I’m going to take a break from my normal screenplay writing today and my much much on-the-backburner China blog to write about something that I’ve been wanting to write about for a long time, family and family history.

Again, I have such high expectations on how this blog should be, that I’m not sure if it’ll be able to write it without any problems, besides that boba girl is here today. She might be a distraction.

So, every time that I go to my great uncle’s place for a visit, for some reason or another, I would hear a little bit more and more about the history of our family. Stories about how the family was ran out of China and into Vietnam during the days of the Communist revolution. How my grandmother and great aunt would be tortured by the Communists because my Grandfather had so much land, which was handed down and down by his ancestors.

I would hear stories of how I almost died on our little “journey” to the states and how that came to be. I listen and listen to these stories that my great uncle, great aunt, and my other aunts and uncles would tell and I just piece it together piecemeal.

Again, I think this all goes back to me reconnecting with my roots, but again, I’ve always been interested in our family history. How we became the family as we are today.

Where to start, where to begin? I don’t know. I think the best way is to write. Whether I will keep it in timeline or not, I’m not sure. But I’m just going to write.
* * *
It’s very interesting to hear how we all came to America, because I was just too young to remember any of it. I was literally days old when it all transpired.

It was about April 13th or even April 17th, 1979. Our journey began. I always hear that I wasn’t even a week old when we started our escape. My whole family, which includes my paternal grandparents, all of my uncles and aunts and their children, along with my other uncles and aunts once or twice removed all piled onto two separate boats. We were on our way.

From what I can gather, the other boat was attacked by pirates. I can’t imagine how scary that ordeal was. I have cousins that were on that boat that don’t remember it because they were too young to remember. One cousin was thrown overboard and his older brother had to jump in after him to save him. I’m not sure what the pirates took, what they ravaged, but I’m sure there wasn’t much left. Thankfully no one got hurt or killed.

I’m not sure when, but sometime later they were rescued by the Thailand Coastguard or by US Navy ships. I don’t know.

The boat I was on wasn’t attacked. These boats were 17′ long. I’m not even sure if they were motorized, but it was crammed with people, all wanting to escape the Communist rule of Vietnam. The things we sacrifice and risk for freedom. It just makes me sad that it’s just not so readily available.

I think not much happened on the boat that I was on. The only stories I hear about my boat is about how I almost died. This all started shortly after I was born.

A day or two after I was born, I got sick and didn’t want to eat. Not only did I didn’t want to eat, there wasn’t much food. I wasn’t able to drink milk or have any congee. Starved and sick, my dad tried to get some money from the uncle that was handling the family’s money for a little bit of money so my dad can buy some powdered milk for me to drink. But he refused. My uncle refused; he didn’t want to give my dad any money at all. My dad told either my grandfather or my grandmother to help, but I don’t think anything came of it. My uncle had all the money, he had all the power.

He wanted to keep most of the money to himself and his wife and kids. Many say it was because of his wife’s influence that he became this way. I don’t know. All I know is that this uncle does think highly of himself and his family. I’ll write more about him later.

Skipping ahead, it was time for us to leave. Again, parents, older brother, grandparents and other relatives all piled on this boat. The boat was small, pounded by the waves. They got to a point where all they see when they look out is water and big waves.

Again, I was sick. For some reason I didn’t want to drink from my mom. I think even if I did want to drink from my mom, she didn’t have much milk. She too was malnourished because of the lack of food. They would see me just hanging on for dear life in my mother’s arm. I was emaciated, literally skin and bones. For some reason, I was black and blue, not the usual pink baby color. They all thought I was a goner for sure. There were actually talks about throwing me overboard, but I guess my mom didn’t want to let me go. I would cry, but no sound. Just a muted wail. I didn’t even have the strength to cry.

But eventually we were saved by either the Thailand Coastguard or the US Navy. Once we all got to Thailand, we were detained as refugees, and it was there that we reunited with the family on the other boat.

My mom and grandmother and someone else were put in a cell. Me, of course, was in my mom’s arms. My grandma and my mom would plead with the guard to get a doctor or some food for me, but he wouldn’t listen. I was wrapped up in a towel or a blanket to keep warm. Skin and bones. Somehow, I don’t know, but my mom and grandma was able to convince the guard to come closer to them and they opened the blanket and showed me to the guard. The guard was so frightened at the sight of me that he quickly fumbled for the keys to let my mom out to find a doctor.

But my mom couldn’t leave my grandmother there. More pleading ensued and finally both of them were able to get me to a doctor or some form of help. I’m still not sure as to what happened.

In the refugee camp there was another refugee that was able to help me. I’m not sure what I actually had, it might have been typhoid, but this “savior” was able to cure me. I’m very lucky to have met her. Of all the people in the refugee camp, my family was able to find the person who is able to cure me and heal me. I don’t know what the method she used to cure me is called, even as I try to google it, it doesn’t come to me. My life saver took some herbs and burned it on my body and with a glass cup, or a small cup, she would suffocate the fire with it, causing a vacuum in the glass. This vacuumed action sucked out the toxins that was making me sick.

Again, I don’t know how much of this is true or how much of it was made up. I only first heard about this when I first moved down to Los Angeles in 2001. My uncle, while driving my parents and I around Los Angeles brought up that my life saver lived somewhere around here. Then they went to tell me the story of how I almost died and how she saved me. Even years later as my great uncle and great aunt will recount the stories and at other family gatherings (funerals, weddings, etc) my mom along with other aunts and uncles would recount their times in Vietnam and the great escape, this story would always come up. And they all would say the same thing.

After the first session with this lady, my color turned for the better. I was able to cry a cry that was neither muted nor strained. I was a baby again.

It just blows my mind that I didn’t know about this for 22 years. I’m 28 years old now and there was a definite possibility that I wouldn’t have made it to a week old. I’m lucky and fortunate. Maybe I’m getting older, but learning these things now, I just have to come to the realization that my life isn’t that bad. It wasn’t all that bad. I only made it bad with my typical teen angst. I guess that’s the thing with life, time changes the way you see things. Life could have been so different for me. I almost didn’t have one.

For one reason or another, the family members of the first boat was able to leave for America before the family members in our boat. We had to stay at the refugee camp for about six months.
* * *

It’s interesting to hear all of these little family secrets, and all I had to do was just ask and listen.

My uncle. I’m not going to name him. Those who know about this will already know, those who don’t, it doesn’t matter. It all happened 28 years ago; there’s no need to point fingers and look at him differently. I just want to get this down somewhere for my sake, and for my posterities’ sake.

I never would have thought that this uncle would be like this. I always had a certain respect for him. He was always so nice and so helpful to everyone, especially to my grandparents. Learning this did taint him a little bit in my eyes, but I can see that he’s really made up for it. Let bygones be bygones; but my great uncle still don’t see it that way. He still has a grudge, 28 years later.

Sure this uncle is a little big headed at times and sure he likes to boasts his family also, but that is small potatoes to me. I just look past that as a character flaw; which we all have. This is his.

I didn’t know about this until about 3 or 4 weeks ago. I went to my great uncle’s again for my usual monthly visit and also to check up on him because I heard he was in the hospital for a few weeks because he had high blood pressure. So I went to visit and for some reason we started to talk about our family history again. Most of the stuff I already had heard, but then it came to this.

Again this uncle holds all the money to the family farm. My grandfather entrusted him with that duty to book keep and keep the money. He wouldn’t work at the coffee farm, but just “manage” it as the rest of the family work on it. However much coffee they would sell; he’ll just keep the money.

He was educated, went to school, and my grandfather trusted him because of that. But, I guess he made a mistake on giving my uncle this duty.

He would just ride around town on his motorcycle with his “city” wife. He would show off his little ride and chickadee wife. He had it good. He had all the money and a wife and not have to work.

So, again, he wouldn’t give my dad any money for the milk that I needed to survive. And now I learned that he was the reason why my big auntie and my grandmother almost didn’t come over to the States.

Apparently on the morning that we were supposed to take off into the ocean to escape Vietnam, my uncle was negotiating with the captains of the boats on how many pieces of gold per person to get them to where they needed to go. Most of the details I’m still unsure of because great uncle went on a tirade of rage when he was talking about this and most of the stuff came out unclear and I didn’t want to have him repeat it to make things clearer. In the end, I got the gist, but please do take the details with a grain of salt, for I’m not too clear as to what really transpired.

Gold during that time was valuable. Very valuable and we had a lot of gold for the whole family. I believe during the negotiations, my uncle let one of the boats leave without sending any family members on it. He told my grandfather and great uncle that the fee for that boat was too expensive and to wait for the next two. He lied and for that my great uncle was offended.

In further negotiation he told my family that my big auntie wasn’t able to go on the boat. She will have to be left behind in Vietnam because we were out of gold. Why was she “singled-out” to be left behind? I don’t know. I’m guessing because she’s the only daughter in the family. My grandmother was mad and upset. She didn’t want to leave her only daughter behind. So she refused to go. During the argument that ensued between my uncle and my grandmother, my uncle tells my grandmother, “why have so many children? You can’t have just one or two, but need to have so many?” or something to that extent.

Here is where my great uncle got livid. I can see the anger in his face and hear it in his voice. He was pissed off that my uncle had the audacity to say that. How can my uncle be so heartless to be okay with leaving his only sister in Vietnam? How can he be okay with my grandmother staying there with her? How? Family. We’re all family, we’re all blood, but how can you so easily just let them go like that?

When hearing this, again, I was in shock, and I couldn’t help but laugh at my great uncle when listening to this story. It was just so outrageous and he’s still upset about this 28 years later. It’s funny, well at least I find it funny. I guess I can laugh at it now because it’s all done with and that we are all here.

I asked my great uncle why he’s so upset; it’s over. That was 28 years ago. Basically, you just don’t do that to family, to blood. That’s just wrong. Even to this day, he has no problems with any uncles or aunts or relatives, but he’s taking no shit from this particular uncle and he has no problems calling him out on it.

He even told me a story how this uncle’s son would steal from him and lie about it. My great uncle would wrap cigarettes during that time. He stepped out for a bit and came back and wanted to roll a cigarette, but he couldn’t find the paper. He would asked my uncle’s son if he’s seen it and the kid would say no. I think the kid was about 4 or 5 at this time. My great uncle told the kid to stand up and lo-and-behold the kid was sitting on the stack of cigarette paper. Too funny.

My great uncle even believes that the uncle still had quite a bit of the gold left when he got into the states. That is why he was able to build a new house so quickly. Again, I don’t know. It’s all speculation.

Of course, I laughed, ’cause it was really that funny.

Again, hearing this, it tainted the image I have of this uncle. It opened my eyes to the kind of family I have and grew up with. Every family have their dirty little secrets. But again, looking back, knowing what I know about family and seeing how things are now, we’ve come a long way.

We’re not perfect, far from it, but it’s good to know. It just seems as I get older, my family gets a little imperfect every year. My family is just like any other family, full of problems. Just funny.
* * *

One story that always always comes up during these “recollections” is the one about how my grandmother and great aunt was tortured during the revolution. It’s one of the reasons why we the family moved to Vietnam; we were basically ran out of the country.

I don’t know the date, I don’t know the time or how the story started. I think as the Nationalist regime crumbled and the Communist took over, many of the villagers raided my grandfather’s home to take back the land that he has.

I think my 14th uncle was just born like two weeks to a month before and my grandmother was still weak from it. But the villagers took my grandmother and great aunt and bound their arms and legs. Around their legs they wrapped a thicket of thorns so when they were thrown on to their knees, they weren’t able to sit back on the back of their legs. They’ll always have to stand on their knees, humiliated. I’m not sure where my great uncle and grandfather or my uncles were at during this time; most likely getting the shit beat out of them I’m sure.

Listening to my great aunt tell this story, she tells it with a small smile on her face. Maybe it’s just elation that nothing more happened, or just looking back now, she’s able to smile about it. She thought she was going to die that night, thought my grandmother was going to die that night also. But it didn’t happen.

The villagers, men, will beat them and torture them. They both cried and pleaded, but of course, the villagers wouldn’t listen. They just wanted what was theirs…land. Mao’s land, their land.

I don’t know how or why, but I think the villagers stopped and they were able to get free. It was there that my grandmother hurt her back, which ultimately lead her to be hunched-backed in her later years.

We have it easy. My life is easy. I never had it that hard. My parents had it hard when they first moved here. My grandparents had it hard. The earlier generations had it hard. My life has been a cake walk compared to theirs. I really can’t imagine life back then; the hardships that they’ve all endured. All wishing, hoping, and sacrificing for something that I take for granted.
* * *

My mom came to visit me over Thanksgiving this year. This is the first time that she’s come to visit me since my father passed away. The last time she was here was in April 2002 with my dad. I was actually surprised that she came down. I would always ask her to come down and visit me, especially when my father passed away, but she wouldn’t. Now she did, and I loved it. I had a really good time. I think she had a good time too.

She met my son, Pickles, for the first time. Now I know that my Mom is not a dog person at all, but she eventually warmed up to him. She would play fetch with him when Pickles bring her the ball. It’s funny, my mom thinks that Pickles is stupid. In a way I can see that, but he’s not. He’s just friendly.

She will always bring up a fuss that Pickles doesn’t bark. He didn’t bark at her at all. Most dogs would bark at strangers, but Pickles don’t. When she first came in, his tail is wagging and no barking. He was excited that I was home.

My mom will joke with me, what will happen when someone tries to break in and steal your stuff? Pickles can’t do anything. He’ll just sit and wag his tail. Funny. I love Pickles.

But, throughout the weekend, my mom and I will just connect more and more. I don’t think I’ve ever talked to her about so many things before in my life. We’ve talked about anything and everything. Family history, politics, dreams, life, America, family, religion. Everything.

We spent Thanksgiving with great uncle’s and his family. It was fun. Everyone was there. The kids did all the cooking while the grown-ups just sat and waited. I added a few dishes to the mix. My Green Bean Casserole won them over. I didn’t make enough. Next time.

It was good to spend the family holiday around family again. All the talking, bonding, gossiping, joking, and everything. I miss it. I think I’ve settled in and found my place in great uncle’s family. Reminds me of the holidays back in Seattle. My mom seemed to be having a good time.

The next day we drove down to San Diego to visit 7th uncle. It was on the drive that we really bonded.

Again, I don’t know what has gotten into me, but maybe it’s just that I’m older, but I’m able to open up to my mom. I’m an open person, always have been. I’ve gotten to the point that I’m just blunt and no bullshit. I can be a dick about it at times too, but I could care less.

Again, I’m able to talk about anything and be not afraid to hurt her feelings and to disagree with her if it comes to that.

It seems she’s still upset about the family politics as to what happened with grandma. A part of me still am too, but I can’t do anything about it. It’s all done with. It’s all history now. She’s in a better place.

I brought up how I hate HATE how it is usually weeks later that I get a whiff of any family emergency. It was a good 3 months after my 7th Auntie had brain surgery that I knew she got brain surgery. It was weeks after my mom went into the emergency room for food poisoning that I knew she actually went into the hospital. And the list goes on.

I would appreciate it if people just let me know. She brought up that we don’t like other people to hear about the bad stuff of the family, and that’s just ridiculous. You are family, and I care about you. I want to know if anything happens. So, if there are any emergencies up there, please don’t let me be the last to know 3 months down the line.

She even brought up a point that 5th uncle’s kids didn’t know that grandpa died until the day of grandpa’s one-year-memorial. I guess it’s a Chinese thing, but it has to stop.

On the road trip I even asked how she and my dad met. Apparently it was sort of a match-making/arrange marriage type of thing. It seemed that almost all of our family was done that way. I guess it was about time for my dad to get married, to get an extra hand on the farm, and my grandfather saw my mom and had a matchmaker set it up. The next thing they knew, they were married. I think with my parents, they were able to see each other first before they got married. Not so with my 2nd uncle and 2nd aunt.

So, there wasn’t this grand Hollywood love story on how they met. There was no “cute meetings” of him stealing her lychees and logans; no cute dates or anything chivalrous. It was just, you two are going to get married.

2nd Aunt lived in the next village. From what my mom says, it was like her living in Seattle and my uncle living in Tacoma. I think my uncle went up to marry her and then it took a few days for them to get back to the village home. It wasn’t until then that they were finally able to SEE each other.

I don’t know what my thoughts are about arranged marriages. A part of me really thinks it’ll work, because there is nowhere to go in the relationship but up. They are just two strangers who are in a committed relationship, especially during that time and culture, and they have to connect, bond, compromise to make things work. They have to find the reasons why to love each other and not focus on the bad side.

Unlike relationships now, where we all know each other inside and out before we think about getting marriage. There’s this expectation to beat the high you guys experienced when you first met and first dated. The relationship can go either way. But, I guess the romantic in me likes to think that a “loved” marriage is the best way.

Again, I don’t know why, but it is so much easier to talk to my mom now. So much easier to talk about feelings and relationships and other stuff when that would have never been the case when I was younger. I’m just older, a different person.

Ha, it’s funny how much I wanted the relationship I have now with my mom to be the relationship I had with my parents when I was younger. They were so distant and so cold. We never talked about our feelings, because we just don’t. It’s a Chinese thing, an Asian thing.

I guess that all changed when my father passed away, and I have done quite a bit of growing up and therapy since then. Quite a bit of my anger has gone away.

We talked about family grudges and patience. My mom had to let go of the grudge she had with that uncle and aunt that wouldn’t give money to her so she can buy food for me when I was younger. Forgive and move on. It’s the best thing anyone can do.

She even brought up something I didn’t know about my family. My mom came from a poor family. When she married into the family, she was treated like shit, mostly it is because she was poor. He parents and family lived just down the street and my grandparents and uncles, aunt wouldn’t let her go back home to visit. They all looked down on her because she was poor. They all think that she would steal stuff and bring it back to her family. She had it hard. I never knew. I never knew.

But she was patient and persevered. She did things on her own and never asked for help, to show them that she can take care of things on her own. This whole conversation came up because I told her I needed to be more patient because I am very short on patience nowadays. I told her that the scroll that I have hanging up on my wall, the character on it is “patience”. It’s a reminder of my shortcomings as a person and that I need to work on that.

I also need to work on my stubborness. It’s a Ho thing. We are all stubborn. I got it from my dad, and he got it from his dad. It came up because I couldn’t stand my big auntie’s stubborness during the China trip.

I know that with higher education and with wealth, many people tend to look down to those that are unfortunate. It happens. It’s reality. That’s what happened with my family back in the day. But, I guess times have changed. It did change.

I told her, I’m an open guy. I’m laid back. I don’t take anything seriously. You tell me that your kids are geniuses, good for you for having geniuses. I don’t care. I don’t try to let things get to my head. I know that I’m guilty of it from time to time, but eventually I’ll end up with my two feet on the ground.

I love my mom. I really do. It’s just sad that it has to take me 28 years and a thousand miles away to actually get me to bond.

We were even able to talk about my dad without any tears. I told her that I see him in my dreams from time to time. He never says much if anything at all. She tells me the same.

It’s funny, but my mom still believe in some old superstitions. She told me she once had a dream a few months before my dad died about my grandmother.

During that time she would wake up at 4 AM to go to work. She was dreaming about my grandmother, who passed away two years earlier. My grandmother would be calling out for my father. She would tell my mom to go find my dad for her. My grandmother lost some money, she would dig into her pockets looking for it, and kept asking my mom to find my dad. Then, the alarm clock went off. My mom got up, took a shower and then stepped out to the living room. There my dad and brother were watching tv. She asked them, “what are you guys watching that you guys are still up at 4 in the morning?”

My dad was like, “you’re crazy, it’s not even 1 in the morning.” I guess my mom laughed it off and went back to bed. She didn’t tell my dad that she had that dream, worrying that it might frighten my dad.

To this day, my mom thinks that my grandmother in some way killed my dad; that my grandmother wanted to drag him down with her. It’s ridiculous; an old time superstition. Apparently when my grandmother died, she got a hold of my dad and wouldn’t let go. Around the area that my grandmother had her grasp, there was some kind of liquid on my dad’s hand. My 14th uncle tells my dad to quickly wash it off, or it’ll be bad luck. My mom still thinks that’s the cause.

It’s just that my dad is a stubborn stubborn man who worked himself to death. That is it. There’s no curse, no superstion.

Of course things eventually boiled down to me. She wants me to move back. There are times when I do think about it, whether I can actually do it NOW, or not. I can’t. Not now. I’m happy here. My life is down here. But she still wants me to move back. She’s even willing to buy me a house in Federal Way for me, so when I move back, I’ll have my own place. I can’t do that. I just can’t.

I’ll move back on my own terms, on my own time. I’ll take it day by day and see where things go.

Looking at the calendar about the Chinese Zodiac, we were commenting how many “golden pigs” that we have in our family this year. In Chinese Zodiac, this year is the year of the golden pig. It will bring good luck and fortune to the family that has a child during this year and the child will be lucky. We have Lukas and we have Mason. We also have Andrew. 1st Auntie in Philly also have a grandson who is a golden pig. There are quite a few.

Then we were talking about how I don’t get along with any “dog” people. My ex is a “dog” and so was my dad.

I told her I didn’t really connect with my dad until I moved down here. And she was like, of course, you were always afraid of him and that was true. There’s still a part of me that still is. I didn’t get along with my brother until I moved down either. I guess distance and just time and growing up make people connect easier.

Marriage. I don’t know when, if ever. She says I should get married and have at least two kids. She asked if I was going to have a wedding/banquet when I get married. I said no, it’s just too much work. That is assuming that I’ll get married. I don’t want one, honestly I don’t. Again, most of my family knows that I would much rather elope, go to Vegas and get hitched there.

I want to get married, I honestly do, but again, it has to be with the right person. If it doesn’t happen, I truly okay with it.

But honestly, c’mon, what say do I really have in that matter? The girl will have the most say. If she wants to have a wedding, then most likely we’ll have a wedding.

Then the conversation eventually gravitated toward my brother and his ways. I don’t know much about his “social life” nor does my mom. My brother and I just don’t talk about that. Neither one of us has broken that barrier yet. But my brother is a private person, so I guess it’ll come when he’s ready. Eventually, I guess. Eventually.

I just tell her to just let him be and let him find his own way. He’s on the right path, taking things slowly. Honestly, I do see a change in him, albeit a small change, but it is a change. Seeing him willing to go inside to Scott and Rutledge’s to pick up Pickles after our trip to Reno. Seeing him make conversation with Bill and Mary and the other tourists our on tour in China, and even hearing him going out with Cynthia and Suong in San Francisco. He’s slowly coming to. A late bloomer I would say. But then again, I’m a late bloomer.

Again, I loved it that my mom was able to come down and spend time with me during Thanksgiving. I’m really really genuinely happy that I was able to bond with her the way we did, and I sure hope that this doesn’t stop. Hopefully she’ll come down and visit me more often, as I tell her to do all the time. Maybe this bonding can spread along to my brother. Who knows?

I’ll just have to wait and see where things go. Whether my mom will still ask when I’m going to move home or if she’s going to pressure me on when I’m going to get married or when I’m going to get a girlfriend. ‘Cause right now, it just seems she’s letting my uncles and aunties do recon for her. They are the ones that, ask, not my mom. I find it funny and cute.

I think she knows where I stand on the matter and she knows that I’ll kid around with her about it, but I’ll always give her a no bullshit answer that I don’t know if I want to get married or when I’ll get married. I really do like being on my own, going and doing things on my own; not having to worry about anyone else but me. It’s selfish, I know, but I’m selfish. Worse comes to worse, if she so wants grandchildren, I’ll adopt, even though she is totally against that too.

I’m going back home for Christmas and we are already planning a Christmas lunch like the one we had the last time I was up there. We are already planning the menu already since our extended family always celebrate Christmas a week or two early because everyone don’t have time and they have individual families of their own to spend Christmas with. We’ll invite some family of course and it’ll be fun. I’m so looking forward to it.

There’s a large part of me that wants to put together a large family reunion. Not just the family that I grew up with in Washington, but EVERYONE. My uncles and aunts down here in California, great uncle and his family, my relatives in Philly and our 16th great auntie’s (who just recently passed away a few days ago) family. It’ll all be good to get everyone together and just meet and bond.

I was able to bond with these people in such a short time. Hours and we are talking like we’ve grown up with each other and I want the same with everyone else. I know, it’s my idealism that is coming through, but wouldn’t it be nice. Maybe when I get rich, I can actually afford to set this up.

All in all, I know this should be a part of my yearly reflection, but I can honestly and genuinely say that I love my life. I’ve been through thick and thin, shit, along with the good times; but I am truly happy with my life now and how it has transpired. Hearing all this family history, it is good to see that we ALL came a long way in life.

Knowing all this stuff about my family, my mom, makes me a better person. And I do hope that you all feel the same.