I am going under; my mind is clear. The tidal waves of time will soon swallow me. My life has run its course. I want to leave you with my thoughts which I hope you will see someday, long after I am gone.
Like the pebble on top of a mountain after the Champlain Sea has disappeared, or the stubborn stone that refused to march with the retreating glacier. I have chosen Canada as my final resting place.
But where are you my child, my long-lost daughter born of a Russian father and a Chinese mother?
Pick up each pebble and each stone, and it has a story to tell, only if we would listen. There is no regret, nor do I blame fate or people for losing you, my dear daughter. The history of China is full of turbulence and we are souls caught up in the midst of a storm. When I met your father, Sino-Russian relationship was at its peak. We fell in love with dreams of rebuilding China with soviet technology and the patriotism of a young Chinese girl. We were an innocent couple in love. Then the political wind changed. Our countries parted way, pulling our inter-racial family into an abyss. There was no future for a Chinese girl with Russian blood. You left with your father. I stood on the Wuhan Bridge, all alone, my eyes dried of tears.
For many years, the fog of war engulfed the city; it filled the streets with shouts and slogans; it filled young patriotic hearts with anger and excitement. The fire burnt, my photos, my diaries, my dreams. I could no longer ride with the new tide. Arriving Hong Kong, then on to Canada, my body travelled, leaving my youth behind, far from the city where we once were, a family. The foreign moon shines bright, but no more brighter or dimmer than the one you and I shared many a night. You cuddle close in my arms. The cicadas and the crickets sing their songs. The sweetness of jasmine fills the night.
Tonight, the North Star of the Canadian sky is keeping me company. The constellation of the Chinese sky awaits me. I long for solitude and serenity. I am closing the door, the hope of ever finding my daughter.
When I sleep you will be awake. The pulse of the night slows down to a single last heartbeat. And, in my resting heart shall also rest eternal the gift of my life, my memory of you, my dear daughter.
Hongkie At Large