A Stamp and A Soul

Because we were talking about oral history, I’ve decided this blog post will consist of my grandfather’s oral history. Maybe this will be the written record of his experiences in English. (:

Story time: My paternal grandfather was a young adult when he made his trek to HK from the outskirts of China. He was in HK when World War 2 happened. He was there at the time when the Japanese occupied the city, and was struggling to make a living after having followed in his brother’s footsteps. He tells stories of when he was young, starting out as a small business owner that sold ivory and the like, including chopsticks and name stamps. There was once when a Japanese soldier commissioned my grandfather to make him a name stamp, and he paid in advance for it too. My grandfather told him to come back in 2 weeks. He waited. The soldier never showed up.

I know of this because of a project I had to do in high school, where I had to interview a WWII survivor and listen and record their stories. I had to transcribe them and present it in a report to the teacher. The ones that wanted their works published in the HK Heritage archive could do so as well. There were many stories that were told, many that were recorded, but also many that was never heard. Having our discussion of oral history and the importance of it reminded me of the project. Through it, I got to know my grandpa and his struggles, his efforts, his toil and his fears (of the world wars, of the communists, of providing for his family). Oral history may be someone’s personal history, but it is history nonetheless. The underlying tensions between the Hong Kong people and the Japanese during its occupation, along with the stark realities of war can be easily understood with my grandpa’s story.

Of course, now that he is older, he constantly talks about the old days, of when the communists came. I always hear him talk about communists this, communists that, but the stories aren’t so clear. He doesn’t talk about it. He talks about other people’s experiences, where the communists come and take everything. According to my father, he was sent to America by my grandfather to start a business in order to have the whole family immigrate to the US. Dad worked hard, and the whole family moved.

I’m always confused at the timeline of everything, because I never know exactly when we were in the ivory business, and when it stopped. Grandpa apparently owned a restaurant too. Apparently lots of people went there. Apparently it was popular. I didn’t know that. It’s not there anymore. I ask my Dad about it too, but it’s not a really satisfying answer. Maybe I’ll ask more when I get back to HK (:

My Sense of Home

Unit 2.1, Assignment 2.2 –– Home and what it means to me.

February 8th is the first day of the Chinese New Year of 2016 , and this is the time of year where my homesickness is at its worst. I’m not talking about just missing home, but aching for home, for Hong Kong, or as some of my friends have called it “Home Kong”. I remember my first year away from home I was experiencing that longing so badly that as soon as I heard gongs and drums from outside I immediately ran to my window to try and hear it better. Chinese New Year for me is like Christmas for some people; I get good food, see relatives I only see once a year, get caught up in the festive atmosphere, and most importantly, I get lai see (red pockets). But now, being away from all that, I’ve realized it’s more than just what we do, but it’s more the tradition of it––everything from preparing the house and the food, the fortune box, the red banners with golden imprinted letters of some auspicious phrase… The feeling surrounding Chinese New Year, the sense that “home” is more than place, that it includes traditions and culture, but also the people that celebrate and help create the festive, joyful atmosphere where I can fully immerse myself in.

Hong Kong New Years Fireworks Celebration

Hong Kong New Years Fireworks Celebration

Then these same people go on and cause something like the #fishballrevolution. The immediate reaction and the initial thought is: “This isn’t home. How can this be Hong Kong?”

Many of my friends have been posting on social media sites about this riot over fishballs and commenting that this is not the Hong Kong they know, nor is it the place they grew up in. But it is one and the same, just that circumstances have changed. When people talk about Hong Kong, we talk about the people of Hong Kong like they are an entity separated from the mainland China. Talk to any Hong Konger and they will tell you vehemently that we are not a part of China. We are, but we aren’t. We are more polite, more proper, more “civilized”, more free. The discrepancy between the peaceful civilized identity we built and the violence during the fishball riot is hard to reconcile, and so our response is that of denial. How can this be Hong Kong when we have always boasted of our civility to only act like barbarians over fishballs? Granted, this is a result of the #umbrellamovementHK and its unresolved tensions between the government and the people, but still.

I made a post titled identity crises back in 2014 for another class, talking about the colonization of the city I grew up in and how that has affected the people and their perceptions of their home. Hong Kong is an international city and the most visited city in the world, but underneath all the glamour and bright flashing neon signs is the identity that is shifting constantly, balancing between becoming the international city from Chinese backgrounds. That is who I am too. An international student from an international school, not quite local enough to be truly a Hong Konger, but not really Canadian enough to be Canadian either. So what is my sense of home? I’m not really sure anymore, but I feel it’s beginning to shift too.


Works Cited

Chor, Laurel. “Graphics showing why ‘Hong Kong is not China’ go viral.” Coconuts Hong Kong. N.p., 2 July 2015. Web. 8 Feb. 2016.

Iyengar, Rishi. “6 Questions You Might Have About Hong Kong’s Umbrella Revolution.” Time. N.p., 5 Oct. 2014. Web. 8 Feb. 2016.

Kwong, Vincent. 元旦日旺角舞獅2015. Youtube. N.p., 1 Jan. 2015. Web. 9 Feb. 2016.<https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=obEB6gT9YbA>.

Moss, Stephen. “Is Hong Kong Really Rioting Over Fishball Stands?” the Guardian. N.p., 9 Feb. 2016. Web. 9 Feb. 2016. <http://www.theguardian.com/lifeandstyle/shortcuts/2016/feb/09/hong-kong-fish-ball-revolution-china-riot>.

Everyone’s disappearing… Take me too, maybe? –– The Master & Margarita by Mikhail Bulgakov

Between trying to study for my mid-terms and trying to finish reading The Master and Margarita I have to admit I’ve become very confused; everything is just mixing together in this one big container labelled “brain”.

And while this mixing is going on, certain aspects of George Orwell’s 1984 surfaced and made me cringe because I did not particularly enjoy that reading from high school, though I have to admit a lot of what happens here in The Master and Margarita is similar to that of the dystopian world of 1984. Everyone is spying on everyone, everyone is suspicious of everyone, and everything is the same for everyone. Kind of boring, except there’s supposed magic and sorcery in this, which piked my interests a little. That and it’s just downright creepy what happens to some of the characters in this novel.

During the lecture today, the idea of choice was mentioned, and that lead me to think about one particular slogan used in 1984, “Freedom is slavery”. Whether or not the citizens of Moscow had a choice of which radio channel to listen to, is it not all controlled by the government either way? “Freedom is slavery”; the illusion of freedom results in the slavery of the people. They think they have a choice, but they are actually controlled by the government in the choices they make.

This leads to another thought, of whether this form of control is present in our society today. In a sense, we are slaves of choice as a representation of freedom. I say this because we are constantly having to make choices through our everyday lives. Starbucks or Tim Hortons? Tea or coffee or hot chocolate or latte or cappuccino? Don’t all these small decisions in our lives enslave us to consumerism and capitalism, aiding the economy and the government as well?

The regulation of the population in The Master and Margarita also highlights this, in that people supposedly have a freedom to do as they please, but they do not, in fear for the secret police and the mysterious disappearances. Maybe I’m not articulating this very well since I am just wondering around aimlessly on this train of thought and will just disappear now amongst the studying and readings I have to do.


— cherie.