Children Eulogies

Lorna Kong

Thank you for joining us to say goodbye to my father and celebrate his life. 

I’d like to share a couple of memories and traits that made my father so special. 

My dad was not only a successful businessman but he was a down to earth person known to be generous and patriotic. For our family, he was a role modelin how to be a devoted husband and an affectionate father, grandfather and great grandfather. He was a traditional Chinese man who never forgot his roots. 

For the Kong family, he was our President, and my mom was his lifelong general secretary. Without this duo, we wouldn’t be who we are today. Raising five children is not an easy job but they did it with grace. Having my own two children, I now fully appreciate all that they did for us. 

I was told by my nanny that being a typical Chinese, my father was bitter sweet when he learned about his first child was a baby girl. Well, after four consecutive boys following me, I stole his heart as his princess. I was granted as first choice for everything. My steadfast, traditional Chinese dad bent the rules for his little princess. 

Growing up, I learned about dad putting family before his well-being during a trip to central Burma hosted by dad and mom for my study group as a celebration of my graduation from medical school. Traveling through ancient historic heartland was fun but the dirt roads were not easy on my dad who had severe asthma since childhood. He enjoyed every moment with us while taking puffs after puffs of his inhaler along the way. Similarly, in 2015, the Kong family of 19 took a trip to Europe to celebrate his 80th birthday. We took the tram up to the summit of Zermatt. At 10,000 feet elevation on the Swiss Alps, he was energetic and excited while wearing portable oxygen to spend time with the family. We even got to witness a rare romantic youthful moment of mom and dad holding their hands as they walked through the gardens of Paris. 

The most memorable trip we have taken together was when we visited his birthplace, Gau Tou where he built a Tulou in early 1970s. The 3-story round building was named “Inheritance” that provided free accommodations for 30 families with financial hardships. We were touched by the festive welcome and grand feasts hosted by the whole village. These trips are a testament to my dad’s resilience and a reflection of his deep love for the family.

Dad, I will never forget when you piggybacked me up three flights of stairs for a docfor’s appointment while fighting against your asthma. I’m sorry that I couldn’t do the same for you when you needed to move from the chair to the bed. I’m sorry I couldn’t revive you from your last breath. My heart was broken but I find comfort knowing you are in a better place, free of pain.

Dad, please don’t worry about us. We will take care of mom. We will carry on your legacy and we will keep you in our memories. Goodbye dad, I love you more than you know and I’ll always be your little princess.

Victor Kong

Today is the farewell ceremony for my father.

In my life, there is something precious called “father’s love” that I will always cherish. I reminisce about the past, longing for the love my father had for me.

I spent my childhood in happiness, and the person who provided me with the most lessons and care on my childhood journey was my dad; all these joys were brought to me by him. Whenever I mention my father, I can't help but shed tears. He has left me forever, leaving behind only my longing for him and everlasting memories.

My father left his beloved parents, siblings, and hometown at the age of 13. Although he didn't have a high level of education, he funded the education of two younger brothers who stayed in the countryside and fulfilled my grandfather's dream of building a Hakka Tulou named "Inheritance Tower."

His virtues were diligence, eagerness to learn, and an entrepreneurial spirit. He was a good father who was responsible for his family and his children's education. His lifelong passion was giving back to the society.

As I wander alone on life’s path, on days filled with sadness and loss—Dad do you know how helpless I feel.without your understanding and love?

I will always remind myself of the words that my father said to me as motivation to move forward; I will always miss him.

Rest assured on your journey ahead, dad; us siblings will surely take good care of mom.

May I share an elegy reminiscing about my dad.

Father, you can’t be awaken no matter how much I call.

The nurturing grace you gave, unforgettable even after a thousand falls.

In my heart forever resides, the memory of your diligent deeds.

Your teachings for our family, sown like eternal seeds.

Steven Kong

Dear family and friends,

Today, with very heavy hearts, we are here to bid farewell to our honest, hardworking, simple, and sincere father. My father passed away at 9:40 PM on September 14, 2024, leaving us forever at the age of 90.

In the past, whenever I learned about someone passing away, I only felt a sense of sadness and regret, sighing at the impermanence of life. However, my father's passing has let us truly feel how fragile life is. Facing such irrevocable loss

brings unimaginable sorrow and tears. That kind of heart-wrenching pain is something that even neither brilliant doctors nor the most advanced medicines could save.

Dear dad, we deeply admire you and mother for your love for your hometown, China, and Myanmar, our motherland. We will always remember your heartfelt contributions to the Chinese community in Myanmar and the lessons you taught us about how to be a good person.

Thinking of your silhouette, I feel your tenacity.

Touching your hands, I sense your hardship.

Of life's sweetness that is ten parts, you tasted only seven. Of life's bitterness that is three parts, you endured all ten. Listening to your admonitions, I received confidence. Gazing at your thoughtful advice, I witnessed love.

Your last affectionate gaze at me was deeply engraved in my heart. Respecting the elderly and caring for the young was your lifelong belief. Being your son in this life, if there's an afterlife, I wish to be your son again. Please rest in peace; we will double our efforts to take good care of mom.

Dear dad, today at this moment, all family and friends have gathered here to see you off. You left us with boundless care for your wife and children and deep affection for your family and friends. Your entire life was one of simplicity, integrity, and perseverance. Your immense kindness towards your children and your virtuous character of being lenient towards others will always inspire us! We will forever miss you! May you rest in peace.

Nick Kong

CELEBRATION OF OUR DAD

While we cannot anticipate the full narrative of our lives, we can set goals and day by day write our history. Our dad wrote his history, a history larger than life, a history that it is difficult for us to follow in his footsteps.

Dad was born as (江清亮) Jiang Chin Liang, which in Mandarin means River, Clear and Bright, perfectly reflecting who he was. Like a river, he provided resources important for others to thrive. He was a straight talker, making it clear to others who he was. He was bright like a candle, a candle of love and compassion that has lightened thousands of other candles including myself.

Born 6th out of 8 siblings to poor peasants, dad was discontent with poverty and lack of ability to pursue higher education. He in fact was selected to participate in a district level debate competition, but could not attend as he had no school uniform. At 13, he boarded a ship with a family friend to pursue a better future. That adventurous trait was passed on to our generation. In 1972, his and his adopted father’s candy business was nationalized. However, he did not give up and rebuilt his business from ground zero. That resilience is imprinted in our blood.

Being self taught and a self made man, dad reminded us that school books are for our knowledge but skill and wisdom have to be nurtured by experience and hard work. Whenever I bragged about how much money I saved from my pocket money (allowance) and Red Packet money (New Year gifts), I was reminded that the money was not from my own earning. When I showed off my profits on trading merchandise, he pointed out that it was not hard earned money. He was infusing the hard work and discipline into our heart and soul.

Dad was also very supportive of our education. When I asked for a donation to a teachers-parents annual event in Kindergarten in 1970, he handed me 100 MMK (USD 20). Back then, the gold price was $40 /oz. He was very generous in supporting our poorly funded school, funding extracurricular activities and supporting underprivileged children.

Dad’s generosity extended beyond education. He was an ardent donor for community centers, libraries, monasteries, hospitals, homes for the aged, schools for youth with disabilities and special needs. In addition to his philanthropy, he was a leader in organizations that fostered community development and humanitarian aid. Every weekend, there were individuals lining up at our front door asking for money, which annoyed me as a child. Now I can empathize like him for those with empty stomachs.

Dad was known for his short temper and soft heart. His temper probably originated from his childhood asthma, which caused him to have overwhelming anxiety in his struggle for air. I have never seen him shed tears until he told us about his childhood for the first time after he learned about his biological father in China passing away in 1978. His tender heart was also obvious from him sparing rods on his children, except me. I was once spanked 3 strikes for punching my eldest brother and was told “Don’t cry. Face your consequences”.

Dad never kissed us nor did he ever say “ I love you”. But he took us out for the best restaurants in Yangon every Sunday and he would fulfill our needs without hesitation. This tradition was handed down to the next generation.

Although he was very outgoing and articulative in his societies, he was a father of few words. Once my friend got into an accident while he was driving my motor-cycle, sustaining a cut in the tendon of his heel and requiring an ER visit. He responded to this event with “ Would his parents be thankful if he lost his life with your bike?”. He often reminded me that my sharp tongue would hurt me in the future. I paid the price for my sharp tongue during heated conversations with dad out of my passionate care for his health.

As his health deteriorated, Dad worked very hard, complying with respiratory physio-therapy and aggressive breathing treatments 3 times a day, walking 20 min twice a day for the past 10 years, and back exercises 15 min twice a day for the past 5 years. Since he developed a life threatening respiratory failure on May 17 of this year, he fought courageously by enduring more intensive breathing treatments, back pain, bed sores, and bowel complications. In his last four weeks, he lost his appetite and strength to bear weight. But he remained resilient and witnessed his grandson’s wedding with a peaceful smile on Sep 7, 2024. He reflected on all of his grandchildren during the next 2 days. And after that, he was resolved to his final days and listened to the verses of Buddha’s teachings. On Sep 14, he had his last meal, porridge with black chicken cooked by mom, and he braved his final bouts of shortness of breath, this time without the anxiety he had endured throughout his life. And he rested in peace.

I will not cry dad. I salute you, my hero. I am very proud of you. Dad, you will never die. You will live forever in our hearts.

I love you.

Son, Nicholas Kong

Oct 5, 2024

Alison Kong

I am Alison, dad’s 2nd daughter-in law.  Steve and our family were blessed to live with dad, who we addressed as “ Shu Shu,” for 15 years in Burma. All of our 4 children were born in their big mansion. Dad enjoyed home-made food prepared using traditional recipes. While we had the happiest times with dad, mom and the youngest brother Xiao Pang, it was the saddest moment when we migrated to Australia in 2003.

During dad’s visit in Perth in 2004, I was heart broken to hear him say “when you all went away, you took a big piece of me with you.” When I told him “Yes, we felt the same. We shouldn’t have left mom and you.” He comforted me, “You have the responsibility to fulfill a better future of your children.” He set a high bar in being good parents.

Dad set an example for us children of how to appreciate love, passion and benevolence. He made me feel like home since the first day I moved in to the “Kong” family. Our relationship is not in terms of “in-law” but instead like real blood-related family.

We were blessed to be in the US when dad became gravely ill and to be part of his care team. It was an unspeakable loss to the family when dad departed us physically. But we know he will be forever with us. May he rest in peace and be at a higher abode.

Grandchildren Stories

Thank you everyone for joining our family in celebrating the life of our adored grandfather, Kong Chin Leong, a man we are so proud to call Thatha. I wouldn’t be where I am today without him. Whilst he is no longer with us, his teachings and memories will continue to live in our hearts.

From the time I’ve arrived in this world, Thatha has been a big part of my life and my role model. We shared the same home for the first 13 years, and my sister and I even slept in the same bedroom as him.

Thatha had the type of personality that lit up the room. Wherever he was, there were people around him. Growing up, our house always had a lot of guests. People would come over and share their life issues and he was always ready to help emotionally or financially. He always wanted the best for everyone, whether that be the best food or the best education. He had the biggest heart of anyone I know.

One the most memorable conversations we shared was about his life journey. How he migrated from China to Burma and how he was so lucky and very thankful that his uncle adopted him and nurtured him He told me to always have a big heart and to help others. And when you’re helping, to go all in. Don’t hold back. He said that luck and opportunities go hand in hand. When you’re given the opportunity you must work hard to succeed. You can’t solely rely on luck.

While he was often occupied with his community work, he always had time for the family. He took us out on a walk to watch the trains go by, his favourite ice-cream shop and a 4 generation family dim sim on Sundays was a must. He was a dedicated Thatha who would go above and beyond to fulfil our wishes. Growing up we were taught by our mums not to ask for gifts. Once he secretly asked me what I wanted from his America trip and that he won’t tell my mum. I asked for a new backpack and he returned from the trip with at least 7 of them.

While he always spoilt us with food and secret pocket money for the canteen, there was one thing he wouldn’t budge. The 4pm Chinese news. Growing up in the 90s, there was only one TV in the house that was connected to the satellite. The Chinese news was at the same time as our Popeye cartoon time. When the ads came on, he would give us a signal and we would quickly change the channel. Every night, he would also fall asleep in this arm chair in front of the TV and grandma would send us downstairs to bring him up into the bedroom. 99% of the time he would say he was watching TV although his eyes were closed. He would often negotiate with us to give him five mins to get out of the chair. He would then further negotiate to turn off the light switches first before he got out of that chair.

Thatha loved gardens and flowers. He would be the one to note the first bloom of the season, directed the gardener which pots to go where and which flowers to be planted where. Every morning we either woke up to him instructing the gardener or the sound of the radio adjustment with the antenna hanging out the window, or the sound of his shaver. Those who knew him, he was a well presented manicured man. Every morning he would comb his hair with gel until his hair strands are perfectly lined up, in fact I think he used the dresser more than my grandma. He gets his nails cut and buffed at the shop and even his ear wax cleaned. His shoes also got buffed. Thatha was also a big softie. Whenever we were getting disciplined by our parents, we knew we were safe if Thatha was home. We would cry as loud as we could or ran fast to him so that he could rescue us. One of the saddest days of my life was when we moved to Australia. That was the first time I saw tears in Tartar’s eyes. The feelings are still very raw.

Thatha often visited us during our early years in Australia. He was also our biggest fan of all things – arts, sports, school concerts, you name it. One time he decided that he wanted to go and watch Simon play basketball. My parents were at work and we went by bus and train. We somehow made it there by walking through some bushes and jumping down. Thatha always wanted to share his life with others. He never kept his knowledge or worth to himself. From when I was a little boy to his very last moments, he gave me everything he could. When I was living in Burma, he always brought me to his dinner functions, knowing that I loved the greasy Chinese food I could devour sodas I could drink (since my mother would never let me). I had even fonder memories in Australia. Whenever he visited us, Thatha was always offering to buy me toys. I still remember my hot wheels set that provided me and my brother with endless entertainment for years. And buying me a skateboard as a teenager to prepare me to look totally awesome gliding down my college campus years later. I will never forget how he took me and Sandy in when we moved to America. He tried to be my father the best way he knew. He was always there to remind me of my goals and provide words of encouragement at every step.

Since 2013, we visited him almost every year. We moved to LA for 5 years and lived in with them. When he was able, he would drive us around to send us to his favourite places to eat. At some point, our roles reversed and we became the one to take him around. There are so many things I’ll remember about Thatha, but his sharp memory and impeccable sense of direction stood out. Even in a foreign country, he always knew the direction better than I did. He hated when I used GPS, saying it interrupted his sequence—and as much as I hate to admit it, he was usually right. I still laugh about our last trip to the doctor’s in August. I thought I’d beat traffic with a shortcut, only to hit construction. He just sat there, probably thinking, “She gets it ACCURATELY wrong every time.” Then there was the time I tried to spoil him with a soft serve after a long wait, but of course, the ice cream machine at McDonald’s was broken—something that always seemed to happen with Thatha. McDonald soft serve was his favourite icecream. It was through little moments like these that I shared with him over the five years I lived with him that I learned about Thatha’s big heart— his love was unconditional, and he’s forgiving. He’s also very funny, even if the word doesn’t exist in his dictionary. One night, while studying, I heard rustling outside my room. I opened the door to find Thatha in the hallway, looking like Grandma Willow from Pocahontas, with too much Pond’s cream on his face. He startled me at first, and I couldn’t stop laughing. But he just stared at me like I was the crazy one, never understanding what was so funny. That moment perfectly captured his spirit—endearing and a little mischievous. We loved indulging in pastries from JJ Bakery, cheesecake from Uncle Tetsu, and meals like Tom Yum soup and japchae—some of his favorites. Thatha also loved watching sports—NBA, tennis, and, more recently, the Olympics. He was so into it that his blood pressure would rise!

During the last 4 months when he was sick, we were lucky to spend a lot of time with him. My mum made him his favourite potato dish and he said that brought back memories of his childhood, he ate it 4 meals in a row. His true character was still shining through even at his most difficult in life; he worked very hard and was very determined to walk again. I will always remember the trust that he had in me to help him walk. He told me again and again that he wanted to walk and we aimed for small goals to achieve each day to get there.

Last year, he was over the moon to become a great grand father. I’m so thankful he had the chance to meet Kaiyaan and even picked his Chinese name. When he first met him, he had just got discharged from the hospital, but he couldn’t wait to give him the red packet. My last goodbye with him at 4am in the morning, he pulled down his oxygen mask to tell me to raise Kai to be a good man.  His dedication, love and care for others was always unconditional. Here, I want to share the last conversation I had with him. He spoke about every grandchild’s career and said in the end that he is now happy and was very proud of each and every one of us. He shared the childhood memories of the grandkids. He also mentioned our partners and said that by 2025, half of his grandchildren should be married. Thatha, we will always cherish the memories and hold them close to our heart. He taught us valuable lessons about life, love and patience, lessons we will carry with us always. Thank you, Thatha, for every memory. You will always live in our heart as a dedicated and loving grandfather.

—

My earliest memory of Thatha, is from when my brother and I were small children visiting the big family home in Myanmar for the first time. I remember the way he liked to sit on his lounge chair watching the news while my brother and I just wanted to watch Tom and Jerry. His love of the news and pork belly fat reminded me of my father. From that first visit, an idea of a big, cohesive, and loving extended family formed and came to be something we took for granted throughout the rest of our childhood.

Over the years, our extended family travelled across the world to enjoy time together. There were good times and there were funny times. I remember the time my grandparents visited Australia when I was a small child and we fed bread to the black swans by the swan river. On our first visit to LA, Thatha walked into the bathroom while I was using it and asked me to move out of the way because I was sitting on the toilet he wanted to use. We made many more lasting memories with the grandparents and our extended family during our family reunions in Myanmar, in Australia, in the US, and even in Europe.

Growing up, we came to appreciate that an extended family as caring and as unified as ours is not something everyone has. It is something Thatha worked hard to build from the ground up and maintained tirelessly together with my grandma, Jiajia.

As we grew into adulthood we learned more about Thatha’s personality and his many quirks, especially when my brother got to experience living with Thatha during COVID, what a lucky guy.

—

When COVID hit and we were supposed to stay home, Thatha wanted to buy his Chinese newspaper and ran out of the house without a mask on. I had to chase after him, forcing a mask on his face. During this time I also learned to cook and cater to Thatha’s very specific and meticulous preferences. There was only one way to prepare every dish, and he had to have very specific branding and packaging on his products, even if the packaging changed 10 years ago! Getting Thatha to smile for a photo could often be tricky – he didn’t want to succumb to peer pressure. But he was always able to make everyone in the room smile or laugh, often making jokes without realizing. In this way, Thatha had an energy and presence that was the centre of gravity who gave strength to the entire family. In his last 6 months Thatha showed incredible resilience and perseverance. During this time the family once again gravitated towards him but this time he gained strength from the family and persevered - he persevered knowing that he could meet his great grandson, he persevered knowing that he could attend his grandson's wedding, he persevered knowing that his children would give him round the clock care, he persevered knowing that he could spend each and every last day with the love of his life. In his final moments, his perseverance paid off, he achieved all he set out to, he was at peace, with family surrounding him in person and in spirit, he was at peace. We love you and we will always miss you.

—

Thatha as we all called him, was a man with many homes as his family was spread across California, Texas, Burma, and Australia, so during the early years of my sister’s and my life, we didn’t always get to spend a lot of time together. But the times he was around left lasting memories of his habits, his personality and his love. I remember the TV always blasting the Chinese news channel. He wouldn’t let a soul touch the remote unless it was basketball season. Then, and only then, would he make an exception to change the channel to the Lakers as we all gathered to watch games and hear him scream out “Fum ball”, his version of “Foul Ball”.

He had his quirks too—he kept a meticulous phone book with his endless roster of friends’ numbers and would shout into the phone in excitement to his friend on the other end, an old habit from the days of poor reception in Burma. If there were ever a dish he enjoyed, he’d insist we eat it too, in hopes of sharing that same joyful experience with him.

Eventually, he and my grandmother moved to the U.S. permanently, and their home became a hub for all of us. Despite being someone who mostly kept to himself—stubborn and particular in his ways—he was always there for me and my sister. He was our driver whenever we needed a ride, and their house became my second home, especially after tennis practice or after-school tutoring.

To many people, my grandfather was a successful businessman, a respected community leader, and a generous giver. But to me, he was simply Grandpa. He was the guy I’d go buy lottery tickets with whenever the jackpot was big enough for us. He was the one who’d share his secret stash of dry crackers when he knew I was looking for something to eat at his house. He was the person who taught me Burmese, because he knew it was the only way we could truly communicate. He showed me that success in life doesn’t always mean following a typical path of higher education or a conventional career, as it did for the both of us.

During the past few months, I spent more time than ever with Thatha, and was able to see who he really was a lot more clearly than in my younger years. Even after multiple trips to the ICU, he would fight his way back home and do everything in his power to convince us all he was fine. One night I spent there, he called me to his bedside in the middle of the night to help him attempt an escape before the nurses made their rounds. He was brave, determined, relentless, creative, and during that night, I understood how he had made it so far from his small village in China.

Though he may no longer be with us, the lessons he taught me and the memories we shared will always be a part of my life. Thank you, Thatha, for everything. You will be greatly missed. I hope you’re eating a well-done filet mignon up there.

—

To me, ThaTha was a man of action. Despite our language barrier, growing up I saw how important family was to him, traveling around the world for months at a time to be with his children and grandchildren. I also saw how important he was to my family, hearing my dad reverently narrate ThaTha’s brave journey to Burma and how he made a name and living for his family though he entered the country empty handed. In fact, it was a story that resonated with me so much that it inspired my first creative essay in college.

As I spent more time with ThaTha in my adulthood, I understood the pride and love he had for his lineage. He would often flip through photo albums with me or excitedly explain our family line in the historic “Jiang” lineage book. I also noticed some of our similarities - our stubbornness, our respect for our culture, our passion to give back to the community, and our love to munch on midnight snacks. Seeing him waddle to me in the middle of the night to share his precious durian is a memory I will forever treasure. I see a little bit of him in not just me but in all of us, and it is through this that he will continue to live on forever. I love you ThaTha. Thank you for being an inspiration to us all. May you rest in peace.

—

As his children and other grand children have shared, Thatha has had a tremendous impact on his family. So while Thatha is no longer with us, he lives on through each of us. I’m very proud to carry his name, his legacy, and his extra bushy eyebrows. 

Despite his typically stern demeanor accentuated by these eyebrows, Thatha had a very gentle side shown to me in my younger years. When my father would scold me, he would check on me after and cheer me up. Though we couldn’t communicate, his presence always made me feel better. When I accidentally hit a bird when biking, he gently picked it up and put it on a soft towel with some food and water to recover. When I would visit, he would always share his previous stash of cookies which he kept locked and hidden like jewelry.

As others have mentioned, his commitment to family was clear by his global travel to visit each child. I relished each time they would do his annual rotation in Texas. In fact, I was extremely jealous of my Australian and Californian cousins who got to live with the grandparents. After I learned they would be moving to LA from Burma, I cried because they didn’t choose Wichita Falls. I had become so used to them spending months with us at end.

So it became a dream of mine to live with the grandparents at some point. Fast forward about 15 years later, I had the chance to live with him for 6 months during the pandemic. During this time, I was able to cook for him, listen to him critique my cooking, collect fruit from the trees in the front yard, celebrated my college graduation, and shared many bowls of instant ramen at midnight. Despite my best efforts to please him with his favorite steak, pork belly, or handmade noodles, it would always fall short of his favorite of my dishes - instant ramen.

After I left to Seattle for work, I thought my time living with the grandparents was over. Fortunately only after a couple years we moved back to LA. Sunday nights became our weekly family meals, where I would attempt and fail to make something he liked more than instant ramen. When his health took an unfortunate turn last year, my wife and I moved in. Soon moving the air compressor up and down the house, troubleshooting his Apple Watch, and hearing the Chinese tv shows blast in the background of my work calls became the new norm. Despite his degrading condition, it wasn’t obvious to us as we saw him constantly. After we moved two blocks down, afternoon visits made his battle more apparent.

Despite his age and COPD, he fought ferociously. Through his ups and downs, he never neglected to check on his family - how was work? Did you travel safely? Have you had dinner yet? Are you getting ready for your wedding soon? As my family said, once he sets his mind to something - it must happen. Stubborn as always, he was determined to see two things: 1. the next generation - his great grandchild. 2. The wedding for one of his grandchildren. Even after being hospitalized twice, he would not let go of his dream. Thanks to him, I was able to see my only remaining grandfather smile at my wedding. Thatha, thank you for fighting for your dreams.

In Chinese, zàijiàn (再见) means goodbye, but it can also be interpreted as see you again. I will miss saying zàijiàn to you after our daily visits. So I will just say Wǒ ài nǐ (我愛你) - I love you.

Best Friend’s Farewell