I blinked my eyes, and it's been thirty years

August 31, 1981.  

I couldn't think of a more appropriate place to share a bit of my history.  

It will be the 30th anniversary in just a couple more days.  My family immigrated to this Land of Opportunities, San Francisco Bay Area to be exact, thirty years ago on this very date.  Many of you were not even born yet.  Others have already started a career and family by then.  Most are probably somewhere between the two.  All are unique, but with one thing in common:  Everyone has a story and each is eager to tell it.  Through exchanges with others, I learned that there is a fundamental desire in us all - to be known.  We want to tell Our Story, and our story to be known. After all, to know my story is to know me.  

1981.  Ronald Reagan became our 40th President.  A severe recession hit the US. Unemployment rate was almost 10%. Interest rate was cut-throat at 20%.  I barely became a teenager.  These stats were so ingrained in me that I did not even have to Wiki 1981.  Do you ever wonder what's ingrained in your, or your children's mind, deep down?  My parents uprooted the family from a comfortable home in Hong Kong to this Land of Complete Unknown for one sole purpose:  Their four children may create a better life for themselves.  To create their own American Dream.  


Financially, it couldn't be a worse time to move to the United States.  But I guess when the INS said your Green Card is ready, you pack.  Packed, we did. I remembered those early days like yesterday, and I had it easy.  I had it easy because my parents made it seemed worry-free.  Life was definitely far from easy, yet we lacked nothing.  


My mother was a pianist; she was also an educator and taught music, literature, and mathematics throughout her teaching career.  She is a generous, soft-spoken woman with principles, and a backbone that's as tough as nail. Never needed to pick up even a screwdriver  around the house, mom became a factory worker and assembled mainframe computer cables within days of getting a social security number.  Step One on the pursuit of the American Dream. 

My father was a violinist; he was also an educator, but a different kind.  He was an ambitious, intelligent man who could turn any historical events into captivating stories for his students.  His entire life was dedicated to education.  Dad knows a little bit about everything - his interests are far-reaching like the tentacles of an octopus; he is also McGyver.  Among other things, he built schools and taught in remote fishing villages so children could attend school instead of working in the rice fields.  Education was and still is his passion.  After a short month "assessing the situation" on this Land, dad made the unfathomable decision of leaving behind the family and returning to Hong Kong - working in a Chinese restaurant was absolutely no way to make a meaningful living, support the family, and enable us to achieve our goals on this Land.  For years, dad would visit us every summer for about a month, when his schools were out on summer break.  Unfortunately, the sacrifice also meant he missed out on most of the important events.  

Without dad around on a regular basis, we all had to grow up really fast.  Especially my oldest brother.  He became the man of the house at age 20.  Nobody had the luxury of growing up in a green house in my family.  Still, those were good years.  

I remembered everything was prohibitively expensive. We multiplied the cost of everything eight-fold - the exchange rate of US to HKG dollars.  As expensive as groceries seemed, we never went hungry. We had family dinner every night. Everyone worked; everyone contributed. Times were hard, but they were good. 

"We are enriched not by what we possess, but by what we can do without."  

Immanuel Kant, German philosopher

My parents bought a small, humble home in San Jose, CA when interest rate was at 20%.  You might think all extra-curricular activities that cost money would be eliminated due to "budget cut".  Yet, one of the first things my parents did was to hire a piano teacher so I may continue my study.  Not just any Jim-Bob-Joe piano teacher but a qualified, competent one.  The first one was fired within weeks (she must have resembled Jim-Bob-Joe...) so I auditioned with another one.  I excelled musically under Mrs. Jensen's tutorage through my high school years.  She was a phenomenal teacher who was passionate about uncovering and developing her students' talents.  I still benefit from Mrs. Jensen's teaching, thirty years later. That's good teaching.  

My siblings were generous care-givers.  My older sister and older brother - being the oldest two - had extra responsibilities that I would be spared.  They worked full time and attended college part time during the first year - tuition for first year California residents was unaffordable, even in a community college.  My other brother and I started high school three days after we set foot on the Land of Opportunities - he as a senior and I as a freshman.  Day One of School:  A rally in the auditorium.  A WHAT?  There were no classes.  No role calls.  No books.  Just a big rally.  

I can speak with absolute certainty that none of us four ever doubted we would graduate from  college or pursue higher degrees.  After all, education is one of the greatest opportunities offered on this Land.  As each of us developed and pursued our own interests in different fields, we began to reap the fruits of our collective and individual labor.  The journey to pursue education, any education - not degrees - is to become a seeker, to learn beyond what you assume to be true.  To know there is another horizon beyond the first visible one.  To free ourselves from the imaginary boundaries.  

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As I grew, matured, got more "educated", my father's wise words eventually came full circle:  Never forget where you came from.  Never forget your humble root. Never forget who you are.  

My father's words obviously meant more than my physical "origin".  Paradoxically,  to "never forget who I am", I have to acknowledge who I was then, and who I am becoming.  I am obviously no longer the gawky girl with large, studious glasses thirty years ago - at least not the "studious" part.  Who I have become is an accumulation of trials, errors, experiences, love, successes, failures, disappointments and joy. This journey will continue until I take my last breath.  "Never forget who I am" would mean for me to make good use of all the pleasant experiences and painful lessons that shaped me. 

When I hear people philosophizing on "Immigrant Work Ethics", I would ask about their personal experience.  Most of them were not even immigrants;  others didn't quite know what or how to respond, but it always makes a good conversation. "Immigrant" or not, I believe good, strong work ethics are the internal drive to excel and improve; the stick-to-itiveness of dogged perseverance; the fearless attitude to work hard; the patience for delayed gratification; the value of a dollar.  


Let's get real - I lead a charmed life now.  Frankly, I think most of us do, generally speaking.  I don't eat much, and I certainly don't need much.  I have no hardship, no debt, and virtually no worries.  It is easy to get soft leading such a charmed life. May I never forget my humble root, where I came from, or the work ethics my parents taught me.  

I am incredibly fortunate and thankful for all that I have acquired and all that I have become.  May I always remember that "we are enriched not by what we possess, but by what we can do without."  

When I blink my eyes again, no doubt it will be another thirty years.  May it STILL be the Land of The Best Opportunities.