I am from a city called Saigon in the southern part of Vietnam (it is now called Ho Chi Minh City but to me it will always be Saigon). It was a city populated by a majority of Chinese people. During the turn of the century, many merchants and entrepreneurs settled in Saigon from various parts of China in the hopes of making a fortune. My great grandfather for example, started a large factory in Saigon, which produced parts for steam engines around 1900. My grandfather (mom's dad) and all of my uncles continued this line of work until they left Vietnam. My other grandfather (who passed away when I was two) also settled in Saigon from China. He was a carpenter, but also built houses. He married my beloved grandmother who was a native Vietnamese woman (but she had to learn Chinese because my grandfather refused to speak Vietnamese). The Chinese population in Saigon was so large that in many schools, the Chinese language is compulsory beginning at the elementary level, much like French is in Canada.

Many Hong Kong folks very frequently ask members of my family how come we speak Chinese so fluently (without any trace of a Vietnamese accent). My parents would reply very simply, "We are Chinese! Why should we not speak it fluently?" My brother and I would reply, "We do too have accents, eh! Canadian accents that is!" So, the next time you meet a person from Vietnam who speaks Chinese, please do not be surprised that they are fluent in the language simply because they are from Vietnam.

Farm of Bees

I can vividly remember the climatic scene that hot afternoon in April 1975. I was sitting by the back window on the second floor of my grandmother's house. The bright blue canvas of the sky was painted with flying machines as far as my then perfect eyes could see. The image was like a farm of bees, busily buzzing away at their tasks. Some had a propeller on the top and some had two. Some had a red cross on the body and some were painted with a camouflage of many shades of green. I had no idea what was going on. I only knew it was marvelous.

I must have sat there for many hours because the sky gradually darkened and mosquitoes started to bite. The next morning my father held my brother and I by the hands and took us down to the streets. This was yet another marvel. There were broken guns everywhere. I headed to pick the handle of one up but was very quickly pulled back by my father. In the distance were a couple of abandoned tanks. A few teenagers popped the lid, jumped in and somehow managed to make it move about five meters before being stopped by some nervous adults.

That afternoon, a parade of missiles, tanks and trucks of North Vietnamese soldiers rolled through the main streets of the city. My father, my brother and I stood in front of my aunt's bicycle shop and watched - my brother and me with marvel and my father with disgust - as the display of power was presented. In the midst of the sounds of engines and cheers from the soldiers, I heard my father bitterly mutter, "They won..."

Nine Days, Eight Nights

 The drama that shaped a part of my existence began on the first day of May 1979 (which was ironically exactly four years after they won). We boarded a wooden boat at a small village not too far from Saigon -all a hundred and fifty of us. After settling some initial problems (like people bringing too much on the boat), we were on our way. The way we left were considered 'open', which meant the local officials had knowledge of our actions. This was done by temporarily knocking out the officials with a few bars of gold. The other way would be to go secretly, as many who have arrived at Hong Kong had done.

 I knew that we were leaving our home - forever. However, I did not know where we were going. Whenever my brother and I whined about going home, my mother would comfort us by saying that we are going to America, where we will eat apples and chocolate and all the things we did not have in Vietnam. We were going to live in a big house and to have a car and above all to be free. All I saw in the distance was the water touching the sky and nothing else in sight -no land, no America, no apples and chocolate, no house and car.

 The route we took was via the Gulf of Thailand. The first two days were not too horrific, except for the seasickness that afflicted almost the entire boat. Lemon juice with sugar seemed to help. We still had plenty of fresh water and there was still enough food to feed everyone. However, as the days rolled by food supplies began to fall short and fresh water became scarce. By the end of the journey, we were down to a bottle cap of water for each person three times a day. We were in the midst of vast body of water and not a drop of it was drinkable.

 We were robbed three times during the trip. The first encounter with another boat on the sixth day was actually a welcoming sight at first. I recall a few men waving a white flag and a few women yelling "hello" in English. As the approaching boat came closer in sight, it was evident that they were not about to become our friends. On the boat were men who carried guns and knives. They were Thai fishermen whose part-time job was to rob Vietnamese refugees. They took all that was in sight, including a spare engine in which were hidden many a bar of gold. They took rings, necklaces and anything that seemed valuable.

 The next encounter came the very next day. The pirates ransacked what was left on our boat. After about two hours of rummaging, we were left alone.  Within hours, we encountered a third bunch of bandits. This time there was absolutely nothing they could take. Or was there...

 Our third group of captors forced us to get aboard their vessel and actually fed us. I especially liked the squid. Meanwhile, back on our boat, some of the pirates were busily taking the virginity of the few young women on board. In return they pointed us in the direction of Malaysian waters.

Death of One, Birth of Another

 On the eighth day we encountered yet another ship. This time it was a Malaysia naval vessel five times the size of ours. They promised to pull us into land, but according to the captain, we ended up further in the opposite direction. On this same day, a woman who sat in front of us died of a heart attack. She was eventually buried in Malaysian soil. She left behind her a husband and two kids. She also left behind a life that had been a constant struggle for freedom.

 The next day, my aunt gave birth to a baby daughter. This symbolized a new beginning for all of us. That same day, land was in sight - a small island that was our stepping-stone into freedom.  

 We spent fifteen days on this island before being shipped to a refugee camp in outskirts of Kuala Lumpur.  After four months in the refugee camp, my family received an interview with Canadian immigration officials.  We were accepted, I’m certain because my father told the nice Canadians in French that he loved the cold and that he swam in ice water all the time in North Vietnam.