my parents’ marriage was still difficult for my mother. In a traditional Chinese marriage, wives are completely dependent on their husbands. They were given an allowance and not much decision-making power. Men were not always faithful to their wives. And, of course, polygamy was still legal and an acceptable cultural practice. Women were talked down to and seldom treated as equals. Most Chinese mothers passed this attitude on: sons were the sun and moon, the hope and anchor for their old age. Daughters, not so much.
While there were moments of tenderness in my parents’ marriage, it also had its share of quarrels. My father tended to leave home after dinner and return in the wee hours of the morning. My mother took to staying up late and seldom went to bed before 2 a.m. Her nocturnal routine left little time for us to interact. Sometimes when I was in high school, when I pulled all-nighters for exams, we would share her midnight snacks of soup and noodles. But when I was young, I felt that my mother only managed to give me her leftover energy. Years later, I would understand that my mother was in a hard place herself; that it was difficult coping with all the changes she had faced in her life. My father’s behavior also created many deep hurts.
My nanny’s full name is Fung Yau (馮友), with 馮 “Fung” as the family name and 友 “Yau” as the given name meaning “friend.” While it is pronounced the same as the “Yau” in my name, they represent different Chinese characters. She joined our family eight years before I was born and still lives in Hong Kong today. For some reason, one of my sisters called her Gaga, or Ah Gaga because in the Cantonese dialect a reference to someone is often preceded with “ah.” Gaga has been part of our family for four generations, from my grandparents to our children.
Gaga was the eldest daughter of four children born to a farmer-scholar in the Kwongtung province around 1918. When her father died of tuberculosis, which was not unusual in those days, Gaga became a servant girl. She was eleven years old, making fifty Chinese cents a month. The entire sum was given to her mother for raising her younger siblings. As the maid for the young children of her employer, she carried their bags when they went to the village school. Gaga learned how to read by standing outside the classroom and listening to the lessons, gaining sufficient mastery to read the newspaper, although she never had the opportunity to learn to write.
The family that employed her was kind to her and taught her great manners. When World War II broke out in China, the family moved to Saigon and took her with them. In that French colony, she developed a love for French amenities and Shirley Temple movies. One of her treats was the French perfume Night of Paris. She never wore it herself, but she would put a dab into my hair after she finished braiding it. Gaga was known for her beauty accentuated by a poise that was almost regal.
Several times, her employers wanted to arrange a marriage for her. The intended grooms were other house servants or heavy laborers. My nanny turned down every attempt. In those days, it was unthinkable for a Chinese woman to reject marriage, but Gaga felt that her first duty was to her mother and siblings, who counted on her wages. Marriage would jeopardize her ability to continue working and directing all her resources to her family. Her independence was important to her, and she would rather work hard on her own terms than enter into a marriage where she would completely depend on the whims, kindness, generosity, or small-mindedness of a husband. After the war, she decided to move from Saigon to Hong Kong, where opportunities would be more plentiful and she would be closer to China.
In 1946, Fung Yau was hired as a servant to help my mother take care of my sister Irene. When I was born, we became inseparable. To get me out of the way of the adults, she carried me on her back using a Chinese-style Snugli while she conducted her chores of cleaning and laundering. She and I (and at certain times different siblings) shared the same room all the time I was growing up. It was to her I would spill out my worries — when my parents quarreled or, later, when my father had his first heart attack. I would complain to her about the privileged place my brothers enjoyed. Together we processed the news on the late-night radio show that reported the murder of a popular Hong Kong journalist when he spoke out against Communism. One of my earliest memories is from the time Gaga took ill when I was only three. I brought a stool and sat at the foot of her bed, watching over her until she opened her eyes and was well again.
Every morning when Ah Gaga got me ready for kindergarten at the Precious Blood School, she would send me off with perfect braids, the whitest starched uniform, matching spotless white socks and shoes, and a little wet towel in a soap box. In those days, the teacher would stamp in the student record book a “rabbit” for good behavior (attentiveness, neat appearance, completion of homework, obedient conduct) and a “pig” for anything less. Before I left for school each morning, my nanny would say to me that she had done her part in getting me ready and that I should do my part to bring home a rabbit for the day. I was glad to do that because the rabbit would be for both of us. After a year of only rabbits on my record book, I won a gold medal. Carved on it were my name and the Chinese characters for perfect conduct. It was placed on a chain for me to wear. I bit on it regularly, and it was so thin and pliable that I left little teeth marks. To this day it is one of my most cherished possessions.
Through the years, my nanny continued to instill in me a strong sense of discipline and the willingness to work hard. I did my homework in the same room where she ironed. She was a perfectionist in all she did. Her commandment — “Don’t play until you finish your work” — is forever chiseled into my brain. When I whimpered about the quantity of work, I only had to look at her duties and knew I could do more. At sixteen, when I took a practice test for the SAT and scored miserably on the verbal section, I was crestfallen. When I told Gaga that I did not know enough English words, she suggested, in the most pragmatic fashion, that I spend an extra hour a night studying the dictionary. I did and got over the hump.
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