by Weihua Zhang
That closeness was tested in 1989 when you were sent by your university to study at Swarthmore College in the United States. Feifei was not quite three years old at the time. Happy, outgoing, indulged in her carefree-toddler world, she was oblivious to your frantic schedules. Applying for a passport, traveling to Beijing for the visa interview at the U.S. Embassy, buying suitcases, clothes, shoes, an English-Chinese Dictionary, getting a physical checkup and health certificate for international travel, obtaining U.S. currency, taking care of matters big and small—your days went by like lightning. Feifei alone seemed to have a calming effect on you, taking your mind off the pre-travel chaos. Each day, she greeted you with the same eagerness when you picked her up at the university’s daycare center. She still had tons of questions for you. “Where is Big Gray Wolf’s Mom?” “Am I going to be as tall as you?” “When are we going to see Grandma in Changchun?” With the departure date approaching, your heart became heavier and heavier: “My heart is bursting!”
As there are always two sides to anything, so was your separation from Feifei. It exposed Feifei’s sensitive and caring side. Her heart was as pure and precious as gold. Seeing you were homesick in the early days at Swarthmore, Barbara Wong, a student from Hong Kong, took you to a Bible study one time. There you met a couple with their six-month-old baby. Barbara took a picture of you and the family. Not thinking much, but really wanting to assure your family that you were fine in America and making friends, you sent the picture home. A month later—that was the time needed for your letter to reach China and for your husband’s letter to reach you—you were saddened to read that Feifei was quiet for a long time when she saw the picture, then cried, asking Daddy why Mommy no longer wanted her. You were deeply touched as well as troubled by Feifei’s reaction: “What a loving daughter I have!” “But what a terrible mother I have been.”
The longer your separation from Feifei had lasted, the deeper your bond with her had become. She was the one you wanted to please, impress, and wow. She was the inspiration for your first publication in The People’s Daily, Overseas Edition, China’s leading newspaper. It was January 1991 and you were a graduate student at SUNY-Albany. The semester had just ended. The extra time at hand spelled trouble. Freed from a heavy studying and teaching schedule, you had time to think, to become human again. It did not help that the Chinese New Year was fast approaching. Nor did it help that you had to hunker down in a freezing apartment with the heat cut off by one of the roommates to save money. In those long, cold winter days, your thoughts inevitably turned to Feifei, a fireball in your mind’s eye. Her soft skin, her innocent face, her undying devotion—the very thought of Feifei warmed you up. You longed to hug her. To never let go. To regain the closeness you two shared since her birth. Since her conception.
One night, when the thought could no longer be tamed, you turned to pen and paper. Letting down the floodgate of your emotions, pouring your heart out, you wrote: “The Chinese saying goes that a mother worries about her child who travels afar, while the child gives no thought of the mother who stays home. I think this saying is only half true. I miss my daughter while studying in the U.S. half a world away, and she misses me too staying behind in China.” The piece “A Daughter’s Undying Love” was finished in one setting and sent off the next morning. It gave you some solace to read it in the special Chinese New Year issue of The People’s Daily, Overseas Edition twenty days later. Now you take great pride in Feifei’s success as a fledgling writer. Maybe, just maybe, you inspired her as well.
Feifei’s book Hair Potion won second place
at The Georgia State Media Fair in 1997
Feifei and your husband joined you in the U.S. on April 17, 1991, after having been separated by 800 days and 12,000 miles. Eager to make up for the lost time, you spent every free second with Feifei. The early days of your reunion proved to be a challenge. You were not sure whether your two-year absence in Feifei’s life had caused her any harm and, if so, to what extent. You wished to erase the 800-day deficit with a magic wand. Since money was out of the question, you had to be pragmatic and creative with solutions. One activity you both enjoyed was going to the public library. What better way to teach Feifei English than the sing-along cassettes of children’s songs? She would listen to the tapes over and over until she remembered the lines by heart. Then she would listen some more. “Yankee Doodle,” “To Grandmother’s House We Go,” “Red, White, and Blue,” “I’ve Been Working on the Railroad,” you name it, she could sing it. To this day, you are still amazed at how many songs Feifei can sing. Now when the family hit the road, Feifei would play CD after CD, happily singing along. These family trips always bring back memories of the early days you spent with Feifei. The trips to the public library. The anticipation and excitement. The sound of Feifei’s childish voice singing along. The sheer happy expressions on her young face.
Feifei at YMCA (Albany, New York, 1993)
These early days of reunion continued to be a challenge. At times Feifei appeared very sensitive and insecure. Could this be a sign of potential trouble in your relationship with Feifei? Or was this her effort to reconnect with you? To test your love?
“Are you my mother?” she asked repeatedly.
“Yes, I am,” you reassured her again and again.
Feifei with her Dance Trophy
(Northeastern Regional Competition 1995)
But Feifei was not readily convinced that she had finally found you, and regained your love. A slight sign of impatience, a frown, a sigh—caused mostly by your juggling of motherhood, studying and teaching, and worrying about how to stretch the $800 monthly TA stipend to provide for the three of you—would send her back to her father’s side. The two plus years they spent without you had made them close buddies. They had bonded in a way that excluded you. Now you often found yourself on the receiving end: “It is one of those days,” they quipped whenever they sensed your impatience. You had a lot to prove.
Feifei and Qiwei (San Diego, 1994)
A month after their arrival, things got a little easier when your husband found a part-time job. The family had a bit more money to spend and you had more time alone with Feifei. Looking back, you credited that time period as the one that reconnected you and Feifei. You two were able to do a lot of things together and the time you spent together brought you and Feifei closer. You firmly believe that as in any relationship, a mother-daughter relationship is two-sided. It is a reciprocal relationship that needs both sides to give as well as to receive.
Feifei and Qiwei on our first family trip to Atlanta (1997)
When school was out again in June, you welcomed the extra time this time. Free from studying and teaching, you devoted all your time to motherhood. You taught Feifei to swim at the pool in SUNY-Albany and swimming became a fixture on Saturdays. You signed Feifei up for dance lessons, and three times a week you took her to the dance studio without fail. In the nearby Washington Park, Feifei found her biggest playground yet in life: sand box, swings, slides, monkey bars, swaying bridge, obstacle course, she tried all and loved them all. It was also in Washington Park that you took Feifei to her very first play, My Fair Lady, a summer production by the City of Albany’s Players Theatre Company. You were familiar with the play, since you studied it in college. You worried, though, about Feifei’s limited English and wondered if she could enjoy it. She did. The stage settings, the lighting, the costumes, the music, the singing, and the entire performance had mesmerized her. When the play ended and everyone was ready to leave, an elderly lady behind you praised Feifei, “What a remarkable young lady you have there. She seems to have thoroughly enjoyed the play.”
Of course, these summer bonding activities with Feifei would not have been complete without a trip to the libraries. Now the library of SUNY-Albany had been added to the route since you discovered Feifei’s love for theatrical performance. The Magic Flute, Carmen, La Dame aux Camélias, My Fair Lady were checked out and renewed numerous times for Feifei’s private viewing a
t home. In the meantime, the public library maintained its hold on Feifei. She has been reading nonstop ever since she discovered the section of large, colorful children’s books. You often wonder if these early readings have stimulated a different part of Feifei’s brain. Though she has been equally strong in math and science and could very well achieve success as a doctor, biochemist, or engineer, she has long set her mind on the other professions: TV anchor, journalist, writer, and later, artist. She has walked a very different path from the conventional ones taken by most Asian Americans. Years later, the artist in Feifei threatened to shatter the established order of your household. It was difficult for you to accept her decision to transfer from Davidson College, dubbed “the Harvard of the South,” to SCAD in 2005. You quietly swallowed your pride and disappointment, knowing fully that this was her decision. Her life. And you would always love her no matter what.
When the summer of 1991 ended, you and Feifei had become inseparable. The best of friends. Feifei was poised to face a new challenge in her life: starting kindergarten in the fall. And you intended to be there with her every step of the way. Cheering her up. Offering full support. Then, take a back seat, watching your baby blooming into a young, confident, elegant, radiant woman. You knew there would be rough days ahead when things would not go well for you or her. But being the best of friends meant you would not only laugh with Feifei, but cry with her as well. And you knew she would do the same for you.
Chef Feifei on Mothers’ Day (2007)
(May 2007; revised and expanded, May 2012)
PART IV: DISCOVERING A SELF
I don’t know if 50 is the new 40, or 30, for that matter. I am on the countdown to a second 50. A Chinese American? An artist? Who? Me? Dreams come and go. Dreams deferred. Dreams dreamed. I love to explore dreams and their infinite possibilities. I continue to dream on my ongoing journey from China to America.
American by Choice
Unlike many Chinese scholars and students who chose to embark on the journey to the United States of America in the past three decades, I did not choose to come here, or I should say I did not actively pursue it. Back in October 1988, I was an Assistant Professor of English at Nankai University, located in Tianjin, one of the top ten universities in China. I was happily married and had a daughter two and half years old. I did not want to leave my high-status job—in China, college professors are highly respected—and my loved ones behind to venture alone into a foreign country, and a demonic country at that, as the United States was perceived in the past by many Chinese.
Since China opened her door to the world in the 1970s, it has been the most enviable thing for someone to study in American universities. So when the news came that my university was going to send me to study in the U.S. for a year (my university had an exchange program with Swarthmore College in Pennsylvania), I felt I could not give up the opportunity that many of my colleagues coveted. Hence, it marked the preliminary stage of my journey to the U.S. What followed was a three-month frenetic marathon: getting the approvals for travel from my university, the Ministry of Education, the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, the Ministry of Public Security, physical exams, immunization records, passport, visa, airplane ticket (there were only two weekly flights departing Beijing, China for the U.S. at the time), and packing. When I finally boarded the plane—mind you, my very first—on January 31, 1989, I was not sure if I could survive the 24-hour transcontinental flight that would take me to the other side of the earth.
Suffice it to say that I survived the ordeal. Then, almost thirteen years later, I became a naturalized U.S. citizen on January 2, 2002.
Looking back, I keep thinking of the difficult choices I was forced to make every step of the way. My one-year stay quickly passed (or not so quickly for one who was separated from her family); I was faced with the question of what next. My study at Swarthmore College had shown me what this great country could offer, so I made my first choice: remain in the States to pursue a doctoral degree. I only applied to 4 or 5 schools since I couldn’t really afford the more expensive application fees levied on international applicants (even though I was physically in the U.S., I was categorized as an international applicant and had to pay the fees accordingly). The next thing I knew, I was accepted by the University of Pennsylvania’s Folklore Studies Program, one of four schools in the U.S. to grant a Ph.D. in Folklore. After the initial thrill, the reality sank in: I couldn’t possibly attend U Penn for I didn’t have the money. U Penn does not grant first year graduate students scholarships—you need to first demonstrate your academic prowess and maintain a full-time student status at the same time. As a foreigner, I couldn’t take student loans. Nor did I have relatives in the U.S. to sponsor me. True, I could work to support myself. But how realistic would it be for me to study full-time and work odd hours to save enough for the $27,000 annual tuitions? Painful as it was, I quickly made my second choice and settled for less—I regret this ever since, but I felt that I simply had no other options: I enrolled in the Doctoral Program in Humanistic Studies at the State University of New York at Albany where I was offered a full tuition waiver plus a Teaching Assistantship.
The third choice I made took me to SCAD. In May 1996, I had my very first job interview in the U.S. with the Savannah College of Art and Design. Just two days after the interview, I got my first job in the U.S.: I was offered the position of Professor of Liberal Arts. The rest is history.
My ultimate choice came in 2000 when I decided to apply for naturalization. Two things really pushed me to make this decision: 1) I wanted to give as well as receive. Being a citizen would enable me to vote, so I could participate fully in the democratic process to help make my adopted country better; and 2) I wanted my daughter to have a fair chance in the future where she would be treated equally as an American. I didn’t want her to go through what my husband and I had gone through: as outsiders, subjected to many limitations and discriminations.
The journey has just begun: My American journey.
At Savannah’s Annual Asian Festival (2011)
(January 2002)
Lens of Expressions
(Three artist statements
from my three photography exhibitions)
Take Root and Blossom: Chinese Immigrants in Savannah (1880s-1990s) —
A Photographic Journey
“Take Root and Blossom: Chinese Immigrants in Savannah (1880s-1990s)—A Photographic Journey” is a tribute to the pioneers and trailblazers among the Chinese immigrants in the greater Savannah area. It marks the first phase of my endeavor to document the experiences, lives, and history of the Chinese in Savannah.
Savannah's first Chinese family (c. 1905)
After I accepted a teaching job at the Savannah College of Art and Design and moved to Savannah in August 1996, my family and I joined the Chinese Benevolent Association, the oldest local Chinese community founded in 1945. At our social gatherings, I learned that Chinese have called Savannah home for more than 120 years; that Chung Ta’peng, the patriarch of Savannah’s first Chinese family, arrived in Savannah on April 6, 1889; that the Jungs, the Woos, the Wus, the Chus, the Wongs, the Sus, the Jens, and many others have made their marks on the City of Savannah. I would hear members of the community telling their family stories: stories of incredible journey, indomitable spirit, immense sacrifice, illimitable vision, and inspiring accomplishments.
Gradually, I found myself visiting and revisiting the idea of preserving my community’s history. Thanks to the Presidential Fellowship for Faculty Development awarded to me in the Spring of 2003, I was able to assemble and present in this exhibition a collection of family photos that span almost a century. I wanted to show the heart and soul of Savannah’s Chinese immigrants; I wanted to share their experiences and aspirations with you.
Lat Woo’s family in the 1930s
My journey has just begun. The overwhelming support I have received from the members of my community, the intimate family photos I have been privileged to see, the unforgettable
stories I have heard, will accompany me every step of that journey.
With Mrs. Sieg, a well-known poet of Georgia, daughter of
Chung Ta’peng, at the opening reception June 18, 2003
(June 2003)
Your Neighbor Next Door
You are invited to embark on a visual journey and meet your next door neighbors. “Your Neighbor Next Door” is a photography exhibition that introduces you to members of the local Chinese community, giving you a sneak peek of who they are, what they do for a living, how they spend their leisure time, and what they have done for the community. Perhaps you will find someone you have known for decades, someone you went to school with, or some families you have married into—after all, Chinese have called Savannah home for more than 120 years. Perhaps you can also meet some new friends, start a new hobby, or change your professions—after all, there has been a steady influx of Chinese professionals to the area since the 1980s.
The interior of Jue’s Store in an undated photo,
probably in the early 1930s
“Your Neighbor Next Door” is part of the Chinese Cultural Heritage Workshop Series funded by the City of Savannah’s Weave-A-Dream program and sponsored in part by the Savannah College of Art and Design. The ultimate goal of this project is three-fold: to record the life and experience of early Chinese immigrants in Savannah; to make known the many contributions Savannah’s Chinese community has made to the greater Savannah area; and to preserve history at the local and community level.