Xi Ghong did not need to wake me in the morning – I was already up and showered by the time he and Mei-Lee had got up. I was busy preparing breakfast, a chore usually handled by Mei-Lee, but I had already gone to the market for eggs to make dan bing, an egg pancake roll, and was cooking when Xi Ghong walked in to the kitchen.
“Today is the start of a new life for you Fu Yun. Today, you will enter a different world, and what you saw yesterday will not be seen with the same eyes today.”
At that time, I wished I knew what he was talking about, but that became apparent soon enough.
Mei-Lee had packed my small case the night before and both she and Xi Ghong took me the short way to Cao Ping’s apartment. When she answered the door, without anyone even knocking, I could see the excitement in Cao Ping’s face. It was really happening.
Xi Ghong walked in, as if he owned the place, and went straight to Cao Ping’s mother. When her father came in to the room, I was amazed that he smiled at me and welcomed me. I looked over at Cao Ping, a puzzled look apparent on my face. Cao Ping smiled at me.
“Luo Tai Tai, Luo Xian Sheng,” I greeted Cao Ping’s parents, giving them a respectful nod.
They both smiled at me, which unnerved me completely, and handed me a small wrapped gift. Hastily, I unwrapped the gift – I had become engrossed in excitement, and almost forgot where I was, and my manners and my normally small amount of patience also disappeared. I was aware of Cao Ping smiling broadly as the layers of paper revealed two small vials.
“These are special herbs, found only on the mainland,” Xi Ghong told me. “They bestow special fortune on those who are treated with them. You have achieved much, Fu Yun.”
Cao Ping could not stop smiling – the fact that we were both in her parent’s apartment did not escape either of us, nor did its significance. I knew that I may not ever be entirely accepted by her parents, but it seemed like the ice was slowly melting, even if just a little. This, more than anything else, seemed like the biggest step forwards I could have taken in my short life.
“Luo Xian Sheng, Luo Tai Tai, xie xie,” I thanked them, bowing gratefully and respectfully to Cao Ping’s parents.
We had to take two taxis to Changi Airport – with Singapore’s strict regulations, six people were not allowed into one, so we flagged down two blue Comfort Cars Toyota Crowns, and headed for the airport, Xi Ghong, Mei-Lee and myself in one, Cao Ping and her parents in the other. Cao Ping’s father had the largest suitcase I had ever seen, all completely full.
“Luo Xian Sheng will be working in Hong Kong for the next three weeks. He has much to do.”
“What does he do?” I asked Xi Ghong.
“He works for a bank.”
“What kind of work?”
“I do not know what he does there.”
“Does he have money in the suitcase?” I asked, still in shock over the amount of luggage Cao Ping’s father was taking. Xi Ghong just smiled back at me, and shook his head to say no.
Mei-Lee was visibly nervous about letting me go – it was obvious to me that she cared for me like a son, although she was careful not to show it too openly. I smiled at her as the Comfort cab arrived at the airport terminal.
“Do not worry Mei-Lee,” I said. “I will not let you down.”
Before we said our farewells, Mei-Lee gave me a box of tea and some dried fruit to give to her brother, then she turned away. Xi Ghong just smiled at me as we both knew there were no more words to say, turned around and went to Mei-Lee.
Cao Ping, her father and I made our way to the departure lounge. I had never been in a plane before and when I saw from close up just how big they were, I was held in awe. In fact, I was incredibly nervous about the whole trip – being away with Cao Ping with her father overlooking our every move was nerve-wracking in itself, as I knew that my behaviour was being closely monitored.
How I wanted to spend time alone with Cao Ping, although I knew that for the next three weeks, that would be totally impossible. We would be helping out in the Vietnamese camps, something that Xi Ghong had organised with Mei-Lee’s brother, and that would be our time together. After our daily work had ended, she would be ushered back to her father, alone.
On the flight, Cao Ping’s father let us sit together, whilst he read through some documents from his briefcase. Although he read through his work, it was obvious that he was listening in to our conversation. Cao Ping and I talked excitedly about what was in store, and commented on what we had seen on the television about these camps. Although the war in Vietnam had ended some years previously, there were still so many people prepared to risk their lives by just setting sail and sitting for weeks or even months in a boat - people who would prefer that kind of life rather than the every day pain that they had become accustomed to under the Communist regime. We found it so difficult to believe there were people who would simply give up the life they knew, their houses and their country but then again, we also knew little of the circumstances of their lives and the atrocities back in Vietnam.
Close to home, there was also the problem in Cambodia, and the reign of terror from Pol Pot. We talked about why people could not live together in peace like in Singapore – it seemed strange that in our region there were so many conflicts, yet we lived our lives in relative prosperity and peace. Neither of us touched the tricky subject of the Yang Gway Tzr not being accepted fully at school. Those were words we had spoken before, and we knew the consequences of talking about that subject so close to prying ears.
Our first day at the refugee camps was shocking, a day that changed the way we looked at life forever. Thousands of people in terrible conditions, dirty clothes, a lack of food, crying babies – it seemed to us as though we had stepped into another world. Hong Kong, when we had arrived in the evening, had seemed a place almost as idyllic as Singapore, much of the same culture, but a lot more bustling. Memories of this disappeared the moment we walked into the camp. We talked with the camp warden, who was obviously physically and mentally drained from his task of feeding almost two thousand hungry Vietnamese, and keeping the various gangs from killing each other. Not only were there gangs, but there were also fights among friends due to the lack of food. Whereas the government of Hong Kong had been doing as well as they could, their process was hampered by red tape, lack of funds and, we found out to our surprise, corruption.
As well as running basic errands for the officials in charge of the refugee camp, Cao Ping and I were given the task of working with the children – as they spoke neither Chinese nor English, both Cao Ping and I had to revert to sign language, which seemed to work just fine. Strange – I thought - how children can bridge the gap of not speaking the same language a lot better than adults, but back then, adults seemed to us to have little understanding of what a child really needed. We organised games for the children, playing football and basketball, and straight away we found that we brought some happiness to their lives. Even after the first day, we knew it was going to be difficult to leave – not just for us, but also for the children whose lives we were briefly to enter.
At lunchtime, we helped distribute the food - mainly bowls of noodles, rice and soup - to the children. We could see that they were undernourished, but there was really nothing that either of us could do to help them further. How could we? There were so many children there, and although Cao Ping and I had our favourites, there could be no favouritism when it came to handing out the meals – everyone would have to be treated the same way.
We would always remember the sights and sounds of those camps, the wailing, the blatant sadness of all the mothers, the despair of the fathers, knowing they could do nothing to help their families, the look of hunger in the eyes of the children. But this would be nothing compared to the smells – the sanitation was almost non-existent, and people would just find a place to defecate, and then just leave it. It was a perfect breeding place for disease, and coming from an island as clean as Singapore, where even spitting on the ground could get you landed in jail, this was the biggest shock of my life to that point. The smell would get worse as time went by, and every day, Cao Ping and I felt gagged by the stench. We wondered how people could live in situations like this – was it really worse than this back in Vietnam?
During the afternoon, when I knew that Cao Ping and I would soon have to part company, her going back with her father, who had resumed his cold attitude towards me slightly, I looked at her, and I could see the sadness in her eyes, the frustration of knowing that the help we were giving was nothing compared to what these people needed.
“Don’t be sad, Cao Ping,” I said, “look at the children and see the happiness in their eyes when we play with them, when we give them food. We are making a difference in their lives.”
She touched my hand – there were no more words to be said.
In the evening, when I was with Mei-Lee’s brother, Lien Lo, I would read some more of the book that Xi Ghong had given me, and I would ask questions. Lien Lo was much more open in his response to my inquisitiveness, and would never tire of my endless questioning. In fact, he seemed to relish it. He was a few years older than Mei-Lee, and his small apartment in Hong Kong resembled more a disorganised library than an apartment – there were books all over the place – and he would always back up any of my questions with quotes from books that he would find every time without searching.
With the amount of books he had, and the apparent chaos, it surprised me every time that he would know exactly where each book was, when he needed it. He was the opposite of Mei-Lee in many aspects, yet they were cut from the same cloth as far as looks were concerned.
One evening, I was quiet, subdued by the long, tiring day, wondering what I could do to really help, knowing that at the age of ten I was not truly going to make a world-shattering difference. Lien Lo, for the first time, made a comment – until that point, it had been solely me to start the talking.
“You know your destiny will be made over there in the mainland Fu Yun,” he said, pointing over towards the border that separated the tiny British colony from the might of the People's Republic of China.
I felt that the whole family from both sides knew my future way in advance, and that every step I was taking had been carefully planned in the skies above. It was a scary feeling, knowing that I had to make the right decisions to fulfil my destiny. But I was intrigued by what Lien Lo had said.
“How do you know my future? How does Xi Ghong know?” I asked.
Lien Lo smiled, a smile so similar to Mei-Lee, I almost thought I was back in Singapore, and almost started to look around for Xi Ghong to pour him his Scotch.
“I see it in your eyes, Fu Yun, and in your hands.”
He would say no more.
Hong Kong was a strange place for me – there were a lot more westerners, people with skin and eyes like mine, yet I felt so apart from them. Cao Ping and I had one evening in the city, accompanied, of course, by our constant entourage, Cao Ping’s father, but Lien Lo also joined us. There was an apparent lack of mixing of the cultures here as well, with the westerners sticking to their own kind, the Chinese doing likewise. It was more tolerance than anything else.
When walking together, talking together as we did, in Mandarin, people would stare at Cao Ping and myself, and I could see in their eyes the obvious displeasure. No one could understand that I was just as much a Chinese as they were, not even Cao Ping’s father who knew my own past. Yet it was also obvious that he had no idea about my future even if Lien Lo did.
We went into a Chinese restaurant in the City for dinner. Lien Lo accompanied us – he seemed to get on well with Cao Ping’s father – and invited us all to eat at his favourite restaurant. Everyone but me got a menu in the restaurant, and I asked for one.
“No English menu”, the waiter said in English.
In Mandarin, I told him I did not need an English menu, and asked him to bring me one in Chinese. The look of astonishment in the waiter’s eyes was plainly apparent, and Lien Lo smiled a huge grin that reminded me that he was so different to any other Chinese that I had met. After a few seconds, I was handed a menu by the waiter.
I could see that Lien Lo was completely amused by this situation, although it seemed to me that nothing could make Cao Ping’s father smile.
“You order for all of us Fu Yun,” he said.
Cao Ping’s father said nothing, although I could see that he disapproved of this idea thoroughly. I nodded, but still asked:
“What would you like, Luo Xian Sheng?”
Cao Ping’s father was in two minds – would he let me order, and let Lien Lo have his fun, or would he lose face, but still get his favourite dish? I could see where his eyes were on the menu, down by the duck specialities, but I could not see which dish he was eyeing up. One thing I knew, especially by the uncommonly portly stomach that Cao Ping’s father had, was that he liked his food. Maybe this was another reason why Lien Lo suggested I order.
“You decide, Fu Yun” Lien Lo cut in, much to Cao Ping’s father’s obvious annoyance.
Cao Ping looked at me, slightly amused by this, but trying hard not to make it show. The waiter re-appeared, and I hoped I had got it right. I ordered the duck in Szechuan sauce, some beef with broccoli in oyster sauce and some dumplings.
“Good choice Fu Yun – the duck is this restaurant’s speciality.” Lien Lo said. Cao Ping’s father seemed a little reluctant to make a comment, but I could tell that even if I had not made the exact choice he would have had, I had certainly got close enough.
When dinner was brought to us, something hit my conscience and I began to feel guilty. There we were, eating this fine food, and we could afford so much of it, and the people we were there to help had nothing. They had to settle for maybe a bowl of rice and some third-rate scraps of meat each day. Cao Ping noticed, as did Lien Lo. Cao Ping’s father tucked in, regardless, ignorant of the change in mood at the table. I picked at the food, and tasted nothing.
“Fu Yun – it’s alright. You have made a difference in their lives. You are already a hero in some of those children’s eyes. You do not need to feel unhappy.”
Lien Lo was trying to cheer me up and I knew inside me that he was right, but it was a futile attempt. Cao Ping also ate very little, but still managed to eat more than me, which made a change, given the difference in our sizes. By the time we had reached the age of ten years, the difference in height and build between Cao Ping and me had made us look as though she could have been my younger sister. Of course, the differences in skin colour, eyes and just about everything else made it obvious that we were not siblings.
I found it difficult to eat that evening and even in the morning, when the aroma of dan bing wafted around the apartment, a smell that was under normal circumstances guaranteed to get me out of bed faster than a snake in my bed would, I was far from excited about it. Although by then the pangs of hunger had indeed started a little, and I sat at the table with Lien Lo, and ate quietly, absorbed in my own thoughts and plans to change the world.
Lien Lo observed me, curiously, and gave me his verdict – there would always be pain in this world, there would always be suffering. It is just a part of this world. I could not understand it – why would people not help those who were worse off? Surely if there was to be peace on this world, we would all have to look at what was happening around us and help those who need it. Capitalism, it seemed to me, was a far from perfect solution.
“But communism is dangerous – look at China, look at Russia and most importantly for you, look at Vietnam. All Communist states.” Lien Lo interjected. With my limited information and especially the pictures of the Vietnamese camp so vivid in my mind, I had to agree; although in principle the idea of communism was fine - distribution of wealth and so on - it was open to corruption, people lining their own pockets for personal gain.
Of course, I had been known to be selfish also, and not necessarily always thinking of other people, but the desire and need to be accepted by those around me made me want to share, and Cao Ping was the one person I could share everything with. And now the Vietnamese in Hong Kong opened our eyes even further.
Lien Lo had no idea of what it was like for the Vietnamese in the camps, and there was no way I could explain it to him properly, not so that he would have any real comprehension of the conditions inside. He would stroke his chin, and tug at his lucky hairs growing out of his wart, and nod at what I was saying, as if he could understand, but for anyone who had not been there, who had not seen for themselves what conditions these people had to endure, it was difficult to picture.
Helping the children, playing with them, learning, day by day, a few words of Vietnamese so we could understand them just a little more brought Cao Ping so much. It lifted her to new heights, and in our very few minutes together, we spoke about what we were getting by giving so much. Perhaps then we were living in our own Utopian world, but our youth, our positivism towards the general outlook of our joint future, as well as that of the world we lived in, was maybe typical of innocent children, an innocence that is lost on adults.
The looks of appreciation as we handed everyone their food, meagre as it may have been, was enough for us both to realise that we had indeed made a difference, and slowly my appetite also returned. But the day came when we had to say our goodbyes. Our time in Hong Kong had come and gone so quickly, and the initial feeling of shock that we had encountered had faded to one of concession that things were not going to be fine for everyone, that their future was not as bright as the one we both had in Singapore. It made Cao Ping and I appreciate just how good our lives were back home.
By the end of our stay, I had used all of the herbs that Xi Ghong had given me to help cure some of the Vietnamese children. Other helpers at the camp had been astonished, but I told them I had a good teacher in Xi Ghong. Both Cao Ping and I had also read a lot about the healing powers of some of these plants, and Chinese medicine interested us a great deal, even if I did not understand it fully as well as Cao Ping. It gave me a good feeling to know that we had been able to save a child a jab with a potentially dirty needle at the first aid centre.
There were some tearful goodbyes as we were leaving the camp, and Cao Ping was deeply affected as were many of the children she had befriended in our time together in Hong Kong. But the three weeks were over, and Cao Ping’s father was itching to get back to Singapore. Cao Ping had talked to him every night about what she had done, and with his limited patience for such talk, he quickly had become bored with it. In Singapore, he could forget about it, and get back to his normal routine. Cao Ping’s would never be the same – she now knew what she wanted to do with her life.
Saying goodbye to the children was one of the hardest things we had ever done. Their families were so grateful to us both, and even though we could not understand the words, their eyes, their body language said everything and we knew we had accomplished what we had come to do. And that, in a way, made it harder for us to leave; there was still so much to be done, so much help we could offer.
Lien Lo took us to the airport, and shook hands with Cao Ping’s father. I heard later from Xi Ghong that Lien Lo was most impressed with me, and that he had made some comments about Cao Ping’s father, although Xi Ghong was reluctant to tell me what he had said exactly, but I thought I caught a glimpse of amusement in his eye as he mentioned this.
Flying back to the Singapore Peninsular on the Singapore Airlines Boeing, Cao Ping and I sat together whilst her father sat reading. As we left the skyscrapers of Hong Kong, the grand façade of colonial Britain, to become just small dots on the horizon as we took off, Cao Ping kept her eyes firmly on the place we were leaving behind, but she reached over, and placed her hand in mine. This certainly did not go unnoticed by her father, and a scowl crossed his face, but he said nothing. I caressed her hand gently with mine, this act a lot more subtle than hers, making sure that I did not incur any more wrath than had already been built up.
I noticed a tear fall from Cao Ping’s eye, and wiped it from her face. At that moment, I noticed just how fragile she was, just how affected she was by this journey and the experiences we had just had. And with her father sitting right next to me, I knew that it would be difficult to persuade him to allow another trip the next time we had the opportunity. But I also knew that we would be back in Hong Kong somehow. I whispered this in Cao Ping’s ear, provoking a slight smile, but still her eyes would not turn away from the view outside the window, Hong Kong fading into the haze of yet another Asian sunset.
Singapore seemed like a completely different place when we got back. Everything had stayed the same – Cao Ping and I had changed, moved on, grown up. What we had experienced in Hong Kong had altered the way we would look at the world and what was going on inside it. But our hopes of ever really changing anything took an instant dashing – we realised very quickly that there was so little that we as individuals could do to make a lasting difference.
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