experience.

When we were young, we resided in Insein, a town located approximately 12 miles from the capital city of Rangoon. Our educational journey began at a Chinese school where my father held the position of nominal principal. Those early years were spent in kindergarten at this modest institution. Reflecting upon my father’s remarkable journey from a small, remote village in the inner lands of Fukien province in Longyan district to the foreign land of Burma, it becomes evident that he possessed great foresight and was ahead of his time. Recognizing the importance of learning the English language for our future prospects, he discovered Wan Hua (a) St. Emilie’s Convent, a renowned school in the suburbs of Rangoon that excelled in

teaching all three languages: English, Chinese, and Burmese. Considering the challenges faced by my mother in managing both the store and caring for our younger siblings, my father saw an opportunity to enroll my sister and me in a boarding school. Consequently, he also decided to enroll my brother, Raymond, in a Chinese boarding school named Hua Xia in Rangoon. This arrangement left my mother with only two young children to care for. At the time, my father was working as an accountant at a wholesale outlet company in Rangoon. Boarding School Life The year was 1955, and I was 8 years old while Lena was 11. The anticipation of going to a distant boarding school filled us with excitement. Father had prepared a list of items provided by the school that we needed to bring along. Each of us received a brand-new leather suitcase. We were given new clothes, including a couple of uniforms: blue Jim slips, white blouses, white belts, and white shoes. Additionally, we had Sunday uniforms consisting of red and blue plaid pleated skirts. For our toiletries, we had an enamel cup, a bar of soap, a toothbrush, and toothpaste. Finally, the day arrived when my father rented a jeep and accompanied my sister and me to the school, along with the entire family. The school, St. Emilie’s Convent, was situated in Ahlone township on Mission Rd., adjacent to the boy’s school

known as “Catholic Anglo Chinese School.” Both the boy’s and girl’s schools were called “Wan Hua” in Chinese. The school compound was vast, and at the entrance stood an iron gate displaying the school’s name. Upon entering, we were greeted by a red and yellow painted church with a bell tower. Nearby, there was a stone cave housing a statue of “Mary.” We had quite a walk ahead of us to reach the school buildings. I remember seeing the nuns, dressed in long white robes with white hats and black veils, and being curious about their gender. The nuns assigned two older students to show us around. When we returned to the office parlor, we realized that our parents and younger brothers had already left. It was getting dark, and my sister and I clung to the corridor pole, tears streaming down our faces. At such a tender age, we experienced the heart-wrenching feeling of being separated from our parents. That night, we cried ourselves to sleep, and to make matters worse, another new girl in the school, Maria Wong, was crying loudly in the silence of the night, calling out for her dad. I remember her name clearly, as her father was a widower, and she came from a remote village called “Wor,” situated in the Delta region. Both my sister and I spent five years as boarders in this school. When you’re young, time seems to pass by ever so slowly. During those five years, we witnessed and experienced so much that it

would be impossible to capture it all in a few pages. The school was run and overseen by nuns, with the highest-ranking nun being referred to as Mother Superior, and the others as sisters. Additionally, there were numerous male and female teachers who instructed various subjects and languages. Mother Superior hailed from England, while Sister Dorothy came from Ireland. Sister Vincent and Sister Pierce were from France, Sister Theresa had Chinese heritage, and Sister Cecilia and Sister Josephine were of Anglo descent, alongside several other sisters. Each sister had specific responsibilities in charge of the boarding girls. Looking back now, it is evident that the school operated on a class system. First-class boarders, who paid a monthly fee of 100 Kyats, received three dishes of meat and vegetables, along with a soup. Second-class students paid 75 Kyats and were provided with one main dish and a soup, similar to the third-class boarders. My parents received a discount, paying 65 Kyats per person, amounting to a total of 130 Kyats for both of us. It was clear that some nuns showed favoritism towards the first-class students. Additionally, there were orphans who received free boarding but were assigned additional chores such as cleaning classrooms and dormitories. One major grievance we had was regarding our daily meals, which were consistently bland and flavorless. Breakfast usually consisted of plain rice porridge accompanied by a few vegetables,

beans, or peas. Lunch would typically comprise a single main dish along with a soup. The entree often consisted of split peas cooked with potatoes, and the accompanying soup lacked any discernible taste. The plate of rice provided was of inferior quality. Sometimes, we would be served soggy dried shrimp cooked in tomato, with very little meat. Fortunately, my mother took it upon herself to prepare a variety of flavorful foods, which my father would bring to us on a weekly or bi-weekly basis. Since we lacked a refrigerator for storage, these dishes were cooked generously in oil and carefully dried to maintain their freshness. Examples included fried chicken, Nga-pi-Kyet (a fish paste delicacy), and fried tiny shrimps in chili oil. These additions made our meals much more appetizing. We would also share our food with friends, and they reciprocated by sharing theirs with us. On special occasions like Christmas or New Year, we were treated to particularly tantalizing dishes. Our parents entrusted the nuns with our pocket money, and each morning, the nuns would distribute it to us. The amount varied, ranging from 25, 50, or 100 Pyas (equivalent to cents in America), depending on how our parents had set it up. We would use this pocket money to purchase food during our afternoon lunch break. There were numerous vendors selling a wide array of dishes such as Monhingar, oh-no-kauk-sway, Ah Thock, and more. Additionally, they offered refreshing beverages like sugar

cane juice, tamarind juice, or lime juice. Given our limited funds, we mischievous kids would try to maximize our meals by requesting extra soup from the Monhingar vendor or

complaining to the Tamarind juice vendor about the sourness or sweetness, hoping they would add more tamarind or palm sugar syrup to increase the quantity of our drinks. Our classes were divided into morning and afternoon sections. It was compulsory for everyone to attend both sections. One section focused on lessons in Chinese, while the other section combined English and Burmese classes. We had a diverse group of teachers from different ethnic backgrounds, each specializing in teaching Chinese, Burmese, or English. Some students attended Chinese classes in the morning and Burmese/English classes in the afternoon, while others followed the reverse schedule. In our Chinese classes, we delved into Classical Chinese, which is considered more challenging and less commonly studied in modern times. It served as the written language during the ancient period of Chinese literature. Learning Classical Chinese proved to be difficult. We also had subjects like math, geography, and history taught in English, alongside Burmese literature. I began in the second year of kindergarten (KGB), even though I had already attended a couple of years of schooling in my hometown, Insein. Kindergarten consisted of three years: KGA, KGB, and KGC. I joined KGB

initially, but after six months, I was promoted to KGC because I was deemed too old for my previous class. From there, I progressed through Standard I to Standard VII. In Burma, we had two crucial government examinations: one at Standard VII and another at Standard X. Failing these exams meant not being allowed to proceed to the next level. After successfully passing the Standard X Matriculation exam, we could then apply to attend universities. But I only attended up to Standard IV and then moved to another school. As many of you are aware, Catholic schools and convents are known for their strict rules and regulations, and our convent school was no exception. At times, it felt overwhelming, and one couldn’t help but wonder if they deliberately made life difficult. Breaking the rules came with various fines. For instance, not wearing the school uniform properly resulted in a penalty. The Blue Jim Slip had to be worn over a white shirt, accompanied by a white belt, white socks, and white shoes. Being late for school also incurred a fine. On Sundays, boarders were required to wear their Sunday uniform. The only time we could wear our regular clothes was after school. Life in the boarding school resembled that of soldiers in military schools, with every task performed together and within specified time limits. We had a vast dormitory that was divided into separate sections for first class and second class. The beds were meticulously

arranged with identical bedsheets. Over the beds, wires were stretched for attaching mosquito nets. Not even a small piece of thread was allowed to be left on the wires. If this happened or if the bed was not properly made, the nun would locate you wherever you were, scold you, and ensure it was done correctly. Since we were young in the first year, older students were assigned to help us put up mosquito nets at night and take them down in the morning. Even in those days, our dormitory had several modern-style toilet bowls. During daytime, nobody was allowed to enter the dormitory; access was limited to nighttime. The dormitory was always kept neat and tidy, with not even a piece of clothing left on the bed. Our pajamas and mosquito nets were folded neatly and placed under the pillow before covering them with the bedsheet. In the changing room, there was a large built-in wall cabinet with several divided square box sections. Each student was assigned one section to store their clothing, labeled with their name under each square section. The nun in charge would only open the cabinet once or twice a week to retrieve your belongings or clothes. Dirty clothes were put in a bag with your name tag, and once a week, a Dolby Indian gentleman would collect them and return your clean clothes from the previous week, neatly pressed and stacked. In the dressing room, we could hang our daily clothes, and there was a small area where you could keep your small mirror and grooming supplies.

Our daily routine began at 7 AM in the morning when the nun clapped three times to wake us up. We then had to hurry to complete our morning tasks. After putting down our mosquito nets and making our beds, we all knelt down by our bedside and began to say a short prayer led by the nun. It lasted just one or two minutes. Following that, we went to the bathhouse where our toiletries were kept. We brushed our teeth and washed our faces before proceeding to the dressing room. In that room, there were shelves where we kept our mirrors, grooming supplies, shoes, and uniforms. We were allotted a specific amount of time in each room, and once the time was up, the nun would lock the room. For slower students, this sometimes meant coming out with unfinished braids or carrying shoes that hadn’t been put on yet. Throughout this entire process, we were not allowed to talk to one another. Next, the Catholic students would line up to attend the morning mass at the church, while the non-Catholic students would prepare for study time in a classroom. Sister Vincent usually supervised the study room, sitting in the teacher’s seat and ensuring that students studied or quietly completed their classwork. After approximately half an hour of study time, we were dismissed, and it was time for breakfast. Our daily breakfast consisted of congee with simple side dishes such as boiled peas or pickled vegetables. It was bland and tasteless.

Around 8:30 AM, the school bell rang. All students from each class had to gather in an assigned place in the school compound, forming neat lines. When the second bell rang, we marched into our classrooms. The first thing we did was say the prayer “Hail Mary, full of grace…”. After the prayer, we greeted the teacher, took our seats, and class began. In addition to regular teachers, some of the nuns also served as educators in our school. We had teachers from various backgrounds, including Chinese, Burmese, Anglo, and European nuns. Some of the Chinese teachers were refugees who had fled China when the Communist Party came into power. Either they or their spouses had held positions as officers under the Chiang Kai-shek government. I have a vivid memory of one Chinese teacher named Mrs. Shao. She had escaped from China to Burma with her three young children after her husband, a high-ranking officer in the Chiang Kai-shek government, was killed during the civil war in China. Mrs. Shao was in her thirties and did not speak Burmese. However, she possessed a remarkable talent for storytelling. She would share captivating tales about her life in China with the students. Growing up in a prominent and affluent family during the 1940s and 1950s, her stories provided fascinating insights into her upbringing. Mrs. Shao was an avid reader and had

extensive knowledge of Chinese history and martial arts stories. She would always reserve 15 minutes at the end of each class period to share these tales, and the students eagerly anticipated them. Lena, in particular, was a big fan of hers. In our school, students were ranked based on their grades in class. The top-ranked student was considered first in class, and the rankings descended to the lowest position. In both of my classes, I consistently secured one of the top three positions. I still remember the encouraging comments and praise from my class teacher in my report card. School closed on Thursdays and Sundays. Thursdays were designated as cleaning days, and we dreaded them because all boarders were assigned different areas, such as classrooms, dormitories, canteen, and dressing rooms, for thorough

cleaning. We had to clean everything from the floor to the walls, windows, and desks. Your job wasn’t considered complete until Mother Dorothy (who was very strict) or other nuns inspected your area. Many times, they would discover some dust in a corner or a hidden place, wipe it on your face, and tell you to redo the job. It was a long and tiring afternoon. The students assigned to the dormitory had a challenging task as well. They had to scrape the entire wooden floor with a brush and mop it until it was spotless. After a long and exhausting day of cleaning, we would be extremely hungry, and the unappetizing lunch was

a disappointment. In contrast, Sundays were relaxing and free days. We were required to wear our Sunday uniforms on that day. Catholic students spent a significant portion of the morning attending mass in the church. We had free time to engage in various activities. We would roam around the garden with friends, talking, reading, or playing at the playground. The garden was a decent-sized area with hills and trees, providing a pleasant environment. Sometimes, we would come across bones in the ground, reminding us of the story the nun had told us about the school compound once being a cemetery. There were several large trees in the school compound, although that was before a big fire broke out two years after we started attending school there. The main building was a huge wooden structure with dormitories for students and nuns upstairs, classrooms downstairs, and an office parlor directly across from it. Two years later, the entire building was destroyed by a fire caused by faulty wiring in the dressing room building behind it. Another two-story wooden building, consisting of around ten classrooms, was located in another section of the compound. The dining room and kitchen were housed in a separate solid brick building. Adjacent to the classroom building, there was a playground used for basketball and assembly purposes. All the buildings were connected by a long roofed corridor. In another

far corner of the compound, there was another two-story building that accommodated the chef, workers, and some teachers and their families. The center of the compound was a vast lawn where we often played. After dinner, the older students would lay their long-gyi (a Burmese wrap-around cloth) on the grass, forming a circle and engaging in lively conversations. Their discussions would range from jokes to gossip, rumors, and even ghost stories. When younger girls like us approached them, they would often shoo us away, but occasionally, they would allow us to listen to their stories. The ghost stories we heard were so chilling and spine-tingling, especially at that age when ghosts were the embodiment of fear. I even overheard a nun telling the older students that she had seen a long, white apparition in the middle of the night, which vanished as soon as she began reciting prayers. Many times, I would wake up from terrible nightmares, terrified to fall asleep again, fearing I might encounter the same apparition. Those feelings of fear and unease persisted

throughout the early part of my life. Lena had shared a couple of her own ghostly experiences from that time, but I won’t go into detail here. Once a month, we had a “Home-Sunday,” which was a day when boarders could go home for a day or two. We all eagerly anticipated that day, especially those of us who lived in nearby towns or in and around Rangoon.

Many of the students came from remote villages or towns hundreds of miles away from the school, and for them, Christmas and summer holidays were the only times they could return to their families. During the “Home Sunday” weekend, my father would pick us up on Saturday afternoon and bring us back on Sunday evening. We were filled with joy to be reunited with our parents and siblings, but at the same time, it felt a bit strange to see them after a long separation. I couldn’t help but notice that my house seemed smaller, and my parents appeared somewhat diminished in size. All the neighbors, customers, and acquaintances looked at us with envy, knowing that we were the first ones to attend such a prestigious and well-known school far away. I remember one lady remarking, “Now that you’re attending a big school, you must have learned so much. Can I test you on something?” Feeling confident, I replied, “No problem” (I was around 10 years old at the time). She then asked me to spell “Oh-Toke” (meaning “hat” in Burmese). Oh no! It caught me off guard. Out of all the words, I didn’t know how to spell that one. In Burmese, there are many words where spelling and pronunciation differ, and that word happened to be one of them. It was quite a blow. The lady spelled it out for me, which is supposed to be spelled as “Oo-Toke.” When my father brought us back to school, he also brought a lot of gifts (food and other items), not just for us but

also for the nuns. This was a way to show gratitude and ensure they would continue to take good care of us. As we grow older, time seems to fly by so quickly. Days, months, and years pass in the blink of an eye. But when we were young, a year felt like an eternity. Many things happened during that time. Living as boarders in a remote and isolated gated school could be monotonous. We often referred to this school as a prison. Our lives revolved around nuns, teachers, fellow students, and friends. However, despite the constraints, we managed to have a lot of fun. Interacting with other students of our age provided constant entertainment. We played a variety of games together, including our favorite, “Bat and Ball.” It resembled today’s baseball but with a wooden plank as a bat and a can sealed with a rock as our ball. Other popular games included “The Hawk and the Chick,” “Hide and Seek,” and “Jump Rope.” We also enjoyed playing with simple items like rubber bands and seeds from tropical fruits. The person with the largest collection of these items became the master of those games. Growing up, we didn’t have fancy toys. We were content when our parents bought us toy-sized bowls, cups, and utensils made of baked clay. Sometimes, adults would make dolls for us using old cloth and cotton. Living within the school compound, we rarely saw the outside world, except for occasional visits from parents or vendors who

sold food during school days. The boys’ school was adjacent to ours, separated by a long corridor and gates. Boys were strictly prohibited from entering the girls’ compound, and even those who had sisters in the girls’ school were not allowed to visit. The boys’ school compound was just as large as ours, with two enormous three-story brick buildings for classrooms and dormitories. The only time girls saw the boys was during church services. Boys entered the church through a different entrance and were seated on one side, while girls sat on the other. At one point, my sister and I decided to convert to Catholicism. We attended church and participated in other Catholic functions. Surprisingly, my father had no objections, despite being a devout Buddhist. He believed that any religion would teach us good values and gave us the freedom to make our own decisions. Eventually, we abandoned the idea for two main reasons. Firstly, the Catholic students had to devote a significant portion of their time to religious activities, such as attending church every morning and evening, as well as on Sundays. They also had to attend catechism classes. Secondly, we wanted to follow the religious practices of our ancestors and embrace Buddhism. Once a month, the boarding girls were invited to the boys’ side to watch movies. The boys’ school was overseen by two Fathers, Father Denis (a Frenchman) and Father John (of Chinese descent). We were always filled with excitement on those special

days. Forming two lines, led by the nuns, we made our way to a large hall in the boys’ school where all the boarding boys were already seated. It was during these movie nights that we were first introduced to American and British films. Movies like Robin Hood, Ivanhoe, and many others served as eye-openers to the Western world. At such a young age, we often wondered if those people and places truly existed on Earth. On one side of our school compound, separated by a brick wall, there were mansions where many foreign diplomats resided. Adjacent to our garden were several tennis courts, divided by fences and tall nets. In the evenings, we would witness Caucasian men and women playing tennis under the bright lights. Occasionally, a nanny, either Indian or Anglo, would push a stroller into our compound and join us at the playground. Inside the stroller, there would be an incredibly adorable baby or toddler with blue eyes and blonde hair. We would gather around this doll-like little one with immense curiosity and excitement. Other activities that brought us immense joy and excitement included the annual fun-fair, concerts, Christmas parties, and, last but certainly not least, our all-school Annual Sports Competition held at the City Sport Arena, known as BA Ground. This highly anticipated event spanned almost an entire week and drew participation from numerous schools in and around Rangoon, totaling around 15 to 20 schools. During this time, our

mundane routines came to a halt, and we experienced a newfound sense of freedom and exhilaration. We were shuttled back and forth to the Arena to witness the various sports competitions between schools. Although we were too young to participate in the sports events, many of the older students represented our school in races such as running, javelin, high jump, hurdles, long jump, and weight throwing, among others. One team competition that had us all buzzing with excitement was the boys’ and girls’ basketball game. Raymond Kong, fondly nicknamed Pocket Money, and Ko Min Sein, who has since passed away, were outstanding players from Wan Hua Boys’ basketball team. Raymond Kong has now become a successful businessman and philanthropist residing in

Australia. They also served as coaches for our girls’ basketball team, and every girl in our school was a devoted fan of this talented basketball team. When girls gathered together, they could be just as mischievous as boys. On many occasions, older girls played pranks on each other, even under close supervision. For instance, there was an incident where some girls managed to steal the pajamas of their peers and sewed the sleeves and pants together. As nighttime fell, the dormitory filled with laughter and grumbling.

Eventually, the nuns discovered the culprits behind the prank and administered harsh punishments.

Fire Breaks Out at Boarding School In the winter of 1957, a devastating incident unfolded at our boarding school. It was a typical evening, around 6:30 PM, and all the boarders were engaged in their study time within the classrooms of the main building. Sister Vincent sat at the front desk, supervising our studies. Suddenly, a voice echoed through the air, shouting, “Fire!” The words startled us, and an uneasy feeling spread through the room. Sister Vincent, however, remained composed and instructed us to stay seated and quiet. Moments later, another cry of “fire” pierced the air, and at that point, it was clear that a fire had indeed broken out in the adjacent dressing room. Sister Vincent swiftly directed everyone to form a line and evacuate the classroom. We witnessed older students from the boys’ side rushing in to help contain the fire. However, it became apparent to the nuns that the flames were growing beyond control. With urgency, the nuns instructed all the girls to line up and proceed to the gate, leaving the school premises. Fear gripped us as we moved quickly, some shedding tears while others sought solace in prayers. Smoke billowed, engulfing the sky, and when I turned to glance back at the school, my heart raced in terror. The entire building was consumed by raging red flames, seemingly pursuing us as we fled. We hastened our steps, venturing into an unknown direction.

A few nuns who accompanied us knew of a teacher’s house in Ah Lone, a nearby town. They guided us there for temporary shelter. News of the fire quickly spread throughout Rangoon, and parents from nearby towns rushed to retrieve their children. As for the rest of us, a large bus transported us to St. Joseph Convent, a sister convent located in the suburbs of Rangoon. In the school’s vast hall, a makeshift dormitory was arranged for us to rest. Just before we settled in, we received word that our father had arrived to pick us up. Upon hearing the news, he promptly rented a car and arrived at the convent, close to midnight. Many boarders whose families lived far away had to stay at the sister convent until suitable accommodations could be arranged in a classroom building that had survived the fire. Later, we learned that the fire had been sparked by faulty wiring in the dressing room, bringing about this tragic event. We returned home as the school closed for a couple of weeks, having lost all our belongings in the fire. It was a fresh start for us as we had to replace our clothing, books, and other necessities. When we eventually returned to school, we were amazed to find piles of donated clothes, shoes, and bags from foreign countries through various embassies. Among them were many beautiful dresses, blouses, and skirts, all too large and fancy for us. The same applied to the shoes, some of which were

high heels completely unsuitable for our needs. Fortunately, our three-story wooden classroom building, separate from the main building, remained intact. The third floor was converted into a dormitory, while the rest of the building continued to be used as classrooms. This provided us with about 10 to 12 available classrooms, and temporary sheds were constructed to

accommodate additional classrooms, allowing the school to reopen. During the night, older male students took turns volunteering as guards to ensure our safety on the girls’ side playground. Some played the guitar or sang late into the night to stay awake. Our makeshift dormitory lacked proper restroom facilities, so we had to use buckets as toilets overnight, taking turns to empty them in the morning. The plan to construct a new brick school building was put into motion, and the mothers and nuns worked tirelessly to raise funds. Each class prepared a piggy bank using large tin cans, and every morning, students were encouraged to contribute a portion of their pocket money. Within a few months, a substantial amount of funds had been collected, with significant support coming from various organizations, other convents and Catholic schools, merchants, foreign diplomats, and the Catholic

headquarters. Construction of the new school began, and it took the shape of a three-story “E” building. The entire third floor was designated as dormitories for boarders and nuns. The

central room on the ground floor served as the foyer and office, while the chapel was situated directly above it on the second floor. We eagerly watched the building rise from the ground, and when it was halfway completed, the nuns led us on a tour to explore the structure. We marveled at the floor plan, trying to envision our future within its walls. Finally, after seven or eight months, we joyfully moved into the new building, bidding farewell to the temporary arrangements that had housed us during the rebuilding process. n 1960, I completed my fourth standard, while Lena finished her seventh standard class. It had been three years since our mother passed away, and our family circumstances had changed. We no longer operated the dry-goods store, and that year, our father made the decision to move to Rangoon. This marked the end of our boarding school life. With our financial situation deteriorating, Lena took on the role of an elementary school teacher at Insein Chinese School. She commuted every day from Rangoon to Insein, traveling by train. Thomas and Jeffrey accompanied her attending school there. Meanwhile, Raymond and I continued our education in Rangoon, attending a school in the city. The transition from the structured environment of the boarding school to our new circumstances brought about significant

changes in our lives. We adjusted to a new routine and a different educational setting, adapting to the challenges and opportunities that awaited us. Embarking on a New School Journey Father recognized the need for me to strengthen my Chinese language skills, realizing that my education at the convent school had not provided me with sufficient exposure. With this in mind, he made the decision to enroll me in one of the largest and most esteemed Chinese schools in Rangoon, known as Hua Zhong Chinese School. Founded in 1921 by a group of Chinese immigrants in the city, it quickly became a focal point for Chinese culture and education in Myanmar (formerly Burma). Originally, the school primarily focused on Chinese language and culture, catering to the Chinese immigrant community in Rangoon. As time passed, Hua Zhong Chinese School expanded its curriculum and facilities, incorporating English and Burmese languages alongside Chinese. Its reputation for academic excellence and rigorous standards grew, and it produced numerous accomplished graduates who went on to excel in various fields. When I first entered the school, I joined the Chinese Class for the Second Year of Middle School. All subjects were taught in Chinese, with English and Burmese being the only exceptions. In

the following year, I transferred to the Foreign Language Class, where Burmese and English became the main subjects, with only one Chinese Literature subject remaining. This particular class was designed for students who aspired to attend university after completing high school. In order to progress to Standard VIII, I attended night school to obtain my Standard VII Certificate while simultaneously

attending daytime Chinese Mandarin classes at Hua Zhong High School. It was an intense period of studying, but I was committed to my education and determined to excel in both languages. The late 1940s were a time of immense transformation in Chinese history, marked by revolution and the establishment of a new socialist government that would shape the country’s politics, economy, and society for years to come. These historical changes added a unique context to my education, further emphasizing the importance of learning and adapting to the evolving world around me. Enrolling in Hua Zhong Chinese School provided me with the opportunity to not only enhance my Chinese language

proficiency but also to immerse myself in a culturally rich environment. The school’s legacy and commitment to academic excellence laid a strong foundation for my educational journey and prepared me for the challenges and opportunities that lay

ahead. The Chinese Civil War, which had been ongoing since the mid-1920s, intensified in the late 1940s, with the Communist Party of China (CPC) gaining the upper hand over the Nationalist Party (KMT). In 1949, the KMT fled to Taiwan, signifying the end of the civil war. In Burma, two factions emerged within the Chinese community: the right-wing, supportive of the KMT and known as the White Chinese, and the left-wing, aligned with the Communist Party. Over time, our Insein Chinese School became affiliated with the left-wing, adopting a more communist ideology. My father was actively involved in the Left-wing Red Party and participated in various activities organized by the Chinese Embassy. Consequently, my enrollment in Hua Zhong Chinese School meant transitioning from a religious Convent Right-wing school to a left-wing institution. The teachers and senior students at Hua Zhong were highly involved in propagating the ideals of the Communist Party. Initially, this drastic change made me feel like an outsider, as I struggled to adapt to the new environment. However, as time passed, I gradually adjusted and began to embrace the unique atmosphere of the school. Attending Hua Zhong provided me with an opportunity to improve my Chinese language skills significantly. The emphasis

on propagating Communist Party ideology also introduced me to a range of in-school activities. One notable event was the annual Fun Fair, held on the school compound during Lunar New Year. People from both local communities and out-of-town would come to enjoy the festivities, which included shows, food stalls, games, and shops. This highly anticipated event was immensely popular among the townspeople. During the Spring Festival, restaurant chefs and cooks were enlisted to prepare banquets for each class, allowing us to celebrate the occasion in style. On the last day of the fair, we would continue the festivities in the classrooms, where students sang and danced throughout the night. These experiences fostered a sense of camaraderie and added to the vibrant and lively atmosphere of the school. While the shift from a religious Convent school to a left-wing institution presented significant challenges initially, my time at Hua Zhong Chinese School proved to be a transformative period. Not only did my Chinese language skills improve, but I also became more familiar with communist ideology and participated in a range of engaging activities. The school’s annual Fun Fair and Spring Festival celebrations further enriched my school experience and created lasting memories of joy and celebration. An Unforgettable Experience

U Nu, who served as the Prime Minister of Myanmar from 1948 to 1958 and again from 1960 to 1962, played a crucial role in maintaining friendly relations with China during his tenure. In the late 1950s, U Nu signed several agreements with the Chinese government to enhance economic, cultural, and military cooperation between the two nations. During that period, numerous cultural exchange activities took place between Myanmar and China, initiated by both

governments with the aim of fostering mutual understanding and friendship. One of the earliest initiatives was the establishment of the Myanmar-China Friendship Association in 1954. This

association worked to strengthen the bond between the people of both nations and promote cultural and economic exchanges. As our Hua Zhong High School had affiliations with the Left-Wing Red party, we actively participated in various cultural exchange activities between Myanmar and China. In 1957, the Myanmar government organized a cultural delegation to China, led by the Minister of Culture, U Khin Zaw. The delegation consisted of renowned artists, musicians, and dancers, and a group of students from our school had the honor of showcasing their dances and performances.

In 1961, a Chinese cultural delegation visited Myanmar. This delegation comprised artists, musicians, and performers who showcased traditional Chinese arts and crafts, including

calligraphy, painting, and paper cutting. They also had the opportunity to visit historical sites and monuments in Myanmar, such as the Bagan temples, to gain insight into Myanmar’s rich cultural heritage. For the welcome banquet, hosted at City Hall, the Myanmar government requested our school to provide translators for the event. Several students, including myself, were chosen for this responsibility. Our Burmese teacher, Mr. Sun You Li, who was fluent in both Chinese and Burmese (being of Chinese origin with a strong Burmese background), selected me due to my background in a convent school with a solid foundation in Burmese and English. My friend and I, along with a few others, felt proud and excited to take on this task. That evening, we dressed in elegant Burmese attire and attended the grand event, which was attended by government officials from both countries. Each student was assigned a table with a mix of Chinese and Burmese delegates who were eager to interact and communicate, relying on me as their translator. At the age of 17, I had no prior experience with such events and was unfamiliar with political terms and titles. Occasionally, I found myself in awkward situations where I struggled to find the right translations.

However, the delegates were kind and understanding, and we shared joyful moments and a delightful dinner. During my four years of high school at this institution, I took on tutoring jobs before and after school to support my family, who was facing financial difficulties following my mother’s passing. This left me with limited time for my own studies. Nonetheless, in 1964, I successfully passed the matriculation examination with a satisfactory score, which allowed me to apply for professional schools at the university level. Unfortunately, fate had other plans for me. In 1962, following a military coup that toppled the democratic government, various discriminatory measures were imposed on the Chinese community. As Chinese students, we were among the first group to be prohibited from attending professional colleges such as Medicine, Engineering, and Economics. Instead, we were only allowed to pursue Science and Arts courses. That year also witnessed violent demonstrations by college students against the military government, resulting in the closure of all colleges for nearly six months. Consequently, our entry into college was delayed. After completing my matriculation, I secured a teaching position through the Chinese Teachers Association in a remote village called Danubyu in the Delta Region.

Insein Chinese School 1961 Lena (Teacher): third row from back, 2nd from right Jeffrey and Thomas: second row from front L-3 and L-9

St. Emilie Convent Class picture of Nora kay (2nd left back row)

Top photo: newly built E-shape building after school fire 1958 St. Theresa Church and School gate

Boy School compound Boys’ basketball team and boys’ school class photo

Top photo- St. Emilie’s Convent School Left photo- class photo Right photo- Father, Mother, Sister and Teachers

Photos taken at St. Emilie’s Convent School and photos taken in Hua Zhong High School compound

Photos taken at Hua Zhong School compound

Hua Zhong High School

Matriculation Class Picture 1964 at Hua Zhong High School Nora Ting, second row from the front, 5th from the right Kendra Thanks for the story! Did you find out your mom passed away while you were at boarding school and did that affect his decision to sell the store and move? Did your other brothers just go to schools close to home? Answer: Yes, my father came to our school and picked up my sister and me when the doctor gave up on my mother. My father hired an ambulance to bring my mother home. She passed away in the evening on the same day she was discharged. The store

still remained open with the helpers for about two more years until the government issued a warrant to have the storefront moved back a few yards, meaning the building needed to be rebuilt. Since the helpers were not reliable now that my mother was gone, and considering this situation, my father could not help but to close the store. My brothers attended the Chinese school near home.

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The Stories of My Life

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