Walt F.J. Goodridge, author of Doing Business on Saipan! presents:
Chicken Feathers and Garlic Skin
Diary of a Chinese Garment Factory Girl on Saipan
by Chun Yu Wang & Walt F.J. Goodridge
Copyright: Chun Yu Wang & Walt F.J. Goodridge. All rights reserved.
Published by Walt F.J. Goodridge at Smashwords
Smashwords Edition 2012
This book is available in print at most online retailers.
All rights reserved. This book may not be reproduced in whole or in part, or transmitted in any form, without written permission from the author and publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review.
Inquiries to the author may be addressed to:
Chun Yu Wang
PO Box 503991
Saipan MP 96950
email: chunyu@saipanfactorygirl.com
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
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FOREWORD: The Translation Process
CHAPTER 1: Wolves Ahead and Tigers Behind
CHAPTER 2: Don't Stop Until You Reach the Yellow River
CHAPTER 12: Adding Frost To Snow
CHAPTER 14: And Still There Are Tigers
CHAPTER 17: Will the Last Factory Girl to Leave...
CHAPTER 18: From Saipan, with Love
Factory Facts: A 25-Year+ Timeline
Garment Factory Closures (And Dates)
Online Resources (Websites & Blogs)
About the co-author & publisher
To my family.
I wish to thank:
Yu Wei Hong, aka "Tiger Hong," Liu Da Mei,
Zhang Gui Rong, Guo Qiong Ying, Liu Qing
Ling, Aunt Zhu
My parents, Wang Heng Jun, and Gu Xue Ying
who gave me life, and made me everything that I am. I wish you
both health and happiness.
Robert Jones, of Triple J, who helped me at a difficult time. I never
got a chance to really thank him face to face as he's always so busy.
So I will use this opportunity to do so. Thank you, and I hope your
business becomes more and more prosperous.
Everyone in my family who helped me, and everybody who is
mentioned in this book. Because of you, and through all the joys as
well as the trials and hardships, I now have a story to tell.
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Translating and transcribing Chicken Feathers and Garlic Skin with Chun Yu Wang was a unique, enlightening and educational experience. As editor, my role has been merely that of scribe. Chun Yu wrote her manuscript and notes herself, by hand, in traditional Mandarin characters. She then used an electronic translator to find the closest approximation to certain idioms and concepts unique to Mandarin. The transcription process consisted of the two of us sitting at a table--she reading from her notes, and translating it herself--narrating to me in English.
Her relatively recent introduction to the English language made the process a little slower. However, even though her command of English is still developing, I didn't want to have a human translator get in the way of the authenticity of her work, or affect her own developing writing style.
Based on what I've learned about Chinese language and culture in the process, I felt it was important to allow Chun's communication style to exist in an untainted form as it gives us some insight into her unique world view, cultural perspective, and perhaps even a culturally-informed, and gender-specific approach to life that may itself be part of the story. In addition I wanted to remain true to what I feel is the inherent poetry, the imbedded proverbs and peculiarities of Mandarin speech. There's a rhythm to the language, a tempo in the phrasing, and efficiency in the syntax that often gets lost in translation.
As we proceeded, I realized that some of the words the electronic translator offers as English equivalents are a bit archaic, or very rarely used in everyday conversation. This was quite amusing at times, and we had fun with the machine's choice of words in its translations of Chinese idioms.
Thus, for example, a factory monitor is described as an [insatiably avaricious], woman who [covets small advantages, and hankers after petty gains]--a turn of phrase few modern western writers might choose for themselves, but is highly appropriate for communicating the shades and subtlety of concepts in Mandarin which might not have a direct English equivalent. Some of these I kept. Others I replaced with more common, everyday language.
This decision to use her own developing language skills to translate from Mandarin to English results in a simply told, yet profound story unencumbered by the intricacies of multi-syllabic and layered English words and idioms. It lends itself to something I've learned personally while living abroad. When two people communicate from across a cultural and language divide, there is a mutual effort to meet each other someplace in the middle.
As the reader of her book, your efforts to meet Chun Yu halfway are just as necessary as her efforts to communicate her thoughts to you. The simplicity of communication style is both endearing and part of her charm. It represents who she is at this moment as a Chinese garment factory worker on Saipan, and thus, is as much a part of her story as any of the characters and events she chronicles. The read becomes as much of the experience as the telling of the experience itself. You are challenged, therefore, to find a middle ground of understanding and commonality.
But don't mistake this simplicity for passivity. As you'll discover, Chun Yu was the quiet rebel behind three different labor disputes on Saipan. She has within her, by virtue of being born in the Year of the Tiger, a natural fighting instinct spurred by a desire for justice. Her story is also compelling for other reasons.
Keep in mind, that as a Chinese garment factory worker on Saipan, life is a bit different than for you and me. When you read of the experiences of these factory girls, it is important to recognize those cultural differences. For those readers who are living in non- communist, western-influenced societies you may take certain things for granted which may need to be explained for you to fully appreciate the subtleties and nuances of the story being told.
For example, because of the typical level of income, as well as Chinese immigration policies, many factory girls have never flown on an airplane, or even been outside of China. Because of gender roles, and the Chinese population's traditional relationship to authority, many are reluctant to make waves or question rules. Because of the high value placed on saving face, many are not willing to risk embarrassment on foreign soil--the details of which may get back to shame their families in China. Because of the relationship between men and women, or between fathers and daughters, many have never made decisions for themselves. Because of the nature of government control, many are not aware of their "rights" separate from government dictates (a foreign concept), and hence do not exercise such rights abroad for fear of retribution. And finally, because of the control many of the factories themselves wish to exert over the girls, many are discouraged from even learning the English language while employed.
When such realities frame your cultural context, historical background, and thus your world view, how do you communicate your thoughts, fight for your rights, or search for happiness in a strange land beyond the walls of a factory compound? Such is the plight of the typical factory girl.
Yet, here it is: her story, in her words, transcribed with as little of my influence as possible. My task was to listen to her thoughts and what she wished to communicate, transcribe them, tone intact, into grammatically correct English sentences, intervening only to ask her questions to fill in certain gaps, clarify any apparent inconsistencies in the storytelling, or explain certain concepts which may be foreign to non-Chinese readers.
Chun Yu, the author, has a natural storyteller's love of words, along with a memory for details that made Chicken Feathers and Garlic Skin as much of an enjoyable experience co-authoring, as I trust you shall have in reading it. I hope that you will cherish the experience of getting to know her through her story.
Walt F.J. Goodridge
Co-author/Editor
p.s. About the Title
My originally-conceived title for this book was simply Factory Girl. It's still a title I like, but, once I heard the Chinese idiom "chicken feathers and garlic skin" during a transcription session with Chun, I knew we had to use it.
"Chicken feathers and garlic skin" is the rubbish left when cooking a chicken. Being worthless, they attract little attention. The phrase is used to describe "petty things; things of no importance; things often overlooked as having no merit or value." It is perhaps the perfect metaphor for the often faceless, nameless girls who toil away in the garment factories of the world sewing designer clothing for consumers around the world; girls who often go overlooked in the public dialogue and perception of the world at large.
As you'll discover, everyday Chinese language, is rich with other such idioms and proverbs (italicized within the text), which have been used as titles for several of the chapters and sections.
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CHAPTER 1 Wolves Ahead and Tigers Behind
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TIGERS
"If you don't give me an answer right now," I said threateningly to my ex-boyfriend, "I will marry him! I mean it!"
It was November of 1996. I was 22 years old. I had broken up with my boyfriend two months before, but it was hard to forget about him. So, I met him for lunch that day in November, to tell him about the new man who had just proposed to me. I asked him what he thought about it. He didn't answer me.
A few months earlier, on a sunny morning in September, someone had introduced me to the man who would become my husband. That same evening he took me to meet his mother. One month later, he asked me to marry him. I told him I would have to ask my mother and father first.
My mother and father both went to his house to meet him. They didn't give any input about what they thought about him. They only told me that if I wanted to marry him, it would be all right with them. It wasn't until years later that my older brother told me that they hadn't liked his character, but they didn't want to be responsible if things didn't work out well between us. So, now, with this new man's proposal as an option, I gave my ex-boyfriend a final chance.
"If you don't give me an answer right now," I now threatened my ex-boyfriend, "I will get married to him."
When he still didn't answer--in his usual indecisive way--I got angry. I got married to my husband--a man I had only known for two months--a few weeks later in December of 1996.
My new husband once told me he knew that if he had waited more than a month to marry me, that I wouldn't be his wife. He was probably right. I only married him out of anger.
A month after we got married, we had a big fight. It was over the silliest of things. My husband's brother had come over to visit to play video games. Before his brother even finished playing one of the games, my husband decided that he wanted to play. I thought he was being childish and selfish.
"You always play that game," I said. "Your brother is only here for a few hours, let him play it instead."
But my husband didn't listen. I took the game card from the table and walked away with it into the bedroom. I hid the card so he wouldn't be able to play.
He went to the bedroom and searched for a long time, but when he couldn't find it, he got angry. The way he carried on scared me. He threw things--clothes, books, etc. He broke things. I got mad, too. I got the card and threw it at him.
"Here's your card!" I shouted.
Even his own brother said he was out of order, and acting out of control.
"She was only joking," his brother told him. "Why are you acting so crazy?"
When I saw this, I wanted to leave and go to my mother's house. I started packing my suitcase. When his brother saw what was happening, he called their mother.
"I want a divorce," I cried to her over the phone.
"OK, so go!" my husband shouted from the other room.
His brother blocked the door preventing me from leaving.
His parents were there in less than ten minutes. His brother told them what happened. When they heard, even his parents got angry with him. They scolded him and told him to clean up the apartment. He refused stubbornly, and they argued.
I was determined to leave, but his parents begged me not to. They knelt and pleaded with me. It had been only a month, they told me. They wanted me to give it more time for things to get better.
My husband's family was not rich. He was also five years older than I was. He was 28 at the time. That's old in China. He also wasn't very communicative or outgoing, and tended to stay home a lot. His parents knew that if I left him--with his personality and habits--it would be difficult for their son to find another bride.
"Let her go!" he shouted again to them, stubbornly.
I got even angrier. The arguing in the house got louder.
With all the shouting and noise, some of our neighbors came to the house to see what all the commotion was about. Nobody could control him or me. We were both too angry.
Meanwhile, my father-in-law knew that my husband had a good friend whom he respected and to whom he would listen. My father-in-law decided to call him to come over to help the situation.
My husband's friend arrived soon after, and after they talked for about ten minutes, my husband came to me to apologize. However, for me, it was too late. I knew that I wanted a divorce.
"No," I said.
He then cleaned up the apartment, then got on his knees and begged me to stay. I stayed, but I knew then I did not love him.
That night, his parents went to buy food for us to have a conciliatory dinner at our house.
My husband and I stayed together, unhappily, for the next four years. Things have not improved. We don't have a common language. We think differently. When we talk about things, we do not agree. We find no common ground. He thinks only about the moment. He doesn't think about the future. He's always thinking about things getting worse, never better. We're just incompatible.
When we fought, things would often get very bad. We wouldn't talk. We would ignore each other for days at a time, and sleep in different beds. It was a very cold relationship.
"Why do I need a husband?" I once asked him. "I can do everything myself. You cannot make money. You cannot improve our life. You have me do all the work."
The truth is, I've never told my mother and father how bad things were. If I did, they would probably just remind me that it had been my own choice to marry him.
I've tried many times to leave, but there was always pressure from his parents as well as my parents. A divorce would bring embarrassment to our families. Yet staying is unbearable.
To stay or to leave? In China, we have a saying: wolves ahead and tigers behind, to describe a situation where every option brings danger and uncertainty. Such are the tigers behind me.
ME...
My name is Wang, Chun Yu. Wang is my family name. Chun Yu is my given name. In China, we say our family name first, and our given name second. I am from China, Wu Xi. In China, we say our country's name first, and our city name second. I was born in 1974, the year of the Tiger.
My parents are both over sixty years old. They have two children. My brother is five years older than me. My father worked in a factory for thirty years as the boss. My mother was a housewife.
My parents are very kind and affable, understanding and reasonable. They have good hearts and are very considerate. They are very honest. They taught me how to respect others, and to take pleasure in helping people. They taught me how to endure hardships. I love my parents. They also love me.
I grew up in the country. When I was seventeen years old, I went to the city to work in a garment factory. We got paid once a year. I know it is hard to imagine. In China, you can work for an entire year before you get your first paycheck. A factory boss in China can do that if he is a private owner. The government didn't own the factory I worked in.
I worked every day, with no holidays to rest. I had overtime every day. Every year, I saved money to give to my parents so that when I got married they could pay a dowry.
My husband worked at a car factory. Every month, he made a small amount of money--never enough to pay for power, water, telephone and rent. He, too, got paid once a year.
...AND THE WOLVES
"Aunt" Zhu was the first person who told me about Saipan. It was in 1999. At that time, Aunt Zhu was about 55 years old. She was a retired seamstress, and my boss in China hired her to work in our factory to teach us sewing techniques. We called her "aunt" because of the special relationship she developed with us. She's a very kind and caring person.
"Do you want to go to another country to work?" she asked me one day. "You are young. You should go to another country to make some money--more money than you can make in China."
"No, I don't want to," I said. A few days later, she asked me again. She also called me and asked. This time she told me that the country was called Saipan. She had never been there, but she had friends who worked there.
"Where exactly is Saipan?" I asked her. "I think I've heard about this place, but I can't remember who told me."
"Saipan is part of America," she said, "but it is very far from the US. It's a small island, but it has good salaries--higher than in China--and they have beautiful oceans, too. If you work there for three years, you can earn much more money than here."
I had never thought about going to another country to work, but when she told me more about Saipan, my heart became noisy and restless. I thought about what she said. Imagine! In three years, I could make almost $30,000 US dollars--that was about ¥240,000* [yuan]. That would be very good for me. It might take me ten or twenty years to make that much money in China.
From that time onward, I started to imagine what Saipan might be like, and how magical a place it might be. I started dreaming of going. Maybe life was offering me a special opportunity.
When I told my mother and father that I wanted to go to Saipan, they weren't very happy. Their first reason was that my son was very young. He was only three years old at the time.
They also said they had only one female child--me. They wanted me to take care of them as they were getting old.
The third reason was that if I left them, they would feel deep anxiety and would always think about me. They would miss me.
Also, if my husband was left by himself, they told me, he, a man would not be able to take care of a baby. Men don't know how to take care of babies.
They were also afraid that with a lot of money that I might be a victim of some sort of fraud or scam. It happens a lot in China. Truthfully, I was afraid of that, too.
But, I didn't care that my family wasn't happy about me going overseas. I always act according to my own will, and I was intent on having my way. Nobody could stop me. Nobody could decide for me. Nobody could change my mind. I was now determined to go to Saipan.
*The exchange rate at this time was approximately: $1US = ¥8 (Yuan).
They say that every family has a skeleton in the closet. Mine was that my relationship with my husband was not good.
In China, we say out of thirty-six plans, the best is to get away at once. Even though I did not know what the future in Saipan would be like--the unknown wolves ahead--I did know that I was very unhappy with my life in China. This made me want to leave even more to escape the tigers behind.
When I told my husband I wanted to go to Saipan, he, too, objected. He said our son was too young, and furthermore, we didn't have the money to pay the fee to the employment agency.
I told him that I could borrow the money, but he didn't listen. We argued back and forth every single day for two weeks. He had many reasons why I should not go. He said because I was always sick--with colds and stomach pain--that even if I made money on Saipan, most of it would go for medicine. My husband has no desire for progress. He's timid and fearful about everything.
One thing that my parents, my husband and I all agreed upon, however, was the fate of my son. I worried what his life would be like if I were to leave. So, I went to see my husband's father. I told him that in three years, when I came back, I would buy a house for us, and life would be better than it was at the time. I asked him to take care of my son while I was away, and he agreed. From the beginning, he supported my decision to go to Saipan. My husband's father is a more sensible and broad-minded man.
Eventually, my husband agreed and said I could go. I contacted the agency, and a few days later, I got the message to go to take a qualifying test. Before I could go to Saipan, I learned, I had to take a test to prove I could sew well enough.
MY BEST FRIEND, DA MEI
My best friend is Liu Da Mei. Da Mei is married and has a son. She and I worked together. She's from China, Chang Zhou.
Da Mei's husband was always in another city working, so most of the time, they weren't together. She was also not a rich person. I wanted Da Mei with me in Saipan so I would have a friend, and not feel so uncomfortable and alone. I asked her if she wanted to go with me. She, too, had never heard of Saipan.
When I told her what I knew about Saipan, she got as excited as I was about the idea.
In October, 1999, we went to Nan Tong to take the qualifying test for a company doing business on Saipan. Nan Tong was a two-hour bus ride from Wu Xi.
It was about 6:30 a.m. on a rainy day. Da Mei and I and a man named Mr. Wong took the bus to Nan Tong. Mr. Wong was a friend of Aunt Zhu. He knew the director at one of the factories on Saipan. If we were hired, Mr. Wong would get part of the fee we paid to the agency.
Once we got to Nan Tong, we took a taxi to the office where the test was being given.
If we passed the test, the company manager would let us know the results right away, and interview us on the spot. The atmosphere in the test room was very serious. We got nervous.
Fortunately, even though we were nervous, Da Mei and I passed the qualifying test!
In the interview that followed, the manager asked many questions. Are you married? Do you have children? Why do you want to go to Saipan? How many years do you want to work in Saipan? How much money do you want to make?
Mr. Wong had told us we had to answer every question correctly, or else they would delete our names from the list. For example, if the boss asked why you wanted to go to Saipan, some girls might say, "I want to visit another country to see what it's like." That's not the right answer. You should say, "I want to make more money to make my life better."
If they asked you how long you wanted to stay, they didn't want you to stay too short, or too long. If you said "one year" that was no good. After one year, you would just be learning to do the job, and would provide only a few months of productivity for the factory in Saipan. If you said you wanted to work more than three years, that was no good, either, because if you stayed too long, you deprived other people of contracts, and the company in China couldn't make money. The right answer was "three years."
When the boss started asking me those questions, I got very nervous. I was scared that if I said something wrong, I would be disqualified and sent home.
"Where are you from?" he first asked me.
"Wu Xi," I said.
"Who introduced you to us?"
"Mr. Wong," I said. "He's also from Wu Xi."
I was lucky he only asked me a few questions. I passed the interview! I was very happy. I cannot describe how happy I was.
Da Mei passed her interview too!
When we heard that we passed, Da Mei and I hugged each other with happiness right there in the office. We were jumping excitedly, and crying. Not everybody had the chance and the luck that we did. Some people had to take the test three or four times to pass. Others passed the test, but said the wrong thing in the interview and were sent home.
I heard somebody say that because the factory director in Saipan was from Wu Xi, that they gave us special consideration. We found out that the test grader was also from Wu Xi. I don't know if that is true, but I am glad I passed.
The agency told us what kind of materials and documentation we needed, and how much money we would have to pay. We went back to Wu Xi elated, but also a bit nervous.
On our way home, we decided we would play a joke on everyone by acting as if we had failed. When we arrived home and saw my husband and his parents, we told them we didn't pass the test. We acted very sad.
"We knew you wouldn't pass the test," they said. Too bad."
But Da Mei and I could not control ourselves any more. We couldn't hold back any longer, and started laughing. Then they realized we were joking and that we had actually passed!
But even though we passed the test and the interview, we still had not paid the recruitment fee yet, and Da Mei was not sure she would be able to find the money.
The total fee that we had to pay the agency was ¥28,000, or about $3,500US. The first half of the fee was $1,750US. They gave us one week to find the first half. That was more than I had saved.
That night, I called my uncle--my father's sister's husband--told him what I wanted to do, and asked to borrow ¥3,200, about $400US.
He didn't want to lend me the money. He said my father needed to be the one to open his mouth to request the loan. He was afraid that if I lost the money, that I would not be able to pay him back. So my father had to be the one to borrow it. If someone stole the money, or if I could not pay it back, he thought, he would be able to ask my father--not me--to pay it back.
Nobody can imagine how I felt. In China, we have a saying that translates most directly as through a door crack, people can only see a small view of a person. My uncle was looking at me as a poor young girl with no means to pay him back--through just the little crack that provided the image he had of me. He didn't see my future, who I could become, or the money I would make.
In China we say, though one is poor he still has lofty aspirations. I never asked my uncle again for anything, and I never called him again since that day. One day I will get richer than you, I promised myself.
I borrowed ¥16,800 ($2,100US) from my husband's father. When he gave it to me he said, "This money is very important. It's for your husband's mother's diabetes medicine."
I told him I knew how important it was, and promised him that I would give it back no matter what. In China, it's very hard to save money, so I know it was a lot of money to them. If I didn't give it back, it would affect their lives very much.
Lastly, I borrowed from my brother. When I asked him, my brother did not say anything. He simply gave me the money-- ¥3,200 ($400US)--the next day. With the ¥8,000 I had already saved, I now had the money I needed.
A few days later, I went by bus to Jang Yin city to take a physical exam and get the necessary medical approval. Everything went well. With the medical approval, I had everything I needed. Da Mei's situation, however, was not as good.
Da Mei's husband still didn't know that she wanted to go to Saipan. She hadn't told him. When she found out that she needed to take a physical, and that she needed money to pay the fee, it was only then that she found the courage to tell him.
Da Mei's life was not any better than mine. She, too, asked friends and family for help, but they couldn't lend her any money. She also asked me, but I couldn't help her either. Da Mei was very distraught. She wanted to give up. She also started getting nervous thinking about what would happen if this whole thing were a scam. She too feared the wolves ahead and the tigers behind.
I desperately wanted to help Da Mei, so I asked my mother if she could lend me some money. My mother gave me ¥10,000 ($1,250US). I gave it to Da Mei, and she was able to borrow the rest from the bank. I was so happy that day for her and for both of us.
We made a phone call to the agency and asked if we could pay everything at once since getting to Nan Tong was not easy and we didn't want to make two trips. They said yes, so we took all of our money to Nan Tong to pay the fee. It was on a Monday in November, 1999. We didn't go to work that day.
Once we paid the ¥28,000 fee, we got more information. We were told that ¥3,000 of the fee was a deposit which we could lose under certain conditions. For example, if we stayed on Saipan longer than three years, we would lose our deposit. If we got pregnant and had a child, we would lose the money. If we filed a case against a factory or employer, we would lose the money.
They told us that compared to China, the prices on Saipan were higher, so we should buy our necessities--things like soap, shampoo, toothpaste and toothbrushes--to take with us. They then said we should wait for their call to let us know when we were scheduled to go.
We both quit our jobs about two weeks later. Every day we went out and bought things for our trip.
We ended up waiting for three months for the phone call. And then it happened. I remember the day well. It was Tuesday, February 1, 2000. It was close to Chinese New Year, and I was at my mother's house for my father's 60th birthday.
A man from the agency called the house, and my mother answered the phone. He asked to speak to me and told me we had to be at Shanghai airport on Thursday, February 3, 2000, just two days later. Someone would be waiting for us at the airport hotel at 6:30 p.m. The flight to Saipan would leave the next morning--Friday, February 4, 2000--at 8:00 a.m.
I was very unhappy about leaving my father's birthday celebration, but since the bus ride back home was six hours, I had to leave right away. If I waited, by the time I got back home, I would have only one day to get everything together.
DEPARTURE DAY
Since Da Mei and her husband didn't have a car, and since her house was too far to travel to the airport to get there on time, we agreed that she and her husband would come to my house on Wednesday afternoon--the day before we were to leave--to stay with my husband and me.
We had a family gathering at our house that Thursday. My mother, and my husband's father and mother, my husband's uncle and his wife were there. My father wasn't there--he had to work-- but he called us that night to say goodbye. My brother also called from work to say his goodbyes.
Even though it was a family gathering with lots of food, I was too sad to eat. This would be my last night at home.
Our gathering ended early, as we had to leave at 3:00 p.m. that day to go to the airport hotel. My mother was reluctant to let go. She had started crying a full two days before I was to leave. That day, her eyes were red from crying so much.
"If Saipan is no good, you should come home early. Don't stay," she told me again and again.
My husband's parents were also weeping and sniffling. All their crying started to affect me. I could not control myself. I hugged them crying. My son--at two years old--was too small to understand what was happening, where I was going, or when I would come back. He was the only one not crying.
I really didn't want to leave my son. He is my future. He is my everything, my treasure. However, in China, we say you should not look at the sky from the bottom of the well. In other words, you cannot spend your life in one place; you must strive to elevate yourself. We also say you cannot be a frog in a well, someone of limited experiences and exposure. I had goals and plans I had to pursue. We also say, birds die in pursuit of food, and humans die in pursuit of wealth. That means people will always strive and be enterprising in pursuing matters of importance to them.
As I got inside the car that would take us to the airport, my son suddenly seemed to understand, and started crying too. I felt as if a knife had pierced my heart. Was I being callous and cruel for leaving him?
I asked my neighbor--a good friend who had come to see us off--to look out for my son if he ever needed help.
My father-in-law's friend drove us to Shanghai. My husband and I, and Da Mei, and her husband--the four of us sat silently. Nobody spoke. Everybody had a sad face. Thousands of thoughts. Thousands of emotions. The grief of parting and tearing oneself away. The sadness of separation. It is difficult to describe how miserable I felt. Thousands of words cannot describe the feeling.
It took us ninety minutes to get to Hong Qiao Airport in Shanghai. The hotel was near the airport.
Once outside the hotel, the four of us searched for the words to say our final goodbyes. Da Mei and her husband had soft eyes reflecting such tenderness for each other. The two of them seemed like young lovers. She reminded me of a young girl experiencing her first awakening of love.
My husband told me to come back if things were not good. He said I did not need to hold on to prove anything. He said to remember that I had a son, a mother and a whole family waiting for me. I listened to the words that were coming from his heart, and I felt touched. His eyes were brimming with tears, and at that moment, I forgot all the unhappiness we had been experiencing. Still, I was determined to go ahead with my life.
So, on Friday, February 4, 2000, in the morning, I found myself at China's Shanghai Airport about to start a new life. I was 25 years old. This would be my first time taking a plane. It would be my first time going to another country. It would be my first time leaving my family. Everything about this day of my life was new and curious and hopeful.
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Chapter 2 Don't Stop Until You Reach the Yellow River
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Standing at the front door of the hotel, none of us wanted to say goodbye, but we knew we had to.
Soon, our husbands left, and Da Mei and I walked into the hotel. We saw sixteen other girls there waiting for us. A man from the agency appeared and gave us our plane tickets and room numbers. Da Mei and I stayed together on the ground floor.