make money and, with the youngsters around, we usually made more money than we would have without them. The pawnbrokers must have pitied us. The more money we made, the more Coca-Cola we could buy. At night, we watched Malaysian television shows with a kind Malaysian family. They opened their doors around eight o’clock every night and refugees would cram into their living room. Since the room was small, some people stood outside the house. There was no difference between American movies and Malaysian television shows to us, we did not understand either language. The only apparent differences were the costumes and skin tones. When Mom was free, she would teach us how to cook. It was amazing how within an hour or so, she could transform rice into powder, turning it into flour. And with the rice flour, if she wasn’t making steamed rolls or pancakes, she would teach us how to make Vietnamese pizza, sponge cake and many other interesting Chinese and Vietnamese goodies. We also loved her sweet soup desserts. At night, by the light from the oil lantern, she sewed set clothes… similar to pajamas… to prepare us for our arrival in America. When we were bored and Mom was not available, we would put on shows. Our favorite show was Cinderella, the Chinese version, with a magic goldfish instead of a fairy godmother. My older siblings and cousins always chose me to be Cinderella because I was the smallest. As for Phuong, she was the stepmother because she was the oldest. Fong and Kuang were the stepsisters. Cong was the magical goldfish. We would place the three youngsters, our audience, at the edge of the bed while we tied up two sheets to use as stage curtains. We slipped into our costumes and when we were ready, the curtains would rise. One by one, we emerged as the youngsters loudly clapped and laughed. Wearing a dress embarrassed me at first, but I got used to it after a few shows. The
loud laughter and cheers from the youngsters were all we needed to hear to be willing to perform. Later we attracted audiences. Neighbors sat on the ground as if we were putting on a show for them. The funny thing was, they came back for more, since our dialogue constantly changed. We had the best time, and seeing the smiles on those people’s faces and their standing ovations made us giggle with joy. Unfortunately, Mom and Dad never saw our shows because they were always working, but they were happy when our neighbors told them how well we were doing. **** In late July a letter arrived. Mom read the letter and tears instantly fell from her eyes. Aunty Tam wrote that Quy was very ill. She asked if Mom could send her more Chinese herbal medicines. It was difficult to see her son cry day and night. Mom was to send the herbs as soon as she received the letter. Aunty Tam ended the letter by saying, “We’ll be coming to the American camp soon. The camp we’re in is closing at the end of August.” She dried her tears and ran quickly to her boss, the owner of the store that sold Chinese herbs. She bought a couple of bags of medicine, but her boss refused to take the money. Mom was very grateful because these medicines were expensive and would have cost her at least a few days’ wages. Mom handed the medicines to the interpreter. She wrote a brief message, wished Aunty Tam and her family well, and said that she could not wait to be reunited with them. Aunty Tam was not to worry; the hospital in the American camp could easily cure Quy. Even though the news was very upsetting, it was nice to know that we would be seeing Aunty Tam and her family very soon. A couple of days later, the interpreter came to our house. At first, we thought he came to hand us a letter from Aunty Tam. Instead, he told us that we were scheduled to depart for the States in a couple of days. We were so happy that we jumped and screamed. Dad quickly ran to the store and bought everyone, including the interpreter, a bottle of CocaCola. We each had a bottle without having to share! Mom asked about Aunty Tam’s family. “I’ve given the herbs to her.” The interpreter told Mom. “She and her family will arrive in the camp on the 15th of August.” But that meant we would not see them before we departed the American camp. Mom’s smile disappeared instantly; she had hoped to see them before we left. “Will you cheer up?” Dad encouraged, “You should be happy. The family’s finally going to America. We had waited for this day too long to be all upset.” And Mom forced a smile. Mom and Dad quit their jobs in preparation for our new lives. We tried on our new clothes, which were all a bit tight since we had been eating so much and were no longer stick thin. Luckily, Mom had bought everything a couple of sizes too big. The males of the family wore suits and loafers while Mom and Fong tried on their matching shirts and pants with their shiny shoes. The youngsters wore colorful floral dresses which Mom had sewn. On their feet were cartoon-print shoes with bells. They loved the sounds the bells
made so much that they purposely ran and jumped and then giggled childishly. Mom asked her two bosses to hire Aunty Tam when she came to the camp, promising them that Aunty Tam would be a great help. She left some American dollars with her female boss, of the herbal and clothing store, who also had become her close friend, to give to Aunty Tam. Again, nobody knew about it except Fong, Kuang, and me. Mom reminded us not to tell Dad. Mom set aside the fuel stove, blankets, pots, pans, dishes, bowls, and pails for them. She saved every thing we had for Aunty Tam — even our living quarters. On our last night in Malaysia, Mom’s former boss from the noodle soup stand came to visit us. He gave us two large boxes filled with fried chicken, corn on the cob, and muffins as a farewell present. Mom cooked a big feast once again. Besides the two bags of chicken and corn, our bed was covered with plates of various goodies. We tried the fried chicken first but were unable to get used to the taste. We threw it back into the box and only ate the corn. As we were enjoying our meal, friends and strangers stopped by to ask Mom to help them mail letters to Vietnam when we got to America. They begged until Mom accepted a handful of letters, only to realize that they had not provided a single stamp. It would be very expensive to mail all of those letters. After the people left, Dad yelled at Mom, “You have a lot of money, huh? You have nothing better to do, so you busy yourself with other people’s tasks?” Mom screamed back, “I’m not afraid of being a kind-hearted person.” That night, my heart hammered nervously. I could not sleep. Counting the people walking past our house did not help. I was scared and confused. I slid my foot over to touch Kuang. Early the next morning, we put on our best clothes. After we were dressed, Mom handed Kuang and me each a fourteen karat gold chain with a cross pendant, which we placed around our necks. The girls were given gold chains, each with a little jade Buddha or Goddess of Mercy on it. Mom and Dad both wore bigger chains. It was Chinese tradition to have the best for a new beginning. We could not look cheap in foreign lands. We grabbed our luggage and headed toward the grandparents’ shack. They also were dressed in their best. Mom had bought our grandparents, Phuong, and Cong new clothes and necklaces, despite her once ill feelings toward the grandparents. They looked just as sharp as we did. We walked happily to the gate where a yellow bus was waiting for us. There were a couple of families standing there who were also dressed in their best clothes, with gold chains, bracelets, rings, and earrings. We walked over and joined them. The adults began to gossip, asking each other where they were going. We were at once happy and sad at having to leave such a memorable place. We took one last glance before the interpreters told us, “It’s time to board the bus.” Once everyone boarded, the driver closed the door and the bus slowly accelerated. I
felt very strange as I looked out the window. Maybe I had become so comfortable living here that it was difficult to accept that we had to start all over again in a foreign land. Although we were usually very talkative, we were silent that morning. The waves, sands, and tides of our future destiny would soon erase these footprints on our hearts, and yet the vibrant images could never disappear completely.
About the Author The third of seven children, at seven years old, Langelo and his extended family fled communist Vietnam. He arrived in Boston, Massachusetts in the summer of 1980 after surviving a year living in Malaysia’s refugee camps. Langelo achieved his American dream in 1996 — a Bachelor of Science degree in Mechanical Engineering from Northeastern University. He soon discovered that pursuing his artistic dreams brought a deeper meaning and happiness to his life. He began to paint, to write, to dance, after losing his brother in a motorcycle accident. He performs and dances in theaters, exhibits his oil paintings, and is seeking the right representation for his three books, Learning to Breathe: A Memoir, A Blind Step Forward: A Memoir, and a murder mystery Hell: A Place on Earth. He is working on two new books. On January 9, 2007, Langelo opened an art gallery café named Flamepoeira, inspired by his training in flamenco and the Brazilian martial art capoeira. Aside from exhibiting his own work at Flamepoeira, he offers a haven where people can build relationships and exhibit their work. "The sun will shine only if you allow it — dreams die because you let them. Happiness is a gift you have to be brave enough to give yourself.”