Copyright 2018 Thien Tang
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or used or stored in any form or by any means graphic, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying or by any information storage or retrieval system without the prior written permission of the publisher. Any requests for photocopying, recording, taping or information storage and retrieval systems shall be directed in writing to the publisher or to Access Copyright, The Canadian Copyright Licensing Agency (www.AccessCopyright.ca). This also applies to classroom use.
Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication
Tang, Thien, 1961-, author
The other side of the sun : the true story of one refugees journey / Thien Tang.
Previously published: Cornwall, Prince Edward Island : Thien Tang, 2018.
Issued in print and electronic formats.
ISBN 978-1-988286-35-8 (softcover). --ISBN 978-1-988286-36-5 (EPUB)
1. Tang, Thien, 1961-. 2. Refugees--Vietnam--Biography. 3. Refugees--Canada--Biography. 4. Boat people--Vietnam--Biography. 5. Boat people--Canada--Biography. I. Title.
HV640.5.V5T36 2018 305.906914092 C2018-900828-8
C2018-900829-6
Cover design by Gail LeBlanc
eBook: tikaebooks.com
Pottersfield Press gratefully acknowledges the financial support of the Government of Canada through the Canada Book Fund for our publishing activities. We also acknowledge the support of the Canada Council for the Arts and the Province of Nova Scotia which has assisted us to develop and promote our creative industries for the benefit of all Nova Scotians.
Pottersfield Press
248 Leslie Road
East Lawrencetown, Nova Scotia, Canada, B2Z 1T4
To order, phone 1-800-NIMBUS9 (1-800-646-2879) www.nimbus.ns.ca
Printed in Canada
Pottersfield Press is committed to preserving the environment and the appropriate harvesting of trees and has printed this book on Forest Stewardship Council certified paper.
Some names and identifying details have been changed to protect the privacy of the individuals.
prologue
December 1979
I left the public library in Charlottetown, Prince Edward Island, on a twilit evening when the wind was howling and the snow swirling in my face. For many days now, the cold had been relentless. I had begun to realize how bitter this Canadian winter could be. It was beyond anything I could have imagined. And never could I have imagined myself staggering along the windswept and snow-covered streets of an island in the Gulf of St. Lawrence. All alone.
Not long ago, I had been baking under the blistering Malaysian sun in a crowded refugee camp, longing for a place with less misery. And here I was, my wish fulfilled; yet a safe new life of loneliness wasnt what I wanted. Alone was what I felt when I wandered through the deserted streets named for royalty Prince, Queen, King and admired the festive lights beneath the house eaves. They were colourful, like the lights of Saigons outdoor markets during Chinese New Year, and twinkled like the stars during my nights crossing the South China Sea. Peering through the windows, I watched happy people gathered around tables, feasting and toasting. The holiday season they were celebrating besieged me with homesickness.
It had been four months since my arrival in this once faraway land. I still shuddered in disbelief. How could I have strayed this far from home? Yesterday was still fresh in my memory: the glistening knives of the pirates as they approached our stalled boat, the Malaysians bullets coming at us, and the pain from a rifle butt striking my back and a whip lashing my thighs. Even now, my stomach would still ache when I recalled those hungry days scrounging for crickets, shrimp, anything at all to eat. My heart would still skip a beat when I relived jumping out of the sinking boat. And how could I ever forget the hardships subsisting in the hot furnace that was Malaysia the scorching days, the sweltering nights , and the guards iron fists?
I never thought I would crave my refugee life one day, foolishly and helplessly, like a junkie in need of his fix. Let me return to all that misery; let me once again hear the familiar sound of the language I understand and be with the people I know.
Not that I didnt have a good new life. This land had saved me. Its people and their generosity had provided me with shelter, food, and warm clothes. But the large family I cherished, the girl I loved, and the friends I treasured were carrying on with their lives elsewhere without me, leaving me feeling forgotten and racked with homesickness. Loneliness was my shadow, and I a freed bird with broken wings.
My new home was a short walk from those streets of royalty, one small rented room with a ceiling inches above my head, a small fridge, a bed with pots and pans hanging above it, and a table with one chair by a small window. I sat there often, watching the empty street below, my eyes peeled for a familiar sight, like a prisoner awaiting a visitor.
This evening I had reason to hurry home. In my hand was a record album that the librarian said I should listen to. I had readily agreed music was a taste of spring for me on these hard winter nights.
I entered the house, which was quiet and dark since my landlord was away. I raced up the handful of steps to my room. Then I put on the record, crashed onto the bed winter jacket and all, and closed my eyes.
I could still hear the librarians voice. Listen to The Other Side of the Sun on this album by Janis Ian. Youll like it. Itll be a good change from that Andy Williams Love Story.
At least that was what I figured shed said from the little English I knew, aided by her vigorous hand signalling. I smiled to myself. All I had ever borrowed was Love Story, and that must have worried her.
I lay there, tracing the lyrics on the albums jacket and letting the sunshiny music wash over me:
Leaving on a boat
for beyond the other side of the ocean,
Ill bet you in the morning
you wont even know Im gone.
Cause Im tired of living here in the middle of a mixed emotion,
I might as well be living on the other side of the sun.
Leaving with the feeling,
