Category: 1970s

Ms. 陳紀彝 Chen Chi-Yi was our beloved Principal at Wesley Girls’ High. A graduate of Mount Holyoke College in Massachusetts, she held Masters of Education and Sociology from Columbia University. Before founding and leading the school, she devoted her time in women’s affairs and was a parliamentary member of R. O. C. A classmate and close friend of Madam Chiang Kai-Shek, she was a loyal supporter of Madam’s. But she never joined the Nationalist Party.

Originally from Canton, educated in English, speaking Mandarin didn’t come naturally to her. So, she rarely gave long speeches. Weekends before exams, she would send us home with encouragements. And, she would always say: “好好溫書, 不要’liaw’[撈？]冰箱.” We all found it funny. Although I never compared notes with my friends, I believed that she meant to say: “Study hard. Don’t keep going to the refrigerator searching for junk food.”

The other mantra of hers was: “作一個堂堂正正的中國人.” “Be a dignified Chinese person.” She said it with such sincerity and conviction that we knew she didn’t just use it as a slogan. And, she quietly set a perfect example for us.

Like many ladies of her generation, she wore traditional qípáo (旗袍 or cheongsam in Cantonese)^[1] regularly. These long dresses were form fitting and rigid. However, they always seemed slightly loose on Principal Chen. Her upright posture made her small physique seemed imposing. I don’t remember ever seeing her laughing out loud. But there was often gentle smile on her face when we greeted her.

Never married, she treated us as her children. A few of our teachers were graduates of the first classes from the school. There was an apparent closeness between them and Principal Chen. By the time we were in school, there were too many of us for her to know everyone of us by name. But she paid close attention to our well-being. She ate dorm food with us daily. When time allowed, she would walk around the classrooms, observing us. Every time I spotted her passing by our classroom, I would sit a little straighter and try a little harder to focus on the lesson.

For many—including some of my relatives—Wesley was an “elite” school. I never quite knew what defined “an elite school.” Most of us were from middle class families. We all shared duties to keep our classrooms and bedrooms clean. Everyone, on rotation, is responsible to keep the common area in good shape. Twice a year, we had cleaning contests. All the screens and windows were removed and scrubbed. Every corner of the classrooms would be wiped spotless. Principal Chen would make sure that we did everything properly and that we worked safely.

I was in the Principal’s office a few times. (I don’t remember the exact reasons for being there. . .definitely, not for anything bad.) The set up was elegant but simple—exactly like the person at the desk. It seemed only yesterday that I bowed gently to greet her.^[2]

^[1]The Evolution of Quipao
^[2]Principal Chen retired in 1975 and passed away on February 16, 1990.

In my elementary school years, mom would find all kinds of ways to make me write—diaries, essays and travel logs. I hated these extra “homework.” Mom’s harsh criticisms always made things worse.

After entering middle school, Chinese Composition became one of my favorite classes. Each week we would be given a subject/title at the beginning of the class period. We were to write a short prose essay. Instead of using pens or pencils, we were to write with calligraphic brushes—in tiny characters—on rice paper. There was no chance for errors once the brush touched the paper. So, one must think clearly and write carefully. Our teachers would mark their corrections and comments, mostly constructive and positive, in red ink. For me, the class offered me a chance to express my ideas without shutting to the entire world.

One day, Teacher Lee, our homeroom teacher wrote a strange phrase on the blackboard: 二十年後我的一篇日記 (An Entry in My Diary—Twenty Years in the Future). It might have meant to stimulate some inspirational and hopeful thoughts. I, nonetheless, took a very personal approach in my response:

In my early thirties, alone and far away from my family, I reminisced birthday celebrations in my childhood: Cotton roses bloomed brightly in dad’s garden. The elegant scent of aglaia odorata filled the autumn air. Joyful guests chattered and laughed. Kids ran around the house. The cake, the candles, the happy faces. . .. Wishing there was possibility to return to the past, what I missed most was the closeness to family and friends. . ..

For a long time, I kept these composition books in my drawer at home. However, with the years passing and situations changing, they must have been lost by now. I don’t remember the exact wording in my article. Nevertheless, I remember very well the loneliness that I felt while writing it. Yet, there was no sadness and no regret. My writing might have caught our teachers’ attention but didn’t land me on any lists. Life moved on.

Somehow, even at a young age, I knew that someday I would travel far. Somehow, I knew that I would live a solitary life. Why? I never know.

The monotony and solitude of a quiet life stimulates the creative mind. – Albert Einstein