Well, this fish is sick of it. If only I could be fully eaten. If only I could leave my body. Though even if I could, my death would continue to signify, on and on and on, until the end of women, until the end of fish.

This century was supposed to bring me what I wanted. It was supposed to make real the dreams I dreamt. I was the one who was supposed to step out of the chaotic past, with the sun shining on my face and moonlight spilling from my hair. I was supposed to sing “Moon and Stars over Sai Kung” at the Repulse Bay Hotel. I was supposed to drink champagne at the high table with laughing friends from all over the world. I was supposed to walk hand in hand on a shimmering beach with my beloved.

How did all these monsters come and take it from me? How did they make monsters of the ones I loved? This is not what was supposed to happen.

Not this.

How did it come to this? I’m so angry I could murder the entire Japanese Imperial Army with my bare hands, tear their flesh from their bones ’til my fingernails run with blood. I’m so ashamed, I want to disappear into ether, become mountain mist and forest rain, never be seen or heard from again.

But if I disappear, who will carry forward my beautiful dreams? Will anyone else dream them? Make them grow to encompass my sister, my father, my two mothers, my half-siblings, Courchene, Wong, Tanaka, Horace, Old Cheung, Captain Lee, Ting-Yan, Tak-Tam, the British, the Chinese, the third nationals, and even that miserable devil Tak-Wing until the whole city is dancing, until the whole city is bright and singing?

I don’t want to disappear. I wish I had gone to university like my sister Violet so I could speak my dreams better. When I was young I wanted to dance, and I learned how to sing. If I survive this war, I’ll sing. I’ll sing my dreams and make them real. I’ll find the words. Izzy and Shige will help me, and they’ll find their words too. If governments and armies won’t think about us, we’ll think for ourselves. We’ll make a new world for ourselves and the ones we love, dance and sing it into being.

I have to live so I can pass it on.

CHAPTER 43EMILY FLEES

September 21, 1942