Showing posts with label family history. Show all posts
Showing posts with label family history. Show all posts

Thursday, February 14, 2013

Fung My Valentine

I began this Valentine's Day with an email from my dad: 


Hi Kids,

I just came across an oldie that I haven't heard since teenage years. It's like finding an old friend. It still sounds so good. Check the lyrics too if you have time:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EmRG0Y5N8lg 

Dad



While I grew up loving much of the music my dad listens to, I can't say that I'm a fan of this particular ditty. But I can see why the refrain, "It's true, good timin' brought me to you" speaks to my dad. He has always said that it was precisely timing that brought him and my mother together. Dad's visa was expiring, and he had yet to secure a steady job. Meanwhile, his mother was dying in Hong Kong, so he knew that he had to leave the US and risk not being able to come back. The prospect of having to live in Hong Kong, a place he had always hated, terrified him. Through family, he met my mother, who had a green card. After a 3 month courtship, they got married in Reno. He went to Hong Kong, saw his mother's passing, and then returned 3 months later to begin his new life. My father likes to say that he met my mother just at the right time, and that saved him from a life of misery. 

My mother doesn't talk much about how she met and married my dad. But the pieces I've gathered of her side of the story make their courtship an utterly unromantic one. She had never wanted to come to the US or get married. To this day, she says that the happiest year of her life was when her ailing parents had been sent to the US by her sisters, leaving her alone to live as she pleased. Immigrating was very traumatic for her. A shy and sensitive person to begin with, she never could get over her inability to speak English and adapt to American culture, which she regarded as hostile. I don't know if she left behind a love in Taiwan. My aunt says she cried herself to sleep every night for a year. By the time she met my father, her life was confined to taking care of her parents, a duty she never complained about but must have also longed to escape. My dad, a graduate of UC Berkeley and the University of Chicago, looked like someone who could provide for her. With encouragement from her family (who probably worried about what other prospects a 30-year-old woman with little educational capital would have in a strange country), she agreed to marry my father. I've long known that their marriage was based more on security than love or romance. When I ask my mom what prompted her to get married, she says, "It was timing." 

I often think about how much of my own life has been indebted to timing and countless factors beyond my control. The fact that my parents could settle in an area that they would not have been able to afford were they starting their life now, the fact that I went to college at a time when tuition was still affordable, the fact that my job opened up just at the time I was finishing my degree, the fact that interest rates were low at the time I bought my first home... All these things led me to where I am now, and they all have to do with timing. 

When it comes to matters of the heart, however, I've never given timing much thought. I've had relationships end because I discovered that the person wasn't right for me. My own stupidity, rather than timing, led to those heartaches. Recently, however, I fell in love with a very good man who, due to what could be called "bad timing," had a harder time figuring out where I fit in his life. I may never find out if we could be very good together if timing were better, or if he would have turned out to be the wrong person for me regardless of the timing. Should either be true, I suppose I can try to find consolation in telling myself that the right person at the wrong time is still the wrong person.

But that's not satisfying either, especially when I think about my parents' marriage. I would never want to emulate it-- The differences in their temperaments, habits, and upbringings, would suggest that they were always wrong for each other. But in spite of the tensions in their relationship, they've managed to build a life together for 35 years and raise me and my brother, who both turned out as well adjusted and independent people, in a loving and healthy environment. I would stack up my parents' commitment to each other against any other couple that got together in more romantic circumstances. And while I would want more romance and affection than what appears to exist in their marriage, I have also come to appreciate more and more the loyalty, fortitude, and constancy that sustains their relationship and, in turn, our family. 

So is it so much timing that determined their staying power, or the choices they made in the face of timing? After all, my parents could have each submitted to the troubles facing them-- Dad could have returned to Hong Kong and stayed there, and mom could have decided to return to Taiwan after her parents died. And at all the points of trouble during their marriage (the financial crisis of these past few years being one), either one of them could have made the decision to call it quits. Not necessarily for any better or worse, the course of my family history could have been entirely different had timing prompted them to make different choices. I would like to think that choosing to bear things together is, in itself, love.

So perhaps timing isn't a matter of "good" or "bad," but of how one decides to take advantage of it. After all, the person who's willing to stand by you at the worst time in your life could also be the best person to share it with. Maybe that's the upside of the rather depressing circumstances that brought my parents together. I suppose, when the time is right, I'll find a partner in life who will stand by me during good times and bad. 

So I wish a Happy Valentine's Day to Mama and Papa Fung, who are always teaching me life lessons whether they mean to or not. 

Saturday, February 9, 2013

Fungs Do Not Like Snow

My dad's ticket of entry into the U.S. was his admission into Washington State University, a school he knew nothing about except that tuition was cheap. For a Chinese kid who grew up in Saigon and Hong Kong, to be plopped into Pullman, with its corn fields, red barns, and white faces, must have been quite a culture shock. He experienced snow for the first time there, which was a thrilling novelty at first but soon became the bane of his existence. To this day, my dad attributes his lifelong troubles with arthritis to that first winter, when he played in the snow without covering his 110-pound body, which up until then had only been exposed to 80 degree weather, with the proper attire. He says that the morning after that first frolic, his joints were in so much pain that he couldn't move. His right leg remained swollen for the rest of the semester. Chinese medicine would attribute my dad's ailment to "fung sup," or "wind and dampness," which throws off the equilibrium of your body's "life energy" or "qi."  (The opposite would be "yeet hay," or "hot air," which results in a different set of ailments.) It's no wonder that, after one semester in WASU, my dad decided he had to transfer to UC Berkeley. There, still limping around campus, he got referred to a Dr. Lee, a Chinese American doctor, who drained his swollen leg and prescribed a regimen of aspirin. Eventually, the pain and swelling went away, but he always got some flare-ups during cold weather. Two years ago, he had to get his right hip replaced, and he was still cursing that fateful snow day in Pullman.

I just survived my first New England blizzard, Nemo. I sent my family pictures I took while tromping around waist-deep in snow.



My dad's email reply: 

"Holy Shit! It reminds me of Pullman in the winter of 1969. Dad" 



Wednesday, December 28, 2011

The Fung Genealogy Project

My family does our big Christmas gettogether on Christmas Eve, which means that Christmas Day usually finds us bored and in need of something to do. This year, I decided to get my family to start a project I've long wanted to do: build the family tree.

So I started an account on Ancestry.com, and our entire gang-- me, my brother, my parents, a bunch of my aunts, uncles and cousins-- gathered around as I input all of our names and birthdates into the system. Upon discovering that we can pull up records like marriage and divorce indexes, the older folks began outpouring family dramas from the past. (A less light-hearted version of Fung My Life could document stories of adultery, political betrayal, mental illness, all sorts of juicy stuff.) My dad then became particularly preoccupied with digging up dirt on his cousin's ex-husband from the 1970s.

Dad: Oh! See if you can find anything on Aunt G's husband, ah-Bob.

Me: Who was Bob?

Dad: He was a bad, bad man. I remember when Aunt G was still in Hong Kong and married to her first husband, she somehow met Bob. So she had an affair with Bob and then left to the US with him. Later, she sent for her three kids and her husband, and they came to the US. So her husband thought she wanted to reconcile, but when he got there, he found that Bob was living with her. But the real bad thing is that Bob was abusive to the kids.

Me: That's terrible. So did she leave him?

Dad: No! He left her! He went back to Hong Kong to rekindle a romance with a previous girlfriend. He always tried to swindle rich women. But that woman had already married some rich guy so she told him to fuck off.

Me: Damn. He was a bad man.

Dad: Yeah, very bad. And we all thought G was stupid to go with him. But Bob was evil. Evil Bob.

Me: So what do you want me to find out?

Dad: Find out if they ever got divorced! And if he ever got remarried!

Me: Was his official name Bob or Robert? Or some Chinese name?

Dad: Oh, I don't know. He's just Bob. Evil Bob.


Collectively, we were able to locate records confirming that he and my aunt G had indeed divorced. But even with knowing the man's full name, the older folks continue to use the moniker my dad coined in recalling this particular family drama: "Where does Evil Bob live now?" "I heard Evil Bob got a stroke a few years ago." "I wonder if Evil Bob got much of G's money." "I remember Evil Bob was at my wedding."

Evil Bob has become a sort of icon in the family history. He may need his own blog. EvilBob.blogspot.com.

Tuesday, October 11, 2011

Revolution in the Genes

Today marks the 100 year anniversary of the Xinhai Revolution, which brought about the collapse of the last imperial dynasty in China. When I started getting involved in student protests at the University of California two years ago, my dad first told me that I have an ancestor who was prominently involved in the Xinhai Revolution. It seems only appropriate that I revisit that history today, not only because of the anniversary, but also because of the exciting spread of activism happening right now. (I'm getting involved in Occupy Boston.)

In an email dated September 19, 2009, my dad wrote:



Hi Prof,

I remember you have some revolutionary genes. Your great grandpa was a revolutionary. He helped organize the Chinese Republican Revolution in the south against the Ching Dynasty around 1905. The revolution succeeded in 1911 when China became a republic. But then the Nationalist Party (mom's party) became the dominant party with no checks on their corruption. Then came two world wars until the Communist Party took over in 1949. That was one of the darkest pages in Chinese history.

Your great grandpa's name is Wong Wai Yin. He is the father of my mom Wong Po Ching. He used to live in Canton. When the Ching government went after him, he fled to Vietnam where he married a third wife of Chinese origin (how nice!) who gave birth to only one daughter, who is my mom. He shuttled between Saigon and Canton many times. In Canton, two wives took care of him and provided shelter (how nice!). Uncle Gerard's father was the only son of his first wife. The second wife had no kids but was said to be very beautiful. He had written some nice poems to describe the second one. He also wrote something about the third for her ability to make plenty of money. I saw the writings when I was small but no trace could be found now. I don't know what kind of business he did but he obviously could afford three (maybe with help from the third one). How jealous am I! And how I want to become a revolutionary!

The revolutionary gene definitely comes from my mother's side. My mom is a small gentle woman so the gene was suppressed. It might have bloomed in me when I was a sexy young man at age 20 in Berkeley. But I was too busy to get out to make money. Now it's too late because I even want to make more money. I am afraid that the gene has the urge to explode through you like a volcano.

In addition, the Fung family carries the destructive anarchy/anti-authority gene that is obvious in both Yeye and me, and you guys too. The anarchy gene provides the twisted mentality and attitude, while the revolutionary gene provides the physical urge for action. I think this is a real deadly combination, especially exhibited in a female. Look at all the Fung females! I just hope that mom's obedience genes can provide some checks and balances. Else, I don't know what to do with you but pray only.

Furthermore, do not pollute Cynthia and Philip with your call for action. They've inherited these kinds of destructive genes through my sister. These genes may be dornant now subject to agitation. I don't want you to be the agitator.

Dad