Don’t cry for me, America!

My name is Boat People, actually the other half.

The no-shows who didn’t make it.

Hence, I am not here, to witness my dream flushed down the toilet.

I am not here to thrive, to contribute, to compete and to make a life for myself and my children.

I am not here to witness the land of the free disintegrated and divided.

I am not here to cast my vote and to wave the flag.

I am not here to die of Covid, since I was already dead at sea.

The other half who did not die off-shore should refuse to die on-shore (of covid – a fault not of their own). Not after they have already reached America, whose statue, a gift from France, still says “give me your tired, your poor”…

I am not here to walk my dog, to “trick or treat” with my kids, to feed squirrels in urban wild or to toss a coin into a fountain while making a wish,,, that America remains the beacon of the world, that a drive down 101 in glistening sun is still capable of melting any doubter’s heart.

I am not here. Out of sight, out of mind. No one remembers me. No one speaks of or for me.

I have neither commemoration nor coverage by the press, not as much as the way a team of soccer players had in Alive (after surviving their plane crash in the Andes.)

I am just a nameless faceless Boat People – shit, who would want to be remembered by a mode of transport. Will the hard-working Amish be remembered as carriage-people? Or American students, under Johnson, as Bus People?

Or after Elon Musk as Electric-Vehicle people.

I am a descendant of a proud race (Anamit) having beaten back the Chinese invaders by sheer wit and will. I am a descendant of a people who refused to give in to the French Colonialists, who left behind many half-breeds during their hasty extraction, after having shipped damn Michelin rubber back to Mother’s country, just like the English with their spice and tea from India & China, or oak from New England.

We , the dead and alive, are not that different in the way we both love to live free from tyranny and taxation (without re-habilitation).

I am a descendant of Mandarins and Merchants, of Factory and Farm workers.

I am the other half, who did not survive the 50/50 odds at sea, paid all (gold bars and chocolate bars) for nothing, having neither a say nor a seat at the table. Never got a facebook comment, a blog on WordPress or a Tweet out to my “followers”.

I am voiceless but not without conviction. My head held high, my flag waved. White flag. Yes, but not for surrender, more for passer-by boats to feel non-threatening. After all, those Thai pirates have robbed us, raped us many times over leaving us with a tattered shirt on our backs – which then served a makeshift bandana or a flag ( no Tom Hanks to play Cast-Away on our behalf), same way you would cut your 100%-cotton T-shirt for a mask in covid early months.

I have hopes and dreams e.g. freedom of expressions, freedom of becoming and realizing my God-given potential.

I wish you would learn, love and live to the fullest. That includes exercising your free and fair election. That includes to choose and to make mistakes while choosing (as opposed to having no choice – as in tyranny and dictatorship). I know you are experiencing “Buyer’s Remorse” i.e. voting for the wrong candidate with no Force Majeure clause or lemon law.

I hope you won’t have to cry when the camera pans past you as people in North Korea who were told who and when to mourn ( those supposed mourners stopped being theatrical immediately when the camera panned away from them).

Re-cycled beneath the Ocean as food for fish, we hope America’s descendants, of all races and colors, thrive as a proud people who at moments’ notice, can stand up to tyranny and terrorism, the way you did on 9/12/2001.

United we (the dead and the survived) stand. Like on United flight 93. Give your whole self away. Do not hold back. I wish I could join you. But I can’t. So you would have to do it on my behalf and in my memory.

Don’t cry for me America. Just fight for me.

SIgned. The other half of BOAT PEOPLE . .. who never made to strange shores.