I always knew my father hated Japan, because during World War Ⅱ, the Japanese army occupied Hong Kong, our home, for three years and eight months. They did a lot of harm to the people in our city. I wasn’t born yet, but my two older brothers, who were boys then, both died during the invasion so I never got to know them. My parents told me about them, that they didn’t have enough food and medical care during the war, and when the bombs fell on our city every day and night with terrible deafening noises and fire, my two little older brothers didn’t survive.
When I told my father I wanted to go to Japan to study, I expected him to object, but I never saw him so angry, like he was mad enough to kill me, although he didn’t lay a hand on me. My father was a traditional Chinese man; he said that going to college is not a daughter’s right. The right belongs to sons. He was afraid that I just wanted to get away from home and waste time and money playing.
I was horribly upset over my father’s anger. But I was still determined to go to study the language at a Japanese college. My reasons were very practical, because I only had a high school diploma, and I was not an outstanding student. I didn’t have any special skill to help me find a good job. I had to study something out of the ordinary to be competitive in our Hong Kong society. I knew War World Ⅱ was very terrible, but I felt it was the Japanese government’s fault, not the people’s fault, especially those who had been born after the war ended.
I had analyzed the economic trends in Asia at that time, and Japan’s economy was ahead of the other Asian countries. Not many Hong Kong people could speak Japanese, and as I learned the language I found it easier than English. So I kept silent and continued to prepare to go to Japan. From then on, I never talked about going there to study with my father or any other family member. Father also kept silent, not sure how to deal with such a stubborn daughter.
For three years, during the day I worked in a publishing house as a typesetter. For another two years, I did different kind of jobs. But I always went to school to study Japanese and English at night.
When I was finally ready to go to Japan, I had to tell my father and ask him for financial help. Although I had saved money for many years, it was still not enough. I expected my father to be angry at me again. I was extremely nervous and fearful, but this time he was very calm. He said “I have watched you for a long time; I believe in you. You are really passionate to learn Japanese. Follow your passion, go and don’t worry about the money, but when you have something that makes you happy or unhappy, write a letter home to share your feelings.”
I couldn’t speak a word. Tears sprang to my eyes. Soon after I brought a cup of tea in the ultimate sign of respect in our Chinese culture, I knelt before my father, held up the cup and kowtowed to him to say, “Thank you, Father!”
