by You Jin
The house was too small for everyone, so the villagers brought out two long tables and set them up in the clearing outside the home for the feast. There was steamed chicken, roasted duck, two plates of fish (one steamed and one deep-fried), simmered fatty pork, and an endless array of local vegetables, including glass noodles with bok choy, long beans and cabbage. There were nine dishes in all, plus soup, and it was almost more than the table could hold. The villagers also brought all sorts of alcohol, including pineapple wine, grape wine, antler wine, beer and spirits. Everyone was prepared to get good and drunk.
We ate and talked until it grew dark. The two rows of houses had only one small light bulb to weakly illuminate the night, hanging on the end of a long wire. Our relatives were still enjoying the warm conversation and the hearty meal, but before long, their mouths could take in no more food, and what lingered behind was the taste of half a century of familial love and nostalgia.
Spending those few days in the village, my three children learned a foreign, yet refreshing way of life. When we departed from Mingmen, not only had their earlier attitudes disappeared, but they had been replaced by a warmth that made the children reluctant to leave.
A Pair of Wings
For many years, we brought the children on holidays that we planned ourselves. Usually, James and I were like two big rivers, flowing endlessly forward, and the three smaller rivulets that broke off from these rivers branched out in their own directions. But every so often, we brought the children on trips to faraway places. On these occasions, the three small streams would happily join up with the two big rivers.
Travel was not only a good way to strengthen family bonds, but it also helped develop the children’s minds. Every trip we took was an opportunity for enlightenment. This included the inculcation of geography and history, the cultivation of the ability to appreciate aesthetic beauty, and training in creative thinking and logic. In truth, reading many books equals travelling many miles.
During our travels, the children naturally accepted this training since it was incorporated subtly into the joys of eating, drinking and playing. Even before we set out, they looked forward to our trips with great excitement. When we returned, they relived the journeys and talked enthusiastically about them.
What pleased me most was that, when my children grew up, they all had become extremely independent spirits, bold about taking chances and able to make their own travel plans. I believe that helping them develop strong wings is the greatest gift I have given them.
CHAPTER 12
Studying Overseas
My Oldest Son’s Story
WHEN I WAS still very young, I aspired to have an eternal relationship with writing. I worked very hard towards this objective and, with each minor victory, I set my eyes on the next peak to be conquered. Because my goal was clear, my life was rich and complete. I am extremely grateful to my parents for respecting my inclinations. When I started studying at university, they gave me the freedom to pursue my own interests. Interest is the engine that drives all hard work, and also an important ingredient in creating a happy life.
Throughout the process of raising my children, I tried to impress two important ideas upon them: love for one’s job, and dedication to it. Without love for the job, it is impossible to be dedicated to it. And without dedication, it is impossible to establish a career.
One’s interest should be the leading factor in one’s subject selection at university and one’s future career choice. Interest and creativity work hand in hand. With interest, one can continually come up with creative approaches to work. With creativity, one will not stagnate. On the other hand, if a person repeats an uninteresting task day after day, before long, his or her whole personality will be infected with the boredom of it.
The first time I asked my oldest child, Fung Yee, what he wanted to do for a career, he was five years old, playing happily with his toy cars. Without even looking up, he said, “I want to drive a bus. I love driving buses!”
“But you’ll do the same thing every day, driving the same route. Isn’t that boring?”
“But I like it,” he said emphatically.
“Okay, drive a bus.” I decided I had no choice but to go with the flow. “Do you think there’s anything about the design of the bus you would change?”
He squinted and thought for a moment, then said, “I want to put a water tap inside.”
Laughing, I asked, “What do you need a tap in the bus for?”
He responded immediately, “So the driver can drink water and wash his hands whenever he wants.”
What a strange idea! But this was better than no idea at all. What I most disliked was a person who refused to think, just going mindlessly through life, passing each day without change.
Fung Yee had loved cars since he was very small. Every time I took him to a department store to buy a toy, the only thing he would look for was a toy car. He liked any style or colour of car, and any model. If the table was too cluttered, he stored them underneath. If the bed had no more space, he put them under it too. Sometimes he would make engine sounds in his sleep, and I guessed that he was driving in his dreams. He loved to flip through automotive magazines. By the time he was five or six, he could name any car model and its specifications. His interest was that strong and that obvious, as plain as a shadow under the bright sun.
He was a hyperactive child. In order to calm him down, I followed his interest and bought him numerous model cars he could piece together himself, letting him engage both his hands and mind. To tell the truth, these kits were not easy to put together, but because he took such an avid interest in them, and because he had a quick mind, even the most complex models were not too difficult for him. He sat at the table working tirelessly then, when he had finished, he held the car in his hand and raced joyfully around the house with it. After that, he put the model car on the table and inspected it from every angle.
When he completed Secondary 4, James and I decided to send him to an overseas university before he did his National Service. In 1994, when he was seventeen years old he enrolled in the University of Tennessee in the US, where he chose to study mechanical engineering. Hoping to cultivate his independence, James and I did not accompany him to the US to settle in, but said goodbye to him at Changi Airport. He was not very tall, but he loved to exercise and was quite fit. As I watched his broad shoulders and thick back gradually become a tiny black dot and fade from view, a mixture of emotions was unleashed. I was troubled, reluctant to let him go, and worried for him.
Had I done the right thing? He was still not very mature, and I had let go of the string in my hand, allowing him to test his kite wings in the blue sky of a foreign country, but what if he got blown off course by a storm? Would he be able to recover?
Seeing my eyes brimming with tears, James said, “If a child does not go through chastening, how will he grow? How will he mature?”
It was true. We did not want a bonsai plant confined indoors. What we wanted was a hardy tree that unafraid of extreme sunlight, gales or tempests.
The first year, he did not buy a car, so he had to take the bus to buy groceries once a week. This was a big chore. His apartment was situated on a slope, and in winter there was a thick layer of snow on the ground. With heavy bags of groceries on his shoulders, he had to struggle against the chilly wind and bleak snow to get home. Thinking about the comfort he enjoyed at home in Singapore, where his every need was taken care of, he developed a strong sense of appreciation.
The second year, we gave him money to buy a car, but as soon as winter arrived, he faced a different problem. In the morning when he went out, there was snow and ice everywhere, and his car was buried beneath it. He had to slowly chip the ice away, piece by piece, pouring buckets of warm water over it to completely melt the ice before he could finally drive. Then, when he did finally start the car, the road was too slippery for him to go anywhere. He had to put chains on the tyres before he could move. It was an hour before he finally got
on the road.
There are many sloping roads in Tennessee, making it quite dangerous to drive when it snows. Not only is the road slippery, but when going up a slope or driving over uneven ice, the tyres cannot get traction, making the car slide around uncontrollably. One time, his car slipped on a hill and began gliding backwards. Fung Yee put on the emergency brake, but it was no use. The car just slid helplessly down, only stopping when it reached the bottom. Fortunately, there were no other cars behind him, so he avoided an accident.
Meals were another problem. Fung Yee had poor culinary skills, and he did not have any interest in cooking, so a lot of times, he just ate to stop his hunger. The dish he ate most often during his four years at university was soya sauce chicken. He would go to the supermarket and buy a frozen chicken and, after thawing it, cut it into several large pieces. Then he would add seasoning, simmer it over the fire to cook it, and then put it into the refrigerator afterward. Every day, he would take out a bit of the chicken, warm it up, and eat it with plain rice. After about a week, he would finish it, and it would be time to repeat the process. This food sustained him for years!
Studying overseas, what he loved most was the freedom. When he was at home, at that age when he was no longer a small boy but not yet grown up, everything he did, where he went, and what time he came home were all determined by his parents. Sometimes, even if he wanted to do something, he would dare not ask, afraid he would do something wrong and be punished. But as soon as he went overseas, he was his own boss.
On the surface, being one hundred per cent free seems like a good thing. In reality, this sort of absolute freedom is a challenge to one’s judgement. All around him were people who abused this autonomy. For instance, some wasted their tuition money, and then did not have money to pay for school. Some young women found themselves pregnant and, instead of a degree, had to go home with a baby. The worst were those who borrowed money and gambled, then found themselves with huge debts they could not pay, or those who spent all their money on drugs and spiralled down the path of destruction. On his own overseas, Fung Yee knew very clearly that he had to look out for himself. He knew he had to exercise self-control, which was a big challenge. Freedom can be ginseng, or opium.
However, Fung Yee surmounted this challenge, and graduated with a degree in mechanical engineering in 1998. He came back to Singapore that year for his National Service, at the age of twentyone. He had set an outstanding example for his brother and sister. After fulfilling his National Service obligations, he took up a job at a Singapore-based American engineering company, where he worked for three years. Finding that there were great limitations to the future development of engineering in Singapore, he resigned and went again to the US, studying for his MBA at Georgetown University.
He is currently working for a bank in Singapore. His selfpossession is a source of great pride for me.
My Second Son’s Story
As we had done with his older brother, we sent Fung Teck to study at university before doing his National Service. In 1999, he got into Purdue University in West Lafayette, Indiana, where he did a double major in electrical engineering and economics. There were not many Singaporean students at Purdue, and he hung out with ten or so of them. During each holiday, the students from the Lion City would get together, and each would cook his or her mother’s dish, making for quite a brilliant spread at each gathering. They filled their bellies with the taste of home, and their homesickness was, to a degree, comforted.
Fung Teck loved to eat. Though he was never picky, he had a keen sense of taste, and an excellent palate. In West Lafayette, there was no Chinese restaurant that was up to his standards. But heaven always helps those who help themselves. Because Fung Teck wanted to eat good food, he became an expert in more than ten signature dishes, which included kung pow chicken, black pepper beef, sweet and sour pork, Thai style curry, bak kut teh, Hainanese chicken rice, pineapple fried rice, yong tau fu, curry chicken, tom yam soup, Vietnamese spring rolls, fried meat pies, tri-coloured steamed eggs, and bee hoon.
I asked him, “What do your friends say about your cooking?”
Laughing, he said, “They don’t dare come back, because they don’t like it.”
He also had good interpersonal skills. During the holidays, he always travelled with friends. Countless large cities and small towns in the US had his footprints all over them. In travelling to many places with so many different people, he developed great empathy and a capacity for understanding others.
In the four years he studied in the US, his sweetest memory was organising an interesting sports meet (he playfully called it “the mini-Olympics”). Together with some Singaporean flatmates, he sent invitations to other Singaporean students studying at universities in five or six other nearby states. They spent two days competing in all sorts of sporting events. They never imagined that this sort of invitation would result in a hundred participants signing up, and had a wild time of it, playing sports all day, then talking late into the night to allay the sorrows of missing home.
In 2003, he graduated with two degrees, and our whole family flew to the US to attend the graduation ceremony. After that, he returned home and did his National Service and was made an officer.
Fung Teck started working for an overseas bank, which required him to relocate to Hong Kong in August 2006. He will always be my precious boy.
My Daughter’s Story
I never intended to let Ke Jun go overseas to study; she was like a treasure in my hand, and I was very afraid that she would take root away from me. Such instances are not uncommon among my friends and family. As soon as the graduation song would end, the wedding march would begin. From the time she was in secondary school, I anxiously tried to manipulate her thinking. I said, “Why don’t you do your undergraduate studies here, then go overseas for your Master’s or PhD. Then you will be able to compare the local university to the overseas environment.”
She did not say anything.
Trying a different approach, I said, “You’re my only daughter. If you go overseas, I’ll be lonely.”
She hugged me and put her head on my shoulder, but still said nothing. Her heart had already grown wings, and was preparing to fly far away. Ke Jun loved to read. She thought deeply about things, then wrote as if possessed. And thanks to her quick wits, it was no surprise when she decided to study law.
Her results at Raffles Girls School were good enough for her to get into the Law Faculty at the National University of Singapore, but she had her heart set on the United Kingdom. When I baulked, James warned me, “Our two sons are studying overseas. If we don’t let her do the same, she will always assume we favour the boys. We should let her study overseas.”
In 2003, she enrolled at University College London. Many people assumed James and I would travel with her to London and settle the procedures for her to start school, but we did not. When she entered the gate for her flight, she did not even look back at us. From the slight trembling of her shoulders, I knew she was crying, but she did not want us to see her tears. A long time later, she told me, “I cried the whole time I was on the plane. I cried so much that my eyes swelled shut.”
She was gone for three long years. Aside from one long holiday during her first year, we did not ask her to come home during her studies. This was because we wanted her to take advantage of her time there and travel all over Europe, since every chance to travel is a chance to learn. She made the most of the opportunity. She arranged her own trips to Greece, Spain, Italy, Denmark, the Czech Republic and other places. Every time I received her postcards and read her interesting descriptions of what she saw and her exciting (but nondangerous) experiences, I would take comfort in the thought that my daughter’s intelligence was growing at an alarming speed.
London is a melting pot, so my daughter had the opportunity to meet people from many different places. She was like sponge, greedily absorbing different cultural views and values, and this gave her a means of formulating her own view of life. W
e chatted often by email, speaking mostly of her volunteer work at University College Hospital, where she helped homeless people, especially migrants from Asia who needed help with translation or the legal system.
She said, “Mama, I have an abundance of blessings, so I have to share some of it to help the less fortunate members of society receive some comfort.”
She also helped the terminally ill in several London hospitals; the doctors only had time to treat illnesses, and the nurses were also overloaded with all sorts of work, so neither could attend to the patients’ extra needs. Volunteers like her became important sources of comfort and joy to these patients, like a warm stove in wintertime or a cool drink in summer.
Ke Jun once wrote to me:
When the light of life is diminishing, what torments these people is not actually the illness, but the long years of loneliness that stifle them and can find no outlet. When I chat with them, or more accurately, when I listen to them talk, I can sit at their bedside for hours on end. It is only at these times when I see their eyes light up. Sometimes I do their shopping for them, buying a book or some pretty stationery. One older woman wanted me to buy pink yarn for her, because she wanted to knit a sweater for her newborn granddaughter. But before the sweater was finished, she passed away.
When she first went to London, she could not adapt to the weather and was full of complaints. She especially disliked winter, with the rain, the gloominess, and the fog putting her in a depressed mood. But later, when she witnessed the irreversible misfortune that some suffered in the hospital, her outlook took a one hundred and eighty degree turn. She stopped whining. In the gloomy winter, she praised the beauty of the snow. In the summer, she happily proclaimed that heaven had blessed her with a warm blanket. At the roar of waves beating the shore, pessimists hear the sound as the weeping of the seas. Optimists, on the other hand, hear it as the song of the seas. I hope my daughter will always hear the sound as songs.