TED 生存故事 谭黎：我的移民故事

How can I speak in 10 minutes about the bonds of women over

three

generations,

about

how

the

astonishing

strength

of

those

bonds took hold in the life of a four-year-old girl huddled with her

young

sister,

her

mother

and

her

grandmother

for

five

days

and

nights in a small boat in the China Sea more than 30 years ago,

bonds that took hold in the life of that small girl and never let go --

that

small

girl

now

living

in

San

Francisco

and

speaking

to

you

today? This is not a finished story. It is a jigsaw puzzle still being

put together. Let me tell you about some of the pieces. Imagine the

first piece: a man burning his life's work. He is a poet, a playwright,

a man whose whole life had been balanced on the single hope of

his

country's

unity

and

freedom.

Imagine

him

as

the

communists

enter Saigon, confronting the fact that his life had been a complete

waste.

Words,

for

so

long

his

friends,

now

mocked

him.

He

retreated

into

silence.

He

died

broken

by

history.

He

is

my

grandfather. I never knew him in real life.

But our lives are much

more than our memories. My grandfather never let me forget his life.

My duty was not to allow it to have been in vain, and my lesson was

to

learn

that,

yes,

history

tried

to

crush

us,

but

we

endured.

The

next

piece

of

the

jigsaw

is

of

a

boat

in

the

early

dawn

slipping

silently out to sea. My mother, Mai, was 18 when her father died --

already in an arranged marriage, already with two small girls. For

her, life had distilled itself into one task: the escape of her family

and

a

new

life

in

Australia.

It

was

inconceivable

to

her

that

she

would not succeed. So after a four-year saga that defies fiction, a

boat slipped out of sea disguised as a fishing vessel. All the adults

knew the risks. The greatest fear was of pirates, rape and death.

Like most adults on the boat, my mother carried a small bottle of

poison. If we were captured, first my sister and I, then she and my

grandmother would drink. My first memories are from the boat -- the

steady beat of the engine, the bow dipping into each wave, the vast

and empty horizon. I don't remember the pirates who came many

times, but were bluffed by the bravado of the men on our boat, or

the

engine

dying

and

failing

to

start

for

six

hours.

But

I

do

remember the lights on the oil rig off the Malaysian coast and the

young man who collapsed and died, the journey's end too much for

him, and the first apple I tasted, given to me by the men on the rig.

No apple has ever tasted the same. After three months in a refugee

camp, we landed in Melbourne. And the next piece of the jigsaw is

about

four

women

across

three

generations

shaping

a

new

life

together. We settled in Foots Cray, a working-class suburb whose

demographic

is

layers

of

immigrants.

Unlike

the

settled

middle-class

suburbs,

whose

existence

I

was

oblivious

of,

there

was no sense of entitlement in Foots Cray. The smells from shop

doors were from the rest of the world. And the snippets of halting

English

were

exchanged

between

people

who

had

one

thing

in

common,

they

were

starting

again.

My

mother

worked

on

farms,

then

on

a

car

assembly

line,

working

six

days,

double

shifts.

Somehow

she

found

time

to

study

English

and

gain

IT

qualifications.

We

were

poor.

All

the

dollars

were

allocated

and

extra

tuition

in

English

and

mathematics

was

budgeted

for

regardless of what missed out, which was usually new clothes; they

were always secondhand. Two pairs of stockings for school, each

to

hide

holes

in

the

other.

A

school

uniform

down

to

the

ankles,

because it had to last for six years. And there were rare but searing

chants of

home

to

where?

Something

stiffened

inside

me.

There

was

a

gathering of resolve and a quiet voice saying,

My mother, my sister and I slept in the same bed. My mother was

exhausted each night, but we told one another about our day and

listened to the movements of my grandmother around the house.

My mother suffered from nightmares all about the boat. And my job

was to stay awake until her nightmares came so I could wake her.

She opened a computer store then studied to be a beautician and

opened another business. And the women came with their stories

about men who could not make the transition, angry and inflexible,