I do not know anything about any of you people. Yet, everyday, we share on TFL many laughs, tears, experiences about this wonderful hobby. Whether you are black, white, Asian, etc, it matters not. RKBA sees no race, religion or sexual preference. The freedom, which makes this country great, is evident with our rights to bear arms. That right cannot be forgotten nor denied!
War had devastated the entire nation of their homeland. Monuments that endured acts of Mother Nature fell into piles of rubble from weapons of destruction. Communism took over as the governing system. Everything that is American was frowned upon. Things like independence, freedom of speech, freedom to think, the right to bear arms were non-existent. There is no such thing as the bill of rights. The big brother effect slowly overtook their entire country. What price would you pay for freedom?
A young man, his pregnant wife and two children gave the ultimate sacrifice. Their family was the wealthiest ménage in a southern Vietnamese port city. They lived in a large house with many luxuries. They had everything people in Vietnam ever wanted. Yet knowing by fleeing as political refugees, the family would live in poverty. With many tears, they relinquished everything they knew, loved ones to provide a better life for their children. Even with all the obstacles that lied ahead, the family said goodbye to family and friends and planned their escape. What price would you pay for freedom?
So one fearful night, the family escaped from Vietnam illegally. With their small bags, they boarded a ship fated for Malaysia. The ship they traveled on held so many dreams and hopes. Many of the passengers had no idea those dreams will soon shatter into the bottom of uncaring ocean. What price would you pay for freedom?
During their journey, one by one, people began dying from dehydration. What was once a ship with fifty-six passengers, slowly shrank to thirty-eight. With confusion swirling through their minds, the family watched body after body thrown overboard. One by one, lifeless souls sank into the clear Asian Pacific water. What price would you pay for freedom?
Shortly after their arrival in Malaysia, the young lady gave birth to a frail boy. Once a refugee family of four now had grown to five. With the birth of the baby, survival became even tougher. The family at times had to dig in garbage cans for their next meal. What price would you pay for freedom?
Finally, luck rode into their lives. After rejections from many different countries, the United States of America accepted the family for immigration. They rejoiced knowing a Mennonite family had embraced their desolate hearts as sponsors. The Mennonite family took care of filling out the proper paper work and making sure not to miss any details. With their knowledgeable guidance in the American system, the entire family was soon in Oakland, California. What price would you pay for freedom?
Despite our past twenty and a half years in "The Land of Plenty”, my parents cling to their frugality and tremendous respect for food, acquired by necessity throughout our lives in Malaysia. The sharp contrast between my Americanized perspective and old views and habits retained by my mom and dad, make many debates a common occurrence. Besides performing all the prescribed functions of a "parental unit," my parents helped me attain objectivity in my judgments by demonstrating how cultural background affects our view of situations.
Looking back upon the memories of my existence in the United States, I thank God for being our personal guardian angel. The courage my parents hold within their Herculean hearts, cannot be described with words a lone. Even with Hemmingway like poetry, no stroke of the pen could depict the respect I hold for mom and dad. I pray they are proud of the achievements of my fellow siblings and I. Each of us took the opportunities the United States presented and pursued higher education.
Come March 18th, it will be twenty and one half years since my family immigrated to the United States. It will also mark the 9th anniversary of my naturalization as a US citizen. I would have posted this essay on that date but I will be making a long journey back to my homeland to see firsthand where I came from.
I hope that I did not bore you with this long thread. We must remember that the freedom we have as Americans is too valuable to forget. I just hope that you look back upon your ancestors, and thank them for the price they paid for freedom.
War had devastated the entire nation of their homeland. Monuments that endured acts of Mother Nature fell into piles of rubble from weapons of destruction. Communism took over as the governing system. Everything that is American was frowned upon. Things like independence, freedom of speech, freedom to think, the right to bear arms were non-existent. There is no such thing as the bill of rights. The big brother effect slowly overtook their entire country. What price would you pay for freedom?
A young man, his pregnant wife and two children gave the ultimate sacrifice. Their family was the wealthiest ménage in a southern Vietnamese port city. They lived in a large house with many luxuries. They had everything people in Vietnam ever wanted. Yet knowing by fleeing as political refugees, the family would live in poverty. With many tears, they relinquished everything they knew, loved ones to provide a better life for their children. Even with all the obstacles that lied ahead, the family said goodbye to family and friends and planned their escape. What price would you pay for freedom?
So one fearful night, the family escaped from Vietnam illegally. With their small bags, they boarded a ship fated for Malaysia. The ship they traveled on held so many dreams and hopes. Many of the passengers had no idea those dreams will soon shatter into the bottom of uncaring ocean. What price would you pay for freedom?
During their journey, one by one, people began dying from dehydration. What was once a ship with fifty-six passengers, slowly shrank to thirty-eight. With confusion swirling through their minds, the family watched body after body thrown overboard. One by one, lifeless souls sank into the clear Asian Pacific water. What price would you pay for freedom?
Shortly after their arrival in Malaysia, the young lady gave birth to a frail boy. Once a refugee family of four now had grown to five. With the birth of the baby, survival became even tougher. The family at times had to dig in garbage cans for their next meal. What price would you pay for freedom?
Finally, luck rode into their lives. After rejections from many different countries, the United States of America accepted the family for immigration. They rejoiced knowing a Mennonite family had embraced their desolate hearts as sponsors. The Mennonite family took care of filling out the proper paper work and making sure not to miss any details. With their knowledgeable guidance in the American system, the entire family was soon in Oakland, California. What price would you pay for freedom?
Despite our past twenty and a half years in "The Land of Plenty”, my parents cling to their frugality and tremendous respect for food, acquired by necessity throughout our lives in Malaysia. The sharp contrast between my Americanized perspective and old views and habits retained by my mom and dad, make many debates a common occurrence. Besides performing all the prescribed functions of a "parental unit," my parents helped me attain objectivity in my judgments by demonstrating how cultural background affects our view of situations.
Looking back upon the memories of my existence in the United States, I thank God for being our personal guardian angel. The courage my parents hold within their Herculean hearts, cannot be described with words a lone. Even with Hemmingway like poetry, no stroke of the pen could depict the respect I hold for mom and dad. I pray they are proud of the achievements of my fellow siblings and I. Each of us took the opportunities the United States presented and pursued higher education.
Come March 18th, it will be twenty and one half years since my family immigrated to the United States. It will also mark the 9th anniversary of my naturalization as a US citizen. I would have posted this essay on that date but I will be making a long journey back to my homeland to see firsthand where I came from.
I hope that I did not bore you with this long thread. We must remember that the freedom we have as Americans is too valuable to forget. I just hope that you look back upon your ancestors, and thank them for the price they paid for freedom.
