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Friendship: Memories of China I have left China for fourteen years now, but my dreams always took me back there. On waking up, I wouldn't feel sorry for not being there, but I still miss a lot about China. Life in China often was challenging. For many years, Li-qing and our two sons were labeled "black residents." "Black", as in "black market", meant unofficial, unlawful, not state-owned. At a time when everything was owned or operated by either State, or a Collective, black markets were places where farmers came and sold their produce, direct to consumers. At the time, farmers were supposed to sell everything to the state, and to state only. So, people were often caught and punished for trading in the "black market." "Black residents" were a different story. At one time, Chinese people were not supposed to move freely. If they were born in the city, they got city residence registration, or permit. If they were born in the countryside, they were born to be farmers, and were not supposed to live, or work in the cities. Our two sons were born in the cities, but Li-qing herself did not have a city registration. At the beginning of the "Cultural Revolution," she and her family had been "sent", or forced to live in the countryside. Even after she was married to me, who had city resident registration, and even our two sons were born in the city, our two sons could not get city resident registration because their mother did not have one. Without city residence registration, they could not get state-subsidized food coupons for things like rice and cooking oil, and Li-qing could not legally work. Without city residence registration, our sons could not legally attend local schools either. Luckily, they all got their city registration by the time they reached school age. "Cultural Revolution" was over, and those who had been forced to settle in the countryside were allowed to come back to the city and regained their city residence registration. Those were really trying times. We were poverty-stricken, malnourished and did not see hope. Having lived in America for fourteen years, we almost forget to worry about food, clothing, or shelter, or even job. But we can never forget our friends and relatives who helped us out in those days of hardships. We remember them, remember their kindness, and remember China. When we were forced out of our home and found shelter on the campus of the school (Longhai First Secondary School) where I was the lead teacher of "English teaching group" (or English department, as known here), we had a cold winter vacation. Chinese New Year was approaching, and the campus was all but deserted. On returning to our classroom-turned dormitory one evening, we found a plastic bag of fish, lying on the floor by the door that had a cracked panel. One of our friends, Wu Xin, came with the gift but found us out. (At that time, there was no telephone of any kind.) The fish was fairly expensive, and a rarity, requiring not just ration coupon, but back-door relationship. What the fish's name was, or what it tasted like, I have long forgotten. What I do not forget to this day is this young friend, and his friendship. In a visit to my professor, Prof. Lin's living room on Xiamen University campus, I saw an artificial Christmas tree planted in a small flower pot. When I first got to Salem, Oregon in 1988, I saw real, huge Christmas trees everywhere. Those were the days when I just emerged into a developed country from a developing one, and when I would need to compare exchange rates between Chinese and U.S. currencies. I would, for instance, hesitate about buying a #2 pencil, because that would cost $0.18, the equivalent of half an hour's to one hour’s wages in China in 1988. Yet I had a strong wish, that I could send a fresh-cut Oregon Douglas fir to China for Prof. Lin and his wife, both being devout Christians. Li-qing's 7th Uncle was the best radiologist in town in Xiamen city in his time. Patients and doctors would come to his office or his home with big X-ray negatives to seek his professional opinion for diagnosis. What he excelled in was also what he was least prepared for. In China, radiologists take X-ray photos of their patients in the same room, face to face, and separated only by a protective shield the size of an apron. His health failed early and he passed away. However, in his student days, he was school's basketball player. And he once accompanied me on foot, all the way across the city, to see a Party secretary to try to resolve Li-qing's and our two sons' city residence registration issue. At that time, we were trying hard to get back city residence registration, but one of our friends, Cesar Uy, was trying as hard to give his city registration back to the Chinese government. He was born a Filipino. His mother was a native Filipino, but his father was a ethnic Chinese. When Cesar was a child, his father sent him to China to live with Chinese relatives, and to receive Chinese education. When "Cultural Revolution" began, out of fear to be branded as a foreign spy, Cesar burned all paperwork identifying him as a Filipino. By the time "Cultural Revolution" was over, and he eventually landed on the Philippines, both his parents were dead. One of the photos he sent me from the Philippines was he and his relatives at his parents' grave site. Some were pulling weed, some were adding dirt. I did not see tears on Cesar's face, but I know that he must have swallowed them--all the tears from all the years. Tears, swallowed or not, can never be forgot. Friendship, forged in trying times, can never be forgot. The stories you've just read are short, so short that they only took a few hundred words, but the endurance it took us, the price we paid, and the bond we formed for each other, are enormous and strong. Yannan 2002 (Click image to enlarge. ) (Click image to enlarge. )
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网页更新 2018-10-02 |
