“The journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step.”
– Lao Tzu
The plane door was closed. The soft hiss of the pressurized cabin drowned out the distant hum of the airport. This was it! I had stepped at the point of no return on a journey that would define the rest of my life. As the engines rumbled to life and the plane began to taxi away from the terminal gate, I clutched the armrest, my heart pounding. The flight attendant took out the oxygen mask and life vest for the flight safety demonstration as the passengers settled into their seats. The aisle grew quieter. The realization hit me like a tidal wave: this was the watershed moment of my life. Nothing would ever be the same from now on.
The plane ascended with a roar, navigating the narrow corridor flanked by dense clusters of towering offices and residential buildings near Hong Kong Kai Tak International Airport. Through the window, the Pearl City of the East began to unveil itself, presenting its splendor one final time to me. Gleaming skyscrapers soared against the backdrop of distant mountains, their mirrored surfaces catching the fiery hues of the setting sun. Tiny islands rose from the blue waters, their lush forests forming vibrant green crowns. Sailboats dotted Victoria Bay, licking the waves of the South China Sea.
The view was breathtaking, or even perfect. But, I was not in the right frame of mind to fully enjoy it. Instead, my thoughts raced back the hectic weeks that just passed. Studying in a US university for a degree was a new thing in China. For me, it had been five years in the making. China was still a relatively poor country in the 1990s. Unlike many of the affluent Chinese students who would later fill U.S. campuses, I had to spend about two years to find a financial sponsor in the United States to sign the dotted line on my I-20 Form. The financial sponsorship only means that if I could not pay my tuition and living expenses, my sponsor would be obliged to cover them for me. I had never expected that my sponsor would pay a penny of my expenses. Later, at the most financially stressful time of my first year in America, I never asked for it.
Obviously, securing a student visa was a must before anything else could happen. Three weeks earlier, I walked into the U.S. Consulate in Guangzhou, armed with the required documents and a mix of cautious optimism and trepidation. The visa officer greeted me with an emotionless hello, took over my admission letter, I-20 form, and proof of financial support and carefully examined them. He seemed ready to approve it, but was still searching for something. I added that I was also awarded a teaching assistantship (TA) to bolster my case. His hand froze mid air. “Bring that paperwork next week,” he said, handing my documents back. My heart sank. As I left the building, the sweltering Guangzhou heat wrapped around me like a suffocating blanket. I blamed myself for volunteering the information I did not have proof, causing unnecessary delay. With the financial sponsorship, he did not need the TA to approve my student visa.
A little deflated, I comforted myself for not being rejected outright. I picked myself up and tried to find the nearest Post Office, the only place where international phone calls could be made. I waited inside the Post Office for a while until a phone booth was available. I placed a collect call (Interestingly, nowadays, a collect call is one an inmate makes from prison. It was somewhat fitting for me in a sense) to Donna, the International Student Advisor at Western Kentucky University. She reassured me with a calmness that steadied my nerves. “It is good that the visa officer did not reject you. It is just a twist in the process. We’ll expedite the paperwork,” she said.
When I walked into the Consulate a week later, the visa officer still remembered me. He only examined the paperwork for TA. I asked him if he wanted to look at my Test of English as Foreign Language (TOEFL) and Graduate Management Admission Test (GMAT) scores. He shook his head and pointed his ear, signaling that he could trust my language proficiency. He told me to come back in the afternoon to pick up the visa.
I stepped into the busy and sweltering streets of this southern Chinese city with a big relief. I took a seat at a street-side restaurant and ordered a cup of iced tea. As I sipped my drink, I allowed my imagination to run wild. I dreamed that I would fly above the endless cloud over the Pacific, and then be airdropped on a land where everything would be unfamiliar to me.
I quickly pulled myself back into reality. I needed to set the plan into motion now I had cleared the hurdle for a student visa. I called one of my friends who worked in a Hong Kong travel agency, asking her to book the cheapest one-way airline ticket to Nashville, Tennessee for me.
I also contacted my parents and told them I would be leaving in two weeks. I had not seen them for three years. They were in their mid-sixties. While I wasn't afraid that I would never see them again. But, now I was heading to the other side of the world. Who knew when I could see them? My parents were even more restless than I was. In the past, I had moved around in China many times for school or work. But this time, it was different, very different! They summoned the courage and embarked on a long and arduous journey from my backwater hometown in rural Anhui province to Shenzhen to see me off.
When they arrived, I could sense, from their tired faces, a mix of emotions: joy of seeing me after a long while, fear of what was coming, worrying about my future. I could see they had obviously got older with more grey hair, and moving slower than they used to. My heart ached. In the past five years, I had been chasing my dream, leaving little time to think about how they had been living their lives.
We were overjoyed at finally seeing each other after three years. We had so much to talk about. I asked about their health. Their vegetable-based diets, due to the scarcity of meats during almost their entire lives, ironically worked for them. Their blood pressures and cholesterol levels were quite normal. They were not on any medication. I asked about my niece and nephew from my two sisters. They just entered elementary school and were doing great. My mom loved gardening and she had filled our balcony and front porch with all kinds of flowers in pots. I asked about what flowers she had added or grafted. My father smoked a little bit and I had been trying to get him to quit completely. He told me that he smoked less now.
When the topic turned into my upcoming overseas study, their throats choked, They really did not want me to go. "Do you have to go?, Isn't this country big enough for your dream?", they asked. As China crawled back from the international economic sanctions after the 1989 Tiananmen Square Massacre, there were seemingly more and more economic opportunities. But, I just can't trust the Communist Party. Also, I yearned for the freedom and human dignity ordinary people enjoy in a democratic society. I also wanted to learn real accounting, the theory and practices that were developed in free market economies. They knew my answer and retreated to deal with reality.
Their sense of pride must have soothed their nerves as they became more positive about my journey ahead. They had never gone to school. My mom could not even read at all. My father taught himself to read and write. He greatly admired people who could speak intelligently and knew history and what was going on around the world. Now, I could become one of these people. They knew how hard I had worked to get to this point. They were always happy, or pretended to be happy whenever I was. My biggest and long awaited dream had come true. They knew they had to swallow all the sadness.
I tried to spend as much time as possible with them. I took them to Cantonese restaurants to have some of the southern delicacies they never tasted. I took them to bustling shopping malls to show them the luxury merchandise that was imported from Hong Kong. I also took them to the two miniature parks that display the famous tourist attractions in China and around the world: Splendid China and Window to the World. They really had a good time.
For the following days, my mom helped me prepare for my departure. She tried hard to imagine the challenges I would be facing in daily life in a completely new environment. She made some snacks, thinking I might not like the food on the plane and in America. She also packed a few pairs of chopsticks, thinking I might be able to find a store to buy them on campus. All these thoughtful items later proved to be vital to my survival the first few days on campus. My dad had kept quiet. He had been very supportive of any ambition of mine, but felt now that I was about to fall out of his orbit. As my departure approached, he started murmuring to himself a Chinese idiom that means "Don't travel far when your parents are still alive." But, the sense of inevitability struck me as hard it struck him.
As the plane flew further from the shoreline of the West Pacific, I got excited about my new life in a new country just like a new born baby in a new world. Freedom first came into my mind. The United States had been synonymous with individual freedom. Patrick Henry's "Give me liberty or give me death" was the battle cry for all of us during the 1989 student democratic movement. Freedom to think independently and to express ourselves is the bedrock of human dignity. Freedom to choose the way of life is the only source of human ingenuity and the only way to unleash God-given potentials of each individual to create economic prosperity and achieve social harmony. Freedom to choose the God to worship is a sacred right to an individual that should not be trampled by any dictator.
When I read the news in 2016 that churches were bulldozed in the coastal province of Zhejiang for so-called "construction code violations" for their tall spires, my blood boiled. The brave followers formed human walls, hoping to halt the destruction, but were later treated with brutality. We Americans should be forthright in confronting the CCP on its egregious violations of these basic rights.
I was also excited about the opportunities that America could present to people like me. Many immigrants from all backgrounds came to the US with nothing and had made better lives for themselves and their children. My achievements should only be limited by my imagination and the efforts I put out. Commitment, working hard and following the rules should be the only passport to success, not kowtowing to the powerful in our institutions and governments.
Then, the generous and decent American people have welcomed generations of people like me with open arms and an open mind. I looked so much forward to gaining the righteousness, the resilience and resourcefulness from them to develop the shared identities that had made America stand so tall in the world.
Of course, I was abundantly aware that my new life in America definitely would not be a cakewalk. I held a student visa which will not allow employment, except for the TA job. Studying accounting in a foreignlanguage, adjusting to a "case-study, paper-writing, professional presentation" learning environment were the challenges I could not comprehend. I had not mentioned dealing with the cultural differences I could not even define yet. But, I chose to look at the bright side, and told myself that the challenges ahead were the price I had to pay for the freedom and opportunities I so desperately desired.
When my flight approached Los Angeles, I pressed my forehead against the window and tried to soak in the nightly views of this metropolis I had heard so much about. I saw something that initially bewildered me: two rivers of moving lights, one red and the other snow bright. Before I could ask the passenger next to me what they were, I suddenly realized they were cars in traffic going two different directions. I said to myself: "Wow, that is a lot of cars." I had never seen so many cars in any Chinese city so far, particularly at night.
When the plane finally touched down, the sights and sounds of Los Angeles International Airport struck me immediately. It is literally an international metropolis with its residents coming from all corners of the world. I was somewhat intimidated by the enormousness of the airport and the dazzling lights from the luxury stores, the myriad of ethnic restaurants and other shops. People moved with speed and purpose. Suddenly, I noticed most people wore leisure clothes, while I wore one of the few sets of clothes I would wear on all occasions. I felt a little embarrassed. Yeah, when you were dirt poor, you did not have a large wardrobe. What also made me look conspicuous was that I carried a small piece of luggage with limited necessities, but a large bulky plastic bag with my bed sheet and comforter. I felt like refuge, fleeing from a war-torn zone.
I also sensed a different kind of vibe that I never felt before. People exuded confidence in their voice and laughter. Some even walked with a swagger. They all expressed themselves freely with the clothes they wore and the hair styles they kept. They maintain their own individuality with pride and dignity. I guess this is the national character of people who live in free societies.
Following the crowds, I went through immigration, customs and Border Control,and finally set my feet on American soil. I tried to find the gate for my connection flight. A fellow passenger looked at my tickets and told me that my connection flight was at a different airport at Ontario CA, 30 miles away from LAX.
Panic hit me head-on! I looked at the pitch dark night outside of the window, wondering how I was going to navigate through this jungle in a new country? I tried to find an airport staff member for direction, but couldn't find any. So, I tried other passengers instead. Nobody knew. They either headed for parking lots or local transportation hubs. I finally ended up at what seemed like a parking lot. A man standing in front of van. He looked nice and I approached him about my situation. He told me that I needed to take a shuttle bus to Ontario and may have to stay for the night at a motel, because my flight was next morning. When he mentioned this, I thought he might help me buy the shuttle bus ticket. I took out the bundle of cash, the entire $1000 I had in my pocket for this journey. He got nervous about what I did. He immediately told me“Don’t flash your money, It is dangerous!" A cold reality set in as I heard of the crimes in some US cities when I was still in China. A shiver ran through my spine. I was grateful that a complete stranger at the airport cared enough to give me a poignant reminder.
The four-hour flight from Ontario to Nashville revealed a tapestry of the majestic landscape of America. I was in awe of the geological wonders of American Southwest, and its terrains that stretch as far as eyes can see. The expansive deserts in Southeastern California and Arizona, fresh from a restful night, were ready to welcome visitors. The deep canyons were about to wake up to a new day and present ancient mysteries to be discovered by explorers. The sandstone buttes and mesas were set against the vibrant and colorful sky. The endless farmlands of the Central plains make up the bread basket of America. The lush forests in Eastern USA are punctuated by shimmering lakes and rivers. The abundance of this new country, the kindness of its people gave me comfort and hope that I might have a shot at my American dream.
I was picked up at Nashville Airport by Patience, the daughter of the American couple who helped me get to Western Kentucky University. I stayed the night with her family on their couch. The next morning, she took me to campus and dropped me at the International Student Office on her way to work. For the first time, I met Donna, a middle-aged woman who would smile to you before you reached her for a hand shake. We had been in contact for about two years. She was the Admission Counselor for international Undergraduate students. Since the Master of Professional Accountancy Program at Western was new, she helped handle its admission of international students, too. It turned out that I was the first and only international applicant. She had helped me in every possible way to save me money. Western did not provide scholarship to international students who majored in business. But, I was awarded a teaching assistantship which allowed me to pay in-state tuition. When I got everything(transcripts, TOEFL and GMAT scores, and letters of recommendations) together to apply for the Program, an application fee of $40 was initiated months before. She made the case for me that when we talked about applying, no application fee was needed. So, she got the application fee waived for me. Of course, the call calls I made from China during the application process was authorized by her, too.
Financial resources at public universities were really limited, particularly in places like Kentucky. Decades later, when I was roaming on the University of Kentucky's homepage, its Statistics Department caught my attention. It was apparently named after a Chinese person. I wondered who would donate to universities in the middle of nowhere as donors of Chinese origin usually give money to universities on the two coasts. I finally found out that the donor was an alumnus who was impressed by the generosity of the Department staff by taking his collect call when he applied for the UK. After graduation, he was very successful in business and donated four million dollars. Western Kentucky University has not been so lucky with me yet.
After she checked my paperwork and entered my information into the system. She said to me, “Now let’s check you into your dorm” She picked up the small luggage of mine, seemingly wondering what that bulky plastic bag was, and drove me to Pearce-Ford Tower, the only high rise building on campus.
By the time I got into my room, I was extremely exhausted. I had not got a decent amount of sleep for three days due to jet lag and constant worries about what was coming next. I plunged into my bed and got a solid five-hour sleep.
When I woke up, it was early morning on Friday. I got down stairs, was greeted by the Residence Assistant and tried to venture out to take a look at the campus. It was so quiet. I returned and asked the RA where everybody was. He told me that it was almost weekend and everybody went home. That was new to me. When I was in college, I could not see my folks for four months.
I breathed the fresh morning air and walked around, trying to identify where the student cafeteria was. I habitually looked for huge chimneys, fixtures on any Chinese campus. I could not see any chimney or anything that might indicated a cafeteria. When I returned to my dorm. I was told student cafeteria was closed during summer break. I ended up eating the snack my mom prepared for me for the entire weekend.
Monday morning, I met the Program Director, Dr. Aldridge and the three professors I worked for as assistant. Then, Dr. Aldridge led me to the office for all assistants. Gradually, my classmates filed in one by one. I finally met most of them. They had taken some graduate classes in summer. So, I was not in most of the classes they were in. Office was where I saw them the most. They are Jason, the Class President, Michelle, a single mom, Barbara, Cynthia, Martha and Brian. Other classmates did not work as assistants and I barely saw them. They call Barbara “the oldest” at the age of 25. I was surprised because I heard that Americans don’t talk about ladies’ ages. Cynthia was very brainy. She had always passed CPA exams and accepted an offer from a local accounting firm. Brian was a big guy. He could easily pick up Martha if he wanted to. Martha was about 5'1, but always very energetic. When Brian called her “Shorty", she jumped on the desk and said to him“Now who is taller?”. I noticed the difference how Americans and Chinese would respond to this kind of teasing. Americans enjoy being themselves for whoever they are, even with external features that are not desirable. A Chinese person might storm out of the room, or will never talk to you again.
They were very friendly to me and asked me how I was doing. I told them that I have not found the student cafeteria yet. Jason volunteered to walk me out of our office building, and pointed me the way to Downing University Center (They call it DUC) where the cafeteria was.
I walked into the dining area, I saw cash registers with a few people in line to buy different drinks and food. Before I placed my order, I wondered how they would cook the food. They were taken either out of electric ovens or from the microwave. No wonder I did not see any chimney. I scanned the menu and ordered the cheapest item: a burger for $4.
Frankly, American food never appealed to my taste buds. This burger was even worse, probably because it was not within my budget. I told myself that I had to cook for myself. The next action on the to-do list was to find out the nearest grocery store within walking distance since I did not have a car. After classes in the morning, I walked toward Houchens, a local grocery store just out of campus.
As I walked into Houchens, I was overwhelmed by the categories of food in the store: rows and rows of neatly arranged vegetables and fruits, fresh meats displayed in open air freezers, frozen food and dairy products in columns of huge refrigerators, etc. Living through decades of severe shortages that were always associated with a communist Country, I had never had to make a choice: you grab whatever you could see. For me, the task was simple, just to get enough protein, vitamins and minerals into my body every day at the lowest costs. So, I just picked some pork, beef and lots of lettuce.
Later, when my classmates told me that it was a little pricier in Houchens than in other stores. From then on, finding the lowest prices for every daily necessity would become an endeavor pursued in full force.
My life in the United States as a student officially started as I took classes. I had to admit that I was not adequately prepared to study Accounting at graduate level at all. The accounting theories and practices in America and Western countries were developed to meet the decision-making needs in free market economy, while China had until recently been following the Soviet economical model: centrally planned economy. “Accounting” in such economic model is basically statistics. Dr. Aldridge said to me that I had to audit as many as six undergraduate courses. To meet my visa requirements, I also had to take 12 credit hours of graduate classes. I also needed to work 20 hours a week as a teaching assistant.
I must also do the things I needed to take root in a new country, such as getting a Social Security Card and opening a bank account, etc. Jason offered to take me to the Social Security Administration Office in Bowling Green, then recommended WKU Student Credit Union on campus to open a checking account. When I took my new social security card to the Student Employment office for paper work, I was handed a W-4 Form. I asked what it was for. The lady behind the desk said: "Fill it.". I asked how. She checked my paperwork and said: "You are an accounting graduate, you should be telling me how." Then, she took the time to walk me through the instructions.
The extreme stress and jet lag took a toll on my health. For weeks, I suffered from insomnia and barely managed four hours of sleep each night. One morning, I noticed a cluster of gray hairs above the left corner of my forehead.
My tuition was soon due. I had about $800 in my bank account and another $800 short. I could save about $200 from my paltry $350 stipend each month. But the tuition was due at the beginning of the semester. I thought of Pat and Wallace, the American couple who had got me to WKU. When they heard about my situation, Pat immediately said, “I’ll send you a check." I was grateful for the lifeline they threw at me. I promised that I would pay them back by the end of the semester. She said: “I wish I could give you the money, but we are on a fixed income.”
Assignments began pile up. I had to read between 50-80 pages of books just to prepare for one class. I wasn't up to speed in reading English yet. Term papers were due every other week. We were also required to do two or three professional presentations for each class as corporate executives would do to board members or investors. There were the 20 hours of TA work for three professors I was supposed to fulfill.
I wasn't drinking from a fire hose. I was drinking from a broken dam.I had reached the breaking point. I was getting frustrated, even angry at myself. I told myself in the mirror. "You are not supposed to be here! You were not one of these kids who could recite hundreds of ancient Chinese poems at the age of six. You did not do calculus until college. Academic achievements have never been in your family blood! You are not supposed to be here, PERIOD!”
Suddenly, the dorm phone rang! That damn thing had never rung. "Who the hell is calling me? I knew nobody here in Kentucky." I said to myself. I picked up the phone nonetheless and a familiar voice came through. It was my boss, Mr. Chen at the Chinese company I just left. I asked him how he got the phone number. He said: “ You wrote in your letter your dorm building and room number for mail delivery. I call the switchboard of your university. The receptionist put me through.” He asked how I was doing. It was no time to sugarcoat. I ratted off the obstacles I was facing. He said “Well, your old job is still here. I will retire in a few years. Maybe you can replace me then.”
These were comfortable words to hear, but another word, a scary one “failure” struck me to the core! I thanked him for reaching out to me and for his kind consideration, but told him that I would think about it and get back to him.
For weeks, the question kept ringing in my head! Am I supposed to be here??
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