Motivation
Hong Kong is a sub-tropical island. A relatively warm place. The warmest clothing from Hong Kong would fail to keep people warm – in Chicago. That was where my family settled when we first came to this country.
My parents could not drive. Their English skills were poor. So I walked to school. Back then, in winter, Chicago frequently snowed. I didn’t have snow boots. By the time I got to my school, my gym shoes and socks were all wet. They stayed wet until I returned home and changed. This was my daily routine in winter.
It was a simpler time. I had help. My Vice Principal insisted that I went to summer school. He threatened not allowing me to graduate. At that time, I didn’t really appreciate his efforts. I was a kid. I didn’t want to go to summer school. I didn’t fail English, did I?
So what happened next? It turned out that my summer school English teacher was my 11th grade English teacher. She was prepared. On that first day, as soon as I walked in, I was given a piece of paper and a note. The paper was full of instructions. How to write a term paper. Bibliography. Abstract. The whole 9 yards. A college level term paper. Minimum 20 pages. Double space. Typed.
That was my only assignment. For the entire summer.
What was the note for? It was formal. Using my school’s paper with a printed header. My teacher’s name and position (Dept. Chair) was printed as well. Everything else was typed. And signed. Excused me from class. Good for the entire summer. It was not something that could be done quickly. Not a hand written note.
I understood then. These two people probably collaborated. They wanted me to have more English lessons before I left high school.
I also knew my school Librarian quite well. I was at my school library doing one hand, one finger poking. Trying to “type” my paper. Pretty comical. She taught me how to type.
My 12th grade English teacher was prepared for me too. First day of school, she asked me how my teachers at Hong Kong called me. I told her. She used it the entire school year. She made efforts to help me feel comfortable. But that was not all. She referred me to a City sponsored program called “young writer’s workshop.” She was a very kind, very warm person.
What was/is the most important thing that I learned? Be true to myself. Write with my heart. I am grateful to my instructor there. She was also a very kind, very warm person.
So I owe these people a general debt. They are no longer here in this world. I myself am an old man now. My obligation is to help and give something for the next generations. Continue that fire. Continue to pass the torch. I worked on kids and schools. Every time I wanted to quit, and there were times when it was really overwhelming. I thought of them. Remembering them. They didn’t quit on me. So I didn’t quit. I carried on.
None of my teachers knew that I went to schools with wet shoes. They would have bought me snow boots. I had a bit too much pride. I learned this lesson the hard way. I want everyone to know. It is ok to ask for help. It is ok.
Why were you working on the homeless issue?
I was a poor kid. Started working when I was 15. A 10th grade student. $2 per hour. My first job involved working on two warehouses. My job was loading and unloading heavy boxes. Mostly cans. And rice bags. 100 lb. each. All by hand. No tools. The places were small. The pathways were narrow. Going up and down stairs. I was pencil thin. Only about 125 lbs.
Well. I probably can’t tell you my entire life here. So let me skip to the relevant parts.
Eventually, I left home. I couldn’t afford an apartment. I rent a room in someone’s house. In Illinois, it is critical to have shelter. In winter, people mostly don’t survive being outdoors. After I paid rents, I didn’t have enough money left to buy sufficient food. I survived on plain rice. Sometimes, I ran out of rice.
I knew exactly how it felt to be hungry. And cold. Sometimes, both at the same time.
One day, I asked myself a simple question: Life was so hard. What for? Back then, I didn’t have enough life experience to give an answer.
Yes, I knew depression. How dark it could be. Taking another breath seemingly took every ounce of strength from me. That was all I could do. Took another breath. Took another breath. Outside, it might be a sunny, beautiful day. I only saw grey. All grey. No warmth. The sun wasn’t warm. It was all grey regardless.
The fall was fast. I hit bottom in no time. I had no health insurance. No money to pay a doctor. No money to pay for medication. No money. Too proud to ask for help. Too scared. I couldn’t tell my parents. Climbing out of the hole that I dig for myself was very slow. Bumpy. Ups and downs. It was a contest of will. One part of me fighting another part.
Finally, I accepted all parts of me. The good, the bad and the ugly. I found hope. I was given a torch. I had been carrying that torch. I am carrying that torch. It was up to me to pass on that torch. My life didn’t have to be a total waste. My life didn’t have to be only about me. I could be a kind and warm person to others. I could pass on the kindness.
As I am writing, at this point, my face felt wet. Part of me didn’t want to continue. Didn’t want to write another word. Another part said I must carry on. Just telling other people. Years later. This was hard, too.
So here I am. Not a proud example. Just an example. A survivor. If I can, everyone else can too. Found your way back. Please. Get help. Accept help. It is ok. Please.
None of my previous elections are about me. This one too. No, not about me. It is time for us to take action.
Many of you have voted for me once, again, again, again, again and again. You may vote for me this time too. I want to say thank you. Thank you. That does not seem remotely adequate. So I would like you to know: I am the same Hiu Ng. Haven’t given in. Haven’t given up. Always speaking up for the people. That’s the only way that I can think of to express my gratitude. Actions. Not words.
I don’t feel that I am taking a lonely journey. Many of you are with me. Mentally. Spiritually. Let’s get this one done. For all of us.
My parents could not drive. Their English skills were poor. So I walked to school. Back then, in winter, Chicago frequently snowed. I didn’t have snow boots. By the time I got to my school, my gym shoes and socks were all wet. They stayed wet until I returned home and changed. This was my daily routine in winter.
It was a simpler time. I had help. My Vice Principal insisted that I went to summer school. He threatened not allowing me to graduate. At that time, I didn’t really appreciate his efforts. I was a kid. I didn’t want to go to summer school. I didn’t fail English, did I?
So what happened next? It turned out that my summer school English teacher was my 11th grade English teacher. She was prepared. On that first day, as soon as I walked in, I was given a piece of paper and a note. The paper was full of instructions. How to write a term paper. Bibliography. Abstract. The whole 9 yards. A college level term paper. Minimum 20 pages. Double space. Typed.
That was my only assignment. For the entire summer.
What was the note for? It was formal. Using my school’s paper with a printed header. My teacher’s name and position (Dept. Chair) was printed as well. Everything else was typed. And signed. Excused me from class. Good for the entire summer. It was not something that could be done quickly. Not a hand written note.
I understood then. These two people probably collaborated. They wanted me to have more English lessons before I left high school.
I also knew my school Librarian quite well. I was at my school library doing one hand, one finger poking. Trying to “type” my paper. Pretty comical. She taught me how to type.
My 12th grade English teacher was prepared for me too. First day of school, she asked me how my teachers at Hong Kong called me. I told her. She used it the entire school year. She made efforts to help me feel comfortable. But that was not all. She referred me to a City sponsored program called “young writer’s workshop.” She was a very kind, very warm person.
What was/is the most important thing that I learned? Be true to myself. Write with my heart. I am grateful to my instructor there. She was also a very kind, very warm person.
So I owe these people a general debt. They are no longer here in this world. I myself am an old man now. My obligation is to help and give something for the next generations. Continue that fire. Continue to pass the torch. I worked on kids and schools. Every time I wanted to quit, and there were times when it was really overwhelming. I thought of them. Remembering them. They didn’t quit on me. So I didn’t quit. I carried on.
None of my teachers knew that I went to schools with wet shoes. They would have bought me snow boots. I had a bit too much pride. I learned this lesson the hard way. I want everyone to know. It is ok to ask for help. It is ok.
Why were you working on the homeless issue?
I was a poor kid. Started working when I was 15. A 10th grade student. $2 per hour. My first job involved working on two warehouses. My job was loading and unloading heavy boxes. Mostly cans. And rice bags. 100 lb. each. All by hand. No tools. The places were small. The pathways were narrow. Going up and down stairs. I was pencil thin. Only about 125 lbs.
Well. I probably can’t tell you my entire life here. So let me skip to the relevant parts.
Eventually, I left home. I couldn’t afford an apartment. I rent a room in someone’s house. In Illinois, it is critical to have shelter. In winter, people mostly don’t survive being outdoors. After I paid rents, I didn’t have enough money left to buy sufficient food. I survived on plain rice. Sometimes, I ran out of rice.
I knew exactly how it felt to be hungry. And cold. Sometimes, both at the same time.
One day, I asked myself a simple question: Life was so hard. What for? Back then, I didn’t have enough life experience to give an answer.
Yes, I knew depression. How dark it could be. Taking another breath seemingly took every ounce of strength from me. That was all I could do. Took another breath. Took another breath. Outside, it might be a sunny, beautiful day. I only saw grey. All grey. No warmth. The sun wasn’t warm. It was all grey regardless.
The fall was fast. I hit bottom in no time. I had no health insurance. No money to pay a doctor. No money to pay for medication. No money. Too proud to ask for help. Too scared. I couldn’t tell my parents. Climbing out of the hole that I dig for myself was very slow. Bumpy. Ups and downs. It was a contest of will. One part of me fighting another part.
Finally, I accepted all parts of me. The good, the bad and the ugly. I found hope. I was given a torch. I had been carrying that torch. I am carrying that torch. It was up to me to pass on that torch. My life didn’t have to be a total waste. My life didn’t have to be only about me. I could be a kind and warm person to others. I could pass on the kindness.
As I am writing, at this point, my face felt wet. Part of me didn’t want to continue. Didn’t want to write another word. Another part said I must carry on. Just telling other people. Years later. This was hard, too.
So here I am. Not a proud example. Just an example. A survivor. If I can, everyone else can too. Found your way back. Please. Get help. Accept help. It is ok. Please.
None of my previous elections are about me. This one too. No, not about me. It is time for us to take action.
Many of you have voted for me once, again, again, again, again and again. You may vote for me this time too. I want to say thank you. Thank you. That does not seem remotely adequate. So I would like you to know: I am the same Hiu Ng. Haven’t given in. Haven’t given up. Always speaking up for the people. That’s the only way that I can think of to express my gratitude. Actions. Not words.
I don’t feel that I am taking a lonely journey. Many of you are with me. Mentally. Spiritually. Let’s get this one done. For all of us.