Northern Lights
It was a hot afternoon in August, and the windows stood wide open for the occasional breeze. With the blistering summer heat outside, we were told by our parents to stay indoors. Too young to enjoy the siesta, I lay restlessly on my bed, listening to a cicada perched high on the banyan tree shrill his tenor solo now and then. In my mind’s eye, I could see a squadron of dragonflies flit about and hover above the surface of the water of a small canal chasing after a horde of mosquitoes. Oh, the summer of my childhood in those sad and happy days of yore!
With a remote prospect of acquiring a permanent residence in the United States, I began looking north to the "Land of Freedom" known as Canada, as many other expatriates before me had done. After filing an application for immigration with Citizenship and Immigration Canada, I was scheduled for an interview at Buffalo.
On a cold spring morning, I boarded a Greyhound coach for Buffalo, the second largest city in the State of
Upon my arrival at the Canadian Consulate, the waiting room was already packed. I took a number slip and sat down. One by one the applicants were called to the windows. I was quite amused when the receptionists made the effort to pronounce the names of some Chinese applicants.
Before long a well-mannered officer came out and ushered me to his office where he offered me a seat and pulled out my file from a cabinet.
Most of my documents were genuine. However, to enhance my credibility, I had added something extra to my application in that I stated I had worked for the provincial science and technology commission back home even though I had just had a brief tour there.
"Mr Chen, could you tell me who supervises this provincial science and technology commission?" the interviewer asked me. "The provincial government" I responded without much thought. He placed a sheet of paper on the desk before me. A statement in black and white read, "the provincial science and technology commission is under the supervision of the state science and technology commission". I felt my hands begin sweating. Thank goodness, he was not using a polygraph.
Like a hardened smuggler, I quickly regained my composure. "Oh, that's just nominal." I explained, "In fact, the provincial government controls the commission." To my relief, he did not press me any further on the issue. The interview went on and on. The officer asked me almost anything he could think of, such as whether my grandfather, who I had never seen, was a member of the ruling party. At one point, he apologized to me saying he had to ask all these nonsense questions for security reasons.
"Here is my last question." said the officer, "Why you chose to immigrate to Canada?" I was about to heap praise on the country I was trying to adopt when he reminded me, "I don't want to hear all those beautiful words. Just tell me frankly."
"I have no choice, sir. If I could get a green card in U.S., I would not have come here." I was tired and had lost my patience.
The waiting room was empty when I came out. Glancing at the clock on the wall I realized the interview had lasted more than four hours.The following morning I returned to the office on Broadway. To my dismay, Wendy told me she, too, had a long interview at Buffalo. They suspected her of working for a secret government agency.
Six months later I received an immigration visa in the mail whereby I flew to Vancouver and became a landed immigrant.
A Mohawk Indian, who was a big fan of Bruce Lee, once told me I could see the northern lights if I did not mind driving a thousand miles to Thunder Bay in the north. Probably someday I would go there to view the spectacular phenomenon of the nature. For now, I will just try to content myself listening to “Northern Lights”, a CBC (Canadian Broadcasting Corporation) program hosted by Andrea Ratuskik, a world of music that is sometimes familiar, sometimes surprising and always comforting.
