Could We Live In A World Where Every Lottery Ticket Is A Winner?
A story of love, a story of life, a story of mine.
A bright-eyed boy and sweet-souled girl were born in Saigon (now known as Ho Chi Minh), Vietnam over half a century ago. The random event of their birthplace determined their draw from the economic lottery. It is a powerful thought that a characteristic of their life that they had no control over, was the very characteristic that sculpted their childhood environment, and one that went onto to lay out the brittle foundations upon which they were to build their future livelihoods.
It is clear that being born in Vietnam in 2018, with GDP per capita per annum just shy of $2,000 would not be most people’s first choice. Of course, GDP per capita is only one quantitative measure of a country’s wealth, but during the 1960s where the country was in the midst of war, it does not require robust metrics to capture that it was an unfortunate time to be born into the country of Vietnam.
A childhood tainted with fear, uncertainty and the heart wrenching irony of being torn away from your dearest family and friends in pursuit of a ‘safe’ place.
The boy, who had a hidden crush on this sweet-souled girl was scheduled to be on the next boat ‘away’. As the eldest son in his family, he bore the responsibility to find a way out of the country. The destination was never always clear up until you arrive (if you arrive). After 7 full days on a feeble boat, barely withholding the punishing waves of the Pacific Ocean and armed with 7 packs of instant noodles to fend off his persistent hunger, he finally reached his ‘away’. This turned out to be Malaysia where he had a temporary stay until he was (un)luckily shipped off to the United States of America.
The girl, who was oblivious to the intentions of this bright-eyed boy, had relatively a much smoother journey to her ‘away’. Being in a family of 7 other siblings, she was more sheltered from bearing the responsibilities of taking care of her family. Her ‘away’ turned out to be the United Kingdom.
From being losers of the lottery of birth to undeniable winners, it seemed that fortunes were now in their favour. They were in countries where GDP per capita per annum was around $20,000 during the 1990s — their expected earnings just increased by more than 10 fold. But not quite. Yes, they were now in countries away from war and with developed economic systems, the only issue was that they, themselves, were never groomed to play the game of a developed economy. Their education went as far as secondary school level (if you were generous) and they had absolutely no exposure to the English language. How do you expect a fish to swim when it is out of water?
Fleeing from physical repression only to arrive to social segregation, the vicious cycle also has a horrible sense of humour, it seems. Nonetheless, the bright-eyed boy and sweet souled girl played the cards that they were dealt. They started writing letters to each other. They worked hard. They saved. And with time, they eventually learnt how to stay afloat.
This is a story of inequality, a tale of the economic lottery, but more importantly to me, this is the story of my parents. Yes, the bright-eyed boy got the sweet-souled girl (and thank god he did).
My arrival into this world for my parents was an opportunity to experience the upbringing and childhood that they never had. Everything that they had ever wanted to do from Ballet, Piano, Tennis, receive a Higher Education to eating all the biscuits in the cookie jar (I have no shame in admitting that I was a chubby child), they gave me the opportunity to do. They knew what it was like to have nothing and so they did their utmost to ensure that I had everything.
There are many measures of success in this world, some more recognised in this society than others, but not enough value is given to those that were not fortunate enough to follow the conventional paths of going to school and University. I admire all that my parents have worked for and all that they have been able to achieve in life, given their harsh constraints. But in the eyes of this society, a lens that they have learnt to view themselves in, they are only identified as a ‘working class’ family and that, along with some conversation-sparking dinner stories, are all they have to show for the hardship and struggle they had to overcome throughout their years of life.
With these feeble words and of course, your welcomed attention, I hope that this will raise awareness towards our society’s inability to reward those that could not follow the rules of the pre-determined system and adhere to their desired paths of success not because they were incapable, but because they were never even given the chance. The sharing of this story that I hold close to my heart is a cry for those to recognise that this is an economic failure and most definitely not a failure of their own.
If there is one thing that my parents’ story demonstrates is that people cannot choose where they are born, but we collectively, can choose to sculpt a world where this will not determine our respective livelihoods.