by Clarissa Shieh
“Back in Shanghai, I had my grandparents who always cared for and loved me. When I moved to Hong Kong, they weren’t able to leave. They were never able to eat well, and I never saw them again.” This was just one of the hardships my grandma, Maisie, faced as a young eight-year-old during World War II. Over 70 years later, I walked down the downstairs hallway into my grandma’s room, laptop in arms, ready to ask her about her childhood. Though I had lived with and been taken care of by my grandma my entire life, I had never learned about her childhood or past in China and Hong Kong. Born in Shanghai, Maisie grew up during the war as the oldest of eight children. As a young child, she and her family fled to Hong Kong to escape the control of China’s Communist government. As I plopped onto the olive cube-shaped ottoman in her room, my grandma, wearing a purple sweater and a grey hat over her wispy black-grey hair, took a seat on her bed. I looked around at her rug covered in multicolored squares and golden yellow curtains as I took a breath, ready to begin the interview. The interview was conducted in Cantonese—a language comfortable to my grandma but one I can mostly only understand—and has been translated to English.
In the 1940s, the time of my grandma’s childhood, China was faced with both global and national turmoil: World War II and the Chinese Civil War. The Chinese Civil War was a battle between the nationalist Republic of China, who eventually retreated to Taiwan, and the Chinese Communist Party, the current party of the Chinese government. This period was a time filled with poverty and calamity—one that impacted both civilians and soldiers alike in the country and resulted in millions of casualties. Beginning in 1927, the war was fought until 1949 but was temporarily interrupted by World War II. Though China emerged victorious from World War II, the political unrest between the two parties of the civil war remains today.
Though she was worried about her memory and hesitant about sharing some memories, my grandma was willing to tell most of her story. I began by asking her, in broken Cantonese, a light question to ease into the interview.
“What was your family like?”
She quickly began describing her family. “I lived with my mother and father, aunt and uncle, and great aunt. Because I was the oldest and my family was so small, my family was so happy when I was born. My parents had been married for many years but didn’t have any children, so I was very loved growing up. In Shanghai, I had three other siblings, and in Hong Kong, my mom gave birth to three younger brothers and one younger sister. So, I became the older sister.” She recalled living in a lively home with her younger brothers often running around and making noise. As the oldest, she often took care of her siblings who were at most 20 years younger than her.
“What was your life like in Shanghai?” I then asked.
After taking a moment to reflect, my grandma began detailing fragmented moments of her childhood as she glanced around her small bedroom. “In Shanghai, for a while, I was the only child. I was well-loved by my family who was always willing to help me. I had two more younger siblings born in Shanghai; their fates were very sad. It was during the war and China’s government, the Communist government, was intensely controlling. People didn’t even have food to eat! There wasn’t even enough milk powder for babies. My mom often times didn’t have milk to feed us due to malnutrition. So, she had to make a sort of baby food-like paste with rice so we wouldn’t starve. It is also very cold in Shanghai and two of my sisters—I was so young I don’t even remember what they looked like—died. It must’ve been from starvation and the freezing temperatures.”
My heart dropped a little as I thought about how a war could impact young children so often that it wasn’t uncommon for a child to die in part from a government’s actions. I began to feel grateful to live in a place where I didn’t need to worry about being hungry or feel the need to move to another country in order to escape the grasp of a restricting government.
Then, I transitioned into her journey as a refugee. “When and why did your family flee and seek refuge?”
“At the time, the Communist Party was very controlling. Hong Kong was an English colony back then, and so its government was much more democratic and free. In China, there were things where you weren’t allowed to do this or that,” my grandma explained. “So, my dad and some of his friends were opening a business—they opened it from Shanghai to Hong Kong. He moved to Hong Kong first and then me, two of my younger brothers, and my younger sister followed. One of my brothers, when he came to Hong Kong, suddenly dropped dead.”
My eyes widened a little as I looked up at my grandma. She looked down for an instant reflecting, grey hat in hand. However, she quickly brushed it off, moved past the moment, refused to dwell on it. In moments like these, the silence almost seemed to speak stronger than any words she could have spoken. Sensing her hesitation, I prompted her with another question.
“Were you old enough to understand why you had to leave at the time?”
“When I was eight, I left for Hong Kong. My parents said we had to immigrate, and I was so little, I just had to go with them!” she exclaimed.
Curious to know more, I asked about her transition to Hong Kong at such a young age and at such a sudden time.
“I was only eight and only knew Shanghainese and Mandarin,” she began. “When I moved to Hong Kong, I didn’t know a single word of Cantonese. I remember someone taught me that when someone knocks on your door, you ask them ‘Bin go?’ (‘Who is it?’). I was so confused as this term seemed so strange. So, I thought about how it sounds like ‘ping guo’ (‘apple’). I came to Hong Kong only knowing that phrase.”
I giggled, trying to imagine my grandma’s confusion as a young girl. However, the mood quickly changed as she shifted around on the magenta blanket on her bed and began describing those she had to leave behind in Shanghai.
“When I left Shanghai, I also left my grandparents. The government was so controlling, and they didn’t have enough to eat. My dad would make and sew together fabric satchels and fill them with a bag of milk powder, a bag of rice, and a bag of oatmeal to send up to my grandparents. As an elementary schooler, I would help him. My grandparents weren’t eating very well; the government really wasn’t good. It’s unlike today—China today has lots to eat and is thriving. Back then, there was nothing to eat. In America, where it’s much more democratic, as long as you have money, you can get food to eat. Back then in China, you were not able to.”
This moment put in perspective how recent many events in history were. Though we learn about these times in our history textbooks, the China today and the China during the war—though seemingly worlds apart—are not all that far apart in time. It serves as a reminder of how important it is to preserve history by keeping the stories of those who witnessed key moments alive before they get lost in time. My grandma then began recollecting a happier memory: the plane ride from Shanghai to Hong Kong.
“Back then, riding on planes was really funny. The planes back then weren’t that big, not like today’s fast JetBlue planes. They made a lot of noise, a sort of clunking noise. This was my first time riding on a plane, so I was super excited and was jumping on the plane! But then, a few people told me ‘don’t jump’ and ‘don’t run,’ scared that something might happen to the plane. However, it was just a really short flight that was less than ten hours.”
Hearing these moments warmed my heart knowing that even in a childhood with hardships during a war, there were still happy and carefree moments. Nevertheless, it also emphasized her youth and innocence in a time where she and those around her faced many struggles.
I ended the interview with an “m goi” (“thank you”), feeling more connected to not only my grandma but also to my past. I was able to get to know someone I had known my entire life in a new way. Through her stories of snow, satchels, and survival, I have come to admire my grandma even more for her caring and nurturing nature despite the adversities she has faced. Her undying love for family has become all the more meaningful after I learned about the misfortunes she faced in her own childhood. With storytelling, we are able to connect and understand others better while allowing us to value and preserve one another’s experiences.