I was put in a movie at a very young age. It was one of the only movies that talked about Chinese people that played frequently on the television when I was growing up. It was called the Flower Drum Song and I believe I was called Flower. I was wearing a long black wig. We had seemingly escaped from China and landed in Chinatown somewhere in America.
There are probably more than one version of that movie. But there is one movie when Flower talks about being broken by lieutenant Commander HO. In that part of the movie, there is a scene in which a voice is recorded in very slow motion. In it a character is talking about lieutenant Commander Ho. THis is a gentleman who was in charge of breaking the spirit of human cargo, like myself (as flower) that was being shipped to different places in America. Although the voice is distorted the distored sound of the slow motion recording emphasizes, oddly the horror and pain of the very young child, FLower being broken in spirit, by lieutenant Commander Ho and his associates and being forced to perform in scandoulous attire in the Radio CIty Music Hall.
I know, that Flower, (myself) did not escape at all from China but instead was sold and then shipped somewhere in America by this High ranking military officer (which was actually his position). I know that the man was not all at conflict with the government and officials of his country and the place that I would eventually go.
Why do I talk about this terrible memory that happened so long ago? I have just recently recognized a man that looks pretty clearly like lieutenant Commander HO from my childhood. He is doing quite well thank you with the government officials of my country. He has a position as an extremely high ranking pressman. Perhaps it is the man. Perhaps it is not. This episode in my life happened in young childhood and I am nearly in my old age.
Another reason I am writing this memory down is because I do not talk to anybody at all. I have only recently been able to come to face the fact that I was orphaned at a very young age. I live in a residence and am quite alone. I rarely talk to anyone at all. The social worker that I spoke to several years ago said that people who do not speak and do not hear like me, have a very vivid private life. Sometimes my imagination is so real it frightens me. I have beeen in the past very disappointed when conversations with imaginary people proved to be contrary to my real position.
I realize one thing clearly. The deaf mute that I am has been my lot when faced with a real world that is terribly terribly painful. ALmost all the people around me look and act like animals. THey stink to me. I have to say this just one time. they don't take their bath. they don't heal their bodies. They don't change their clothes. they don't try to look pretty. they are comfortable with own forms of ugliness. they are much to busy to worry about being attractive. Neat is okay. Cleanliness? well... If I told you they don't evey try to treat their wrinkles. they don't ever worry about their hair. If their hair is dyed it is damaged. People die their hair so they don't look so bad. Any hair dye will do. TIme and time again, not only not but throughout my life I retreat from the real world of monsters into my life of creation, and imagination.
THis is why I even bother recording childhood memories. I somehow want to see if there is a way to get of this pain. I do not believe in the religious talk. I find that religious priests of all kind, just are concerned with living from day to day and are very impatient with despair and disillusionment. I find this to be their habit, to the extreme of the most utmost cruelty and using. And this, for a lifetime.
What they say, according to what I have read, is that a kidnapped person will never ever be happy. ANd their life will be a painful one. Such is my fate. And for this reason, not knowing exactly why, I write my memoirs.
There are probably more than one version of that movie. But there is one movie when Flower talks about being broken by lieutenant Commander HO. In that part of the movie, there is a scene in which a voice is recorded in very slow motion. In it a character is talking about lieutenant Commander Ho. THis is a gentleman who was in charge of breaking the spirit of human cargo, like myself (as flower) that was being shipped to different places in America. Although the voice is distorted the distored sound of the slow motion recording emphasizes, oddly the horror and pain of the very young child, FLower being broken in spirit, by lieutenant Commander Ho and his associates and being forced to perform in scandoulous attire in the Radio CIty Music Hall.
I know, that Flower, (myself) did not escape at all from China but instead was sold and then shipped somewhere in America by this High ranking military officer (which was actually his position). I know that the man was not all at conflict with the government and officials of his country and the place that I would eventually go.
Why do I talk about this terrible memory that happened so long ago? I have just recently recognized a man that looks pretty clearly like lieutenant Commander HO from my childhood. He is doing quite well thank you with the government officials of my country. He has a position as an extremely high ranking pressman. Perhaps it is the man. Perhaps it is not. This episode in my life happened in young childhood and I am nearly in my old age.
Another reason I am writing this memory down is because I do not talk to anybody at all. I have only recently been able to come to face the fact that I was orphaned at a very young age. I live in a residence and am quite alone. I rarely talk to anyone at all. The social worker that I spoke to several years ago said that people who do not speak and do not hear like me, have a very vivid private life. Sometimes my imagination is so real it frightens me. I have beeen in the past very disappointed when conversations with imaginary people proved to be contrary to my real position.
I realize one thing clearly. The deaf mute that I am has been my lot when faced with a real world that is terribly terribly painful. ALmost all the people around me look and act like animals. THey stink to me. I have to say this just one time. they don't take their bath. they don't heal their bodies. They don't change their clothes. they don't try to look pretty. they are comfortable with own forms of ugliness. they are much to busy to worry about being attractive. Neat is okay. Cleanliness? well... If I told you they don't evey try to treat their wrinkles. they don't ever worry about their hair. If their hair is dyed it is damaged. People die their hair so they don't look so bad. Any hair dye will do. TIme and time again, not only not but throughout my life I retreat from the real world of monsters into my life of creation, and imagination.
THis is why I even bother recording childhood memories. I somehow want to see if there is a way to get of this pain. I do not believe in the religious talk. I find that religious priests of all kind, just are concerned with living from day to day and are very impatient with despair and disillusionment. I find this to be their habit, to the extreme of the most utmost cruelty and using. And this, for a lifetime.
What they say, according to what I have read, is that a kidnapped person will never ever be happy. ANd their life will be a painful one. Such is my fate. And for this reason, not knowing exactly why, I write my memoirs.
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