Go West, Young Man
Tracing back my father's steps
My dad left China in the war-ravaged 40s for the relative safety of a sleepy port called Hong Kong. He grew up in an area called Diamond Hill, then a slow-paced village on the Kowloon border, now a high-rise residential area. He went to a KMT high school and thus, made his way to Taiwan for college, where he learned Mandarin and studied Civil Engineering which was to the 60s, according to him, what Computer Science was to the 90s due to the Eisenhower-inspired highway building boom of the time.
Canada was one of the first countries to relax discriminatory immigration rules towards Asians and my dad made his way to Vancouver in 1967 with about $60 in his pocket. After a few years of hard work as a surveyor, he was able to bring the entire family from Hong Kong. Got married a few years later, popped out a few tykes while bouncing around New York before ending up in New Jersey which brings us to today.
It was the typical immigrant story and I could probably write a book about it. About the sacrifice they made, the suppression of their pride, the assumption of great risk; all for the sake of their children. But I will leave that to another night.
Forty-five years ago, my dad was a skinny teenager hanging outside his Hong Kong home reading the morning paper in a wife-beater and sandals. He spoke no English and had never stepped foot outside Greater China. And now here I am, right back where he started. Sitting in my HK apartment, writing about a life that took place a few short MTR stops away, yet could not be farther away in reality.
Life’s funny like that.
This was originally published in a personal blog in April 2003 when I was living and working in Hong Kong.