70 Years Since Landing In Hongkong
Part One: Seventy Years Since Landing in Hong Kong – The Turning Point of My Life
Preface
The year 2026 marks two milestones I will forever cherish: the 120th anniversary of the birth of my uncle, Mr. Cao Yao (曹耀), and the 70th anniversary of my arrival in Hong Kong. These two great events have together shaped a brilliant and regret‑free life. Throughout these precious decades, the person I have missed most deeply is Mr. Cao Yao (曹耀) – my mentor and role model on life’s journey.
The Day I Left the Philippines – 26 April 1956
The Philippines is a land of many islands, many mountains, many coconut groves, and much sunshine – and even more rice fields.
On 26 April 1956, I was a seven‑year‑old child, barefoot as usual, playing by a stream in the rice fields with a group of children, catching tadpoles. Then, from afar, a voice called my name – it rang out across the fields. That was the last time in my life I would hear a family member call me by my Filipino name. And it was the last time my name would echo through those rice fields.
My mother washed the mud from my feet and hands, all the while giving me endless anxious instructions. My father, however, said nothing – he waited impatiently. I was dressed up in a daze, while an unease filled the room. My brothers looked at me with incomprehensible eyes. My mother’s worried nagging never stopped. My father’s anxious gaze weighed on me – all attention focused on me.
The feet that had run freely across the rice fields and wild forests were now uncomfortably stuffed into new shoes, and I was dressed in smart clothes. My father took my rough little hand and led me – with an outfit I hated – toward a strange place: the airport, and an even stranger world: Hong Kong, to begin another chapter of life.
This was the flight I took to Hongkong. The tail plate No. PI-C342 was shown.Photo was taken at Kai Tak Airport
It was my first time boarding an aeroplane – I was both excited and nervous. On the vast plains, the laughter of children at play was often silenced by the thunderous roar from the sky. We had all looked up with envy at those flying machines, and now that dream was coming true for me. Every piece of equipment inside the plane was novel and fascinating. I tried to touch everything within reach, squirming restlessly. Then everything was stopped. The passengers held their breath. A deafening roar accompanied a rapid taxi, heading northeast, then a surge into the clouds. Then every line of latitude cut sharply across – severing me from my homeland, my Filipino language, my playmates, my loved ones, my home, my fruit trees, my coconut groves, and the mud that had forever clung to my hands and feet. I landed in a great metropolis – Hong Kong.
The Flight and Arrival
This year marks the 70th year since I landed in Hong Kong on 26 April 1956. Looking back, I was seven years old when I followed my biological father, Cao Zhen (曹臻), from my birthplace, Molo Village (摩洛村)[1], aboard the S.S. San Juan (聖胡安號)[2] to Manila (馬尼拉) in Luzon (呂宋)[3], and then transferred to flight PI-C342[4], flying toward a city completely unfamiliar to me – Hong Kong (香港).
On the plane, I pressed my face against the small window. The endless layers of clouds felt like an unreal dream. Images flashed through my mind: playing in the coconut groves back home, chasing loaches by the pond. Yet I had a faint feeling that I was quietly saying goodbye to my past. The image of Teacher Rose (羅絲老師), my brothers’ laughter, the sunshine of my hometown – all seemed to drift away as we flew. It was only after settling into my seat that I realised this journey would rewrite my entire life.
My biological father, Cao Zhen (曹臻), solemnly explained everything: I was to be adopted by my uncle, Cao Yao (曹耀), through the traditional Chinese custom of over‑adoption (guòjì, 過繼)[5]. He would stay with me for only two weeks before returning alone to the Philippines (菲律賓). At seven, I was too young to understand that my fate had turned. The two‑hour flight felt both long and ethereal, and I had no idea of the storms ahead.
The plane slowly descended over Kai Tak Airport (啟德機場)[6]. As I stepped out of the cabin, Hong Kong greeted me all at once – high‑rises climbing the hillsides, the shimmering waves of Victoria Harbour (維多利亞港), streets lined with signboards, a constant flow of cars and people. The unique urban rhythm was woven from human voices and traffic. Unlike the quiet simplicity of my hometown, this city was bustling, crowded, full of life – and strangely reassuring. Greeting us at the airport were my uncle’s second daughter, Cao Qian (曹倩); my aunt (姑媽); and a sturdy man with a kind, honest face and steady demeanour – the driver, Liu Dong (劉東).
Liu Dong (劉東) was originally from Cuiwei Village (翠微村), Zhongshan (中山), Guangdong (廣東). After the war, he came to Hong Kong with the tide of immigration. He first worked as a Western chef for a foreign family before entering the Cao family’s service, where he remained for fifty years. He drove steadily, meticulously maintaining the family’s West German Opel (歐寶)[7] automobile. He could fix anything around the house – electrical repairs, gardening, small handiwork – and was an indispensable “wànnéng lǎoguān (萬能老倌)”[8] (jack‑of‑all‑trades). A man of few words but sharp eyes, he saw that I was timid and uneasy as a newcomer, so he took my luggage, spoke soothingly, and cared for me throughout the journey, gradually calming my anxious heart.
During my first ten years in Hong Kong, Liu Dong (劉東) was more than a driver – he was the warmest, most intimate mentor of my childhood. Through his simple, unpretentious actions, he left me with many stories that I will cherish for a lifetime.
He knew I missed my family and could not sleep, so in his spare time he often talked with me, teaching me Hong Kong customs and the principles of life, filling the void left by my absent parents. Most memorably, when he saw I was unhappy, he bought me more than a dozen silkworms (cán bǎobǎo, 蠶寶寶)[9]. He taught me how to feed them mulberry leaves, clean their waste, and tend their cocoons. Under his careful guidance, the tiny silkworms grew and eventually multiplied into hundreds. Watching their transformation not only delighted me as a child but also soothed my loneliness, giving me my first true sense of security in a strange land.
He also introduced me to life and nature, teaching me many practical, down‑to‑earth skills. I remember growing tomatoes in the backyard – he showed me how to use urine as fertiliser, explaining how to store and dilute it properly. It was environmentally friendly and made the vegetables grow lush and large. Under his guidance, I learned to observe how plants thrive and understood the interdependence of all living things. Through those small but honest labours, I discovered the joy of a grounded life. Although he was only a driver, he treated me like family, and during my most vulnerable childhood years, his warmth and companionship supported my entire youth in Hong Kong.
277 at left & 275 at left Prince Ed. Rd.
At that time, my two cousins were the pride of my eyes. The elder, Cao Guo (曹幗), attended Diocesan Girls’ School (拔萃女子中學)[10], and the second attended Maryknoll School (瑪利諾書院)[11] – both top schools in Hong Kong. They excelled academically and carried themselves with grace. In 1957 and 1958, respectively, they sailed on the S.S. President Wilson (威爾遜總統號)[12] to further their studies in the United States (美國). The elder entered Oklahoma Baptist University (OBU, 奧克拉荷馬浸會大學)[13], the younger attended Wellesley College (衛斯理女子學院)[14] – both prestigious American institutions. They were the glory of the family. Because of this, my uncle Cao Yao (曹耀) and my aunt (姑媽) often encouraged me, urging me to study hard, follow my cousins’ example, and strive for success and knowledge. Their high expectations became an important motivation on my educational journey in Hong Kong.
The car travelled through the busy streets and pulled up smoothly at 277 Prince Edward Road (太子道277號)[15]. Outside, Hong Kong was bustling and hurried, but thanks to Liu Dong’s (劉東) care, my uncle’s affection, and my family’s hopes, I no longer felt adrift.
My First Photograph (1958)My first photograph was taken when I was nine years old, in 1958. It was shot from the rooftop of 277 Prince Edward Road (太子道277號) using a Kodak Brownie 120 black‑and‑white film camera (柯達布朗尼120黑白菲林)[16]. Below, you can see Ruifang Kindergarten (瑞芳幼稚園)[17], which I attended, and next to it, a coffee house. Across the street stood the buildings at the junction of Waterloo Road (窩打老道) and Prince Edward Road (太子道) , facing the St. Teresa’s Church (聖德肋撒天主堂)[18].
My Brownie
That photograph, simple as it was, captured a moment of settled life in Hong Kong – a world away from the rice fields of the Philippines.
Later Years – The Engineering Island Incident
Yet the twists of fate did not end there. Sixteen years later, in 1972, I was shocked to learn that I had been an illegal overstayer in Hong Kong all along. To rectify my status, I became entangled in a dispute with the Philippine government and experienced the unforgettable “Engineering Island Incident (工程島水牢事件)” [19]. At the time, Ferdinand Marcos (費迪南德·馬可斯)[20] had imposed martial law. Because of a conflict between my biological father, Cao Zhen (曹臻), and the Philippine government, I was detained for twenty days at the Engineering Island Detention Centre (工程島拘留中心) in Manila Bay (馬尼拉灣), suffering great fear and injustice. Those days were bitter and painful, but whenever I thought of Hong Kong – my home, my uncle Cao Yao (曹耀) who treated me as his own son, and Liu Dong (劉東) who had always looked after me – I found strength and perseverance.
Seventy years have passed in a flash. The frightened seven‑year‑old boy has now lived most of his life in Hong Kong. Hong Kong, once a strange landing place, has gradually become my root, my home. It has witnessed my wandering, helplessness, and stumbles, but also my growth, resilience, and sense of belonging. Liu Dong’s (劉東) decades‑long warmth, my cousins’ example, my uncle Cao Yao’s (曹耀) nurturing kindness, my biological father Cao Zhen’s (曹臻) fateful decision, and every brick, every lane of this city – all are deeply engraved in my life.
Looking back on that day, 26 April 1956, the plane did not simply land in Hong Kong – it landed at the starting point of my entire life. This city took me in, warmed me, and made me who I am. Seventy years of changing times and worldly vicissitudes – yet human kindness and memories remain forever in my heart. Hong Kong is no longer a foreign place; it is the homeland where I have found my footing and will never abandon. And my uncle Cao Yao’s (曹耀) grace and teachings have accompanied me all my life, giving me this brilliant and regret‑free journey.
The encounters and unforgettable stories of my life after leaving the Philippines for Hong Kong over the past sixty years are like the plot of a realistic film – no less than Alex Law’s (羅啟銳) [21] film Echoes of the Rainbow (歲月神偷) [22].
---
Annotations to Part One
[1] Molo Village (摩洛村) – A village in the Philippines, likely in Iloilo province on Panay Island, known for its historic Molo Church and Chinese‑Filipino community.
[2] S.S. San Juan (聖胡安號) – A passenger ship operating inter‑island routes in the Philippines in the mid‑20th century.
[3] Luzon (呂宋) – The largest and most populous island of the Philippines, where Manila is located.
[4] Flight PI-C342 – A Philippine commercial flight number from the 1950s
[5] Over‑adoption (guòjì, 過繼) – Traditional Chinese custom of adopting a male child (usually a nephew) to continue the family line and perform ancestral rites.
[6] Kai Tak Airport (啟德機場) – Hong Kong’s international airport from 1925 to 1998, famous for its dramatic approach over residential areas.
[7] Opel (歐寶) – A German automobile brand; in post‑war Hong Kong, imported European cars like Opel were symbols of affluence.
[8] Wànnéng lǎoguān (萬能老倌) – Cantonese term for a handyman or jack‑of‑all‑trades.
[9] Silkworms (cán bǎobǎo, 蠶寶寶) – Affectionate term for silkworms, literally “silkworm babies”.
[10] Diocesan Girls’ School (拔萃女子中學) – Prestigious Hong Kong secondary school founded in 1860.
[11] Maryknoll School (瑪利諾書院) – Now Maryknoll Convent School, a top Catholic girls’ school in Kowloon, founded in 1925.
[12] S.S. President Wilson (威爾遜總統號) – An American passenger liner built in 1948, used for trans‑Pacific voyages until the 1970s.
[13] Oklahoma Baptist University (OBU, 奧克拉荷馬浸會大學) – Private Christian university in Shawnee, Oklahoma, founded in 1910.
[14] Wellesley College (衛斯理女子學院) – Prestigious women’s liberal arts college in Massachusetts, founded in 1870.
[15] 277 Prince Edward Road (太子道277號) – A notable address in Kowloon, Hong Kong.
[16] Kodak Brownie 120 black‑and‑white film camera (柯達布朗尼120黑白菲林) – A simple box camera introduced by Kodak in 1900, popular for amateur photography from the 1950s to 1970s.
[17] Ruifang Kindergarten (瑞芳幼稚園) – A kindergarten in Kowloon, Hong Kong, that the author attended.
[18] St. Teresa’s Church (聖德肋撒天主堂) – A famous Catholic church on Prince Edward Road in Kowloon, completed in 1932.
[19] Engineering Island Incident (工程島水牢事件) – A 1972 incident in which the author was detained for twenty days at the Engineering Island Detention Centre in Manila Bay due to his illegal overstayer status and a conflict between his father and the Marcos regime. The facility had a “water dungeon” (flooded cell).
[20] Ferdinand Marcos (費迪南德·馬可斯) – President of the Philippines (1965–1986) who declared martial law in 1972.
[21] Alex Law (羅啟銳) – Hong Kong film director, screenwriter, and producer (1952–2022), known for Echoes of the Rainbow (2010).
[22] Echoes of the Rainbow (歲月神偷) – A 2010 Hong Kong film directed by Alex Law, set in 1960s Hong Kong, depicting a working‑class family’s struggles and resilience.
---
Part Two: Buying Paper (買紙)
By Cao Jiadao (曹家道)
In the memories of my generation – those who came overseas from Nanyang (南洋, Southeast Asia) or the Sze Yap (四邑, Four Counties) qiaoxiang (僑鄉, emigrant hometowns) [23] – the term “buying paper (買紙, mǎi zhǐ)” [24] carries a weight that can press down an entire era of hardship. It was not an ordinary trade in paper. During the era of Chinese exclusion in the United States, it was a desperate path taken by countless Chinese seeking a slim chance at survival, a way to break into Gold Mountain (金山, Gam Saan) [25]. It is a story of the qiaoxiang that I heard from my elders and that left a deep imprint on my heart.
Taishan (台山, Toisan) [26] has long been called “China’s No.1 Qiaoxiang (中國第一僑鄉)”. The number of its people living overseas is even greater than the population that remains in the homeland. When news of the California Gold Rush reached southern Guangdong (廣東), countless Taishanese left their villages and crossed the ocean, dreaming of Gold Mountain. Chinese laborers bled to mine gold and build the transcontinental railroad, making immense contributions to the development of the American West. Yet in return they received the Chinese Exclusion Act of 1882 (排華法案) [27], which slammed the door shut and completely cut off legal immigration from China.
The only exception was for Chinese‑American citizens born in the United States – they were not restricted by the Act and could apply for their children born abroad to come to America. In 1906, the great San Francisco earthquake and fire destroyed vast numbers of municipal birth records. Many Chinese who had already settled in America seized the opportunity to register that they had children in China – even when those children did not exist. Thus, an underground immigration route emerged: people in the home villages bought these fictitious slots and entered the country as “sons of citizens”. This is what the qiaoxiang generations called “buying paper”, and the sons who came on such papers – with no blood relation – were “paper sons (紙兒子)”.
Buying paper was never as simple as buying a piece of paper. To prevent fraud, U.S. immigration authorities set up a detention station on Engineering Island Detention Centre (工程島拘留中心) [28] – the historical name used by Chinese immigrants for Angel Island in San Francisco Bay – where every new arrival was rigorously interrogated. Those who had bought paper had to memorise a detailed “coaching paper (口供紙, kǒugòng zhǐ)” [29] – the family tree of a fictitious family, the location of the ancestral hall, the big tree at the village entrance, the surnames of neighbours, the layout of rooms – everything had to be recited without a single mistake. A small slip could lead to months or even years of detention, or direct deportation. Engineering Island Detention Centre, isolated in the bay, recorded the bitterness and humiliation of a generation of Chinese immigrants.
According to later statistics, among the more than 100,000 Chinese immigrants who entered the United States during that period, eighty percent came as “paper sons” or “paper daughters (紙女兒)”. And this path was long monopolised by the Taishanese. That is why the Taishan dialect once became the common language of New York’s Chinatown (紐約唐人街) – a familiar sound that connected the older generation of Chinese in a foreign land.
The practice of buying paper continued for half a century. There was even a man known as the “King of Fake Fathers (假爸大王)” [30], Xu Bingji (許炳濟, Hsu Ping‑chi), who for decades used paper sons to bring hundreds of his fellow villagers to America, emptying entire villages. It was not until 1958, when the scheme was exposed and the U.S. authorities introduced a confession and amnesty program, that the half‑century history of buying paper finally came to an end.
Although I was born in the Philippines (菲律賓) and grew up in Hong Kong (香港), I often heard this story from my elders. The cost of buying paper was not just money – it was a lifetime of living under an assumed name, the separation of countless families. As I later heard from Mr. Chen Hongwei (陳鴻偉), his father had bought paper to come to America. Even as a World War II veteran, because his identity was false, he could never reunite with his wife and children. Father and son were separated for decades, only recognising each other when the son was nearly thirty years old.
A thin piece of paper carried the weight of survival’s desperation and the pain of separation – yet it also bore the mark of Chinese struggling and stubbornly taking root in a foreign land. “Buying paper” is now history, but those years of hardship remain forever in the deep memory of our qiaoxiang descendants, reminding us that the stability we enjoy today was not easily won.
---
Annotations to Part Two
[23] Sze Yap (四邑) qiaoxiang (僑鄉) – “Sze Yap” refers to the four counties of Taishan, Kaiping, Xinhui, and Enping in Guangdong, China’s most famous emigrant homeland.
[24] Buying paper (買紙, mǎi zhǐ) – The practice of purchasing false identity papers to immigrate to the United States as a “paper son” during the Chinese Exclusion era.
[25] Gold Mountain (金山, Gam Saan) – Chinese term for California (and later the United States) during the Gold Rush period.
[26] Taishan (台山, Toisan) – A county‑level city in Guangdong, known as the “No.1 Qiaoxiang of China”. Taishanese was the dominant Chinese dialect in early American Chinatowns.
[27] Chinese Exclusion Act of 1882 (排華法案) – First U.S. law explicitly banning a specific ethnic group from immigration. It was not repealed until 1943.
[28] Engineering Island Detention Centre (工程島拘留中心) – The common Chinese name for Angel Island in San Francisco Bay, where a U.S. immigration detention station operated from 1910 to 1940. Note: This is a different location from the Engineering Island Detention Centre in Manila Bay mentioned in Part One.
[29] Coaching paper (口供紙, kǒugòng zhǐ) – A memorised script of fabricated family details used to pass immigration interrogations.
[30] King of Fake Fathers (假爸大王) – Nickname for Xu Bingji (許炳濟), a notorious figure who sold paper son slots to hundreds of villagers; his operation collapsed in 1958.
---
CHINESE VERSION
第一部：登港七十載——我的人生轉折
前言
今年2026年，是值得我永遠紀念的兩大年份：伯父曹耀先生誕辰一百二十週年，以及我登陸香港七十週年。這兩件大事，共同築起了我這一生，一個燦爛而無悔的人生。而在這兩段珍貴歲月裡，最讓我緬懷不已的，便是曹耀先生，亦是我人生路上的良師與榜樣。
離開菲律賓的那一天——1956年4月26日
菲律賓，多島、多山、多椰林、多陽光，更多的是田疇。
1956年四月廿六日，一個七歲孩童如常赤腳在田溪邊，和一群孩童捕捉蝌蚪時，遠方傳來呼叫我名字的聲音，響遍田野。這是我一生最後一次聽到家人以菲語呼我，更是田疇最後一次響著我的名字。
母親給我邊洗去腳上和手上的泥濘，一邊向我滿耳叮嚀，而父親卻一語不言，很不耐煩地候著。我懵然給打扮著，室內瀰漫不安。兄弟比我更莫名其妙的目光，母親不停且憂心的叮嚀，父親憂心忡忡地盯著衡量著，全聚焦在我。
縱橫田疇和荒林的赤足，很不自然地套入新鞋子裡，和身穿光鮮衣裳。父親就攜著我隻粗厚小手，和令我討厭打扮，往一處陌生地——機場，和更陌生的一片天地——香港，去展開另頁人生。
我首次登機，既興奮且緊張。廣闊平原上孩童玩樂歡笑常給天空巨響鎮著，齊用最羨慕仰視過的，美夢首向我實現。我對機內每樣設備皆感新奇和興趣，嘗試觸摸可接觸到的東西，身體不停挪動。當一切都被止著時，乘客肅靜屏息。巨響挾持急速滑行，向東北，衝上雲霄。然後每條緯線狠狠的切割過來，斷我鄉土、菲語、童伴、至親、家園、果樹、椰林和永遠在手和腳上之泥濘。降落在大都會——香港。
飛行與抵達
今年，是1956年4月26日我登陸香港的第七十個年頭。回望當日，七歲的我跟隨生父曹臻，從出生地Molo村落（摩洛村）[1]出發，搭乘San Juan號輪船（聖胡安號）[2]前往呂宋（呂宋）[3]馬尼拉（馬尼拉），再轉乘PI-C342航班[4]，飛向一個我完全陌生的城市——香港（香港）。
飛機上，我貼著小小的窗口往外望，雲層綿延無際，像一場不真實的夢。腦海中閃過家鄉椰林嬉戲、在池塘邊捉泥鰍的歡快時光，卻也隱隱覺得，自己正與過去悄悄告別。Rose老師（羅絲老師）的身影、兄弟的笑聲、故鄉的陽光，好像都隨著飛行慢慢變遠。直到安頓在座位上，我才驚覺，這段旅程，將要改寫我整整一生。
生父曹臻神色嚴肅地向我交代一切：我要過繼[5]給伯父曹耀，他只陪我兩週，便會獨自返回菲律賓。七歲的我懵然不知命運已轉彎，只覺得飛行的兩小時漫長又輕飄，對未來的風雨，一無所知。
飛機緩緩降落啟德機場（啟德機場）[6]，一踏出機艙，香港便撲面而來。高樓依山層疊，維多利亞港（維多利亞港）波光閃動，街道招牌林立、車水馬龍，人聲與車聲交織成獨特的城市節奏。不同於家鄉的寧靜樸素，這座城市熱鬧、擁擠、充滿生機，也讓人莫名心安。前來迎接我們的，有伯父的二女兒曹倩、姑媽，還有一位身材結實、樣貌敦厚、舉止沉穩的男子——司機劉東。
劉東原籍廣東中山翠微村，戰後隨移民潮來港，早年在洋人家庭任西廚，後入曹家服務長達五十年。他駕駛技術穩重，熟心打理西德奧普房車（Opel，歐寶）[7]，家裡水電維修、園藝栽種、細小修補樣樣精通，是全家離不開的「萬能老倌」[8]。他話不多，卻眼明心細，見我初到異地膽怯不安，主動提行李、緩聲安撫，一路照顧周到，讓我慌亂的心漸漸平靜。
在我來港的首十年，劉東不只是司機，更是我童年最溫暖的親密導師，用樸實無華的行動，留下許多讓我感念一生的故事。他知道我遠離親人、思鄉難眠，常常在閒暇時陪我說話，教我香港的風俗習慣與做人道理，填補了我不在父母身邊的空缺。最難忘的是，他見我悶悶不樂，特意買來十幾隻蠶寶寶[9]送我，手把手教我餵桑葉、清理蠶糞、照料蠶繭。在他細心指點下，小小蠶蟲不斷成長，最終繁衍至數百隻。那段觀察生命蛻變的時光，不僅充滿童趣，更撫平了我內心的孤獨，讓我在異乡第一次感受到踏實的溫暖。
他更帶我認識生活與自然，教我許多實用又樸實的知識。記得後院種植番茄，他便細心教我如何留尿液施肥，講解怎樣妥善儲存、稀釋運用，既環保又能讓蔬果長得茂盛碩大。在他的帶領下，我學會觀察植物生長，懂得萬物相生相養的道理，也從這些瑣碎卻真實的勞動裡，體會到踏實生活的樂趣。他雖只是司機，卻待我如親人，在我最無依無靠的童年裡，用溫厚與陪伴，撐起了我在香港的整個少年時光。
當時家中兩位堂姐，更是我眼中的驕傲。大姐曹幗就讀拔萃女子中學[10]，二姐就讀瑪利諾書院[11]，皆是香港頂尖名校。她們學業優異、舉止端莊，先後於1957年及1958年登上美國總統號客輪（威爾遜總統號）[12]遠赴美國深造。大姐進入奧克拉荷馬浸會大學（OBU）[13]，二姐就讀衛斯理女子學院（Wellesley）[14]，兩所皆是美國享負盛名的學府，一時成為家裡的光榮。也正因如此，伯父曹耀與姑母時常以此勉勵我，督促我勤力向學，以兩位姐姐為榜樣，將來也要爭氣上進、學有所成。這份來自家長的殷切期望，也成為我在香港求學路上重要的動力。
車子穿過鬧市，平穩駛往太子道277號[15]。窗外的香港繁華匆忙，可我心裡卻因為劉東的照顧、伯父的關愛與家人的期盼，不再感到漂泊。
我的第一張照片（1958年）
本人於九歲時（1958年）第一次拍的照片，從太子道277號[15]天台拍下，用Kodak Brownie 120黑白菲林（柯達布朗尼120黑白菲林） [16]。下方可見我曾就讀的瑞芳幼稚園[17]，其旁是咖啡屋（Coffee House），對面正是窩打老道與太子道交界之樓房，面對聖德肋撒天主堂[18]。
這張照片雖然簡單，卻記錄了我在香港安定下來後的一個生活片段——一個與菲律賓田疇截然不同的世界。
後來的歲月——工程島水牢事件
然而命運的波折並未就此停止。十六年後，1972年，我才驚悉自己在香港一直屬非法逾期居留。為了更正身份，我牽扯進與菲律賓政府的糾葛，更經歷了終生難忘的「工程島水牢事件」[19]。當時馬可斯（費迪南德·馬可斯）[20]實施軍法統治，我因生父曹臻與菲政府的矛盾被扣押二十天，地點是馬尼拉灣的工程島拘留中心，飽受驚嚇與委屈。那段日子辛酸難忍，但每當想起香港有我的家、有視我如己出的伯父曹耀、有始終照顧我的劉東，心裡便多了一份支撐與堅持。
七十年光陰匆匆而過。當年那個惶恐不安的七歲孩童，如今已在香港度過大半人生。香港從一個陌生的落脚地，慢慢變成我的根、我的家。它見過我的漂泊、無助與跌撞，也包容我的成長、堅強與歸屬。劉東數十年如一日的溫情、堂姐的榜樣、伯父曹耀的養育之恩、生父曹臻的當年抉擇，連同這座城市的一磚一瓦、一街一巷，都深深鐫刻在我的生命裡。
回望1956年4月26日那一天，飛機降落的不只是香港，更是我一生的起點。這座城市收留了我、溫暖了我、成就了我。七十年風雲變幻，世事滄桑，唯有人情與記憶長留心間。香港早已不是他鄉，而是我此生安身立命、永難捨棄的故園；而伯父曹耀先生的恩情與教誨，更伴我一生，讓我擁有這段燦爛無悔的人生。
我六十多年來離菲到港後那一段際遇和難忘的故事，好比一部寫實電影的情節，不遜羅啟銳[21]執導的《歲月神偷》[22]。
---
註釋（第一部）
[1] 摩洛村（Molo Village） – 菲律賓村莊，可能位於班乃島伊洛伊洛省，以歷史悠久的摩洛教堂和中菲混血社區聞名。
[2] 聖胡安號（S.S. San Juan） – 二十世紀中葉菲律賓島際航線的客輪。
[3] 呂宋（Luzon） – 菲律賓最大、人口最多的島嶼，首都馬尼拉位於此。
[4] PI-C342航班 – 1950年代菲律賓商業航班編號（可能為菲律賓航空）。
[5] 過繼 – 中國傳統習俗，將男子（通常為姪子）過繼給無子嗣的親屬以延續香火和祭祀。
[6] 啟德機場 – 香港1925年至1998年的國際機場，以飛機需低空穿越密集住宅區的驚險進場路線聞名。
[7] 歐寶（Opel） – 德國汽車品牌；戰後香港，進口歐洲車如歐寶是富裕的象徵。
[8] 萬能老倌 – 粵語詞，指什麼都會做的多面手或勤雜工。
[9] 蠶寶寶 – 對蠶的暱稱。
[10] 拔萃女子中學（Diocesan Girls’ School） – 香港頂尖中學，創立於1860年，以學術卓越著稱。
[11] 瑪利諾書院（Maryknoll School） – 現稱瑪利諾修院學校，九龍頂尖天主教女校，1925年由瑪利諾外方傳教會創立。
[12] 威爾遜總統號（S.S. President Wilson） – 美國總統輪船公司的客輪，1948年建成，用於橫跨太平洋航線至1970年代。
[13] 奧克拉荷馬浸會大學（OBU） – 位於奧克拉荷馬州肖尼的私立基督教大學，1910年創立。
[14] 衛斯理女子學院（Wellesley College） – 麻薩諸塞州頂尖女子文理學院，1870年創立。
[15] 太子道277號 – 香港九龍著名地址，太子道為主要幹道。
[16] 柯達布朗尼120黑白菲林（Kodak Brownie 120） – 柯達公司1900年推出的簡易盒式相機。「120」指底片格式。1950至1970年代廣泛用於業餘攝影。
[17] 瑞芳幼稚園 – 香港九龍一所幼稚園，作者曾就讀。
[18] 聖德肋撒天主堂（St. Teresa’s Church） – 香港九龍太子道著名天主教堂，1932年建成。
[19] 工程島水牢事件 – 1972年作者因在香港非法逾期居留及生父與馬可斯政權的矛盾，在馬尼拉灣工程島拘留中心被扣押二十天。該設施設有水牢（部分浸水的囚室），此事成為作者終生難忘的創傷。
[20] 費迪南德·馬可斯（Ferdinand Marcos） – 菲律賓前總統（1965–1986），1972年宣布軍法統治。
[21] 羅啟銳（Alex Law） – 香港導演、編劇、製片人（1952–2022），作品包括《歲月神偷》（2010）、《畫皮》（1993）等。
[22] 《歲月神偷》（Echoes of the Rainbow） – 2010年羅啟銳執導的香港電影，背景為1960年代香港，描寫基層家庭的奮鬥與堅韌，曾獲柏林影展水晶熊獎。
---
第二部：買紙
作者：曹家道
在我這輩人從南洋[23]、從四邑僑鄉[23]來到海外的記憶裡，「買紙」[24]二字，重得能壓住一整段滄桑歲月。它不是尋常的紙張買賣，而是在美國排華年代裡，無數華人為求一線生機、為闖蕩金山[25]所走的一條無奈之路，也是我從小聽長輩敘說、深深烙印在心的僑鄉往事。
台山[26]向來被稱為「中國第一僑鄉」，旅居海外的鄉親人數，甚至比家鄉本土還要多。當年加州淘金熱的消息傳回粵南，無數台山人懷著金山夢，離鄉別井，遠渡重洋。華工們以血汗開礦、修築橫貫大陸的鐵路，為美國西部開發立下汗馬功勞，可迎來的卻是1882年的《排華法案》[27]，從此華人被擋在美國國門之外，正常移民之路徹底斷絕。
唯有在美國出生的華裔公民，不受此法限制，還能為在海外所生的子女申請來美。1906年舊金山大地震與大火，燒毀了大量市政出生檔案，許多早已在美立足的華人，便趁此機會登記自己在中國有子女，哪怕這些子女根本不存在。於是，一條地下移民之路應運而生——家鄉的人花錢購買這些虛構的名額，以「公民之子」的名義入境，這就是僑鄉人口中代代相傳的「買紙」，而這些憑藉文件、毫無血緣的「兒子」，便是「紙兒子」。
買紙從來不是一張紙那麼簡單。為了防範造假，美國移民當局在工程島拘留中心[28]（華人移民對舊金山灣天使島的俗稱）設立拘留所，對每一位新入境者嚴加盤問。買紙之人，必須死記硬背一份詳細的「口供紙」[29]，從虛構家庭的族譜、祠堂位置、村頭大樹，到鄰居姓氏、房間格局，都要背得一字不差。稍有閃失，便可能被關押數月、數年，甚至直接遣返。那座孤懸海上的工程島拘留中心，記下了一代華人移民的心酸與委屈。
據後世統計，當年進入美國的十多萬華裔移民中，有八成都是以「紙兒子」「紙女兒」的身份而來。而這條路，長期以來幾乎被台山人壟斷，也正因如此，台山話一度成為紐約唐人街的通用語言，成為老一輩華人在異鄉相認的鄉音。
這股買紙風氣延續了半個世紀，甚至出現像許炳濟那樣被稱為「假爸大王」[30]的人，數十年間以紙兒子的方式，將家鄉數百名鄉親帶到美國，讓原本熱鬧的村莊幾乎成為空村。直到1958年此事曝光，美國當局推出坦白赦免計劃，橫跨半世紀的買紙歷史才終於畫上句點。
我雖生於菲律賓、長於香港，卻常在長輩的敘說中聽到這段往事。買紙的代價，不僅是金錢，更是一輩子的隱姓埋名，是無數家庭的骨肉分離。就像後來我聽聞的陳鴻偉先生，父親當年買紙來美，縱然是二戰老兵，也因身份造假，無法與妻兒團聚，父子二人分隔數十載，直到年近三十才終於相認。
一張薄薄的紙，承載的是求生的艱難、離別的痛苦，也是華人在異鄉困境中掙扎、頑強扎根的印記。「買紙」早已成為歷史，但那段滄桑歲月，永遠留在我們這一代僑鄉後人的記憶深處，提醒著我們，今日的安穩來之不易。
---
註釋（第二部）
[23] 南洋／四邑僑鄉 – 「南洋」指東南亞。「四邑」指廣東台山、開平、新會、恩平四縣，是中國最著名的僑鄉。
[24] 買紙 – 美國排華年代，華人購買虛假身份文件以「紙兒子」身份移民美國的做法。
[25] 金山 – 華人對加州（後泛指美國）的稱呼，源自淘金熱。
[26] 台山 – 廣東縣級市，被稱為「中國第一僑鄉」。台山話曾是早期美國唐人街的通用語言。
[27] 排華法案（1882年） – 美國首部明確禁止特定種族移民的法律，直至1943年才被廢除。
[28] 工程島拘留中心 – 華人移民對舊金山灣天使島的俗稱。1910年至1940年間，美國在此設移民拘留所，數千名華人遭嚴厲盤問和關押。注意：此處與第一篇文章中馬尼拉灣的工程島拘留中心不是同一地點。
[29] 口供紙 – 買紙者須死記硬背的虛構家庭細節劇本，用以通過移民盤問。
[30] 假爸大王 – 許炳濟的綽號，他數十年間販賣紙兒子名額，將數百鄉親帶到美國，1958年東窗事發。
Comments
Post a Comment