Chop Suey: A Love Story

By Sho-Li Cheng

Editor’s note: Sho-li Cheng, a retired registered nurse in her 80s who lives in Capitola, has written a memoir, “Chop Suey,” a collection of stories about her life — born into poverty in a farming family in Taiwan, carrying her baby sister on her back to earn a warm chicken drumstick, wanting to be a city girl with an education, training in London to become a midwife and, coming to the U.S. to work, romance in frosty Chicago, where she found someone from Taiwan — a future engineer — to love and marry, bearing two children (unplanned, she says) and working part-time while raising them, caring for her husband who began living with dementia in 2015 after a stroke, and taking advantage of the GriefShare support group at Twin Lakes Church in Aptos after her husband died in 2021. Here is the chapter about how she got married in 1969.

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One day in April, 1968, I was invited out by a Taiwanese man that was introduced to me by one of my girlfriends who was seriously trying to be my matchmaker.

That man must have been desperate to get married. In this foreign land during the 1960s, it was tough for a Taiwanese man to meet a Taiwanese girl. The ratio of men to women who came to study in the U.S. was out of proportion, maybe less than ten to one.

Women were way outnumbered by men because the conservative society of Taiwan at that time was not ready to open the doors for women to go abroad.

A great majority of Taiwanese men were shy of dating local American women, and mail-order brides or overseas matchmaking was an alternative and a trend.

I was not at all interested in this man. He was short and not handsome and I had nothing to do with his background. His pushy and aggressive manner made me want to back out of the deal. Without my agreement, he had arranged to take me to one of his friend’s apartments for a lunch party.

With my wimpy personality and fear of hurting someone’s feelings, I couldn’t say no to the poor guy. So I went unwillingly to the party with him, not realizing it would be a bunch of bachelors, about 10 of them filling the humble accommodation.

When we got there I saw I was the only girl. I felt uneasy and I was not happy about the situation. All of them were staring at me with a strange look; a girl showing up must have been a big surprise to them. They all looked scholastic but aloof, except one who was tall, nice-looking, and had a mysteriously warm smile as he was handling some fresh green beans. He was attractive but I didn’t have a crush or any emotional attachment to him.

I was very uncomfortable the whole time I was eating the food that was prepared by the guys. The lunch was not fancy or appealing; it was nothing special, but it was homemade and tasted okay: Fried rice, stir-fried string beans with garlic, broccoli beef, stewed pork belly, and braised chicken wings. I could not interact with the guys because all they talked about was engineering stuff that I didn’t understand at all. The gathering was boring and I was glad when it was over, and I went back to my place after about two hours.

A few days later Mr. Su, the host of the lunch party, gave me a call. He asked if I could join him and two of his friends to go bowling. His fiancée was coming from Taiwan to join him soon, and I was the only Taiwanese girl he had encountered. He thought it would be great for her to meet a girl who also came from Taiwan. I was delighted with his invitation even though I didn’t know what bowling was.

The bowling balls were heavy and strange; it took a special technique to hold it with three fingers. It was not an easy task to hold and throw it out of my hand and let it roll onto the straight lane to hit the pins.

One of the guys I met at the lunch party, the one who had a genuine smile, approached me and introduced himself. His name was I-ming Cheng. I thought it was weird; after all, hadn’t we met before? He was very polite and tried to show me how to hold the ball and how to bowl in the proper way. I wouldn’t say I was feeling a crush on him, but I had a very strange feeling I liked him.

I had a good time bowling although I didn’t do well, and we had some casual conversations during the game. It was so nice of him to say that if I was interested in bowling again to please let him know, and he gave me his telephone number. I replied to him with a grateful gesture. I was not good at bowling, but I didn’t mind the thought of getting back to the alley again some day. He offered me a ride home. I was glad I had a good time on the new adventure.

Days passed with images of I-ming dwelling in my head.

I could not resist and picked up the phone to convey my appreciation for his kindness in teaching me to bowl and for bringing me home. He laughed loudly, and very politely said it was nothing.

It must’ve been God’s will; he called and asked me to go out for dinner the next weekend. I had never had a boyfriend in my life. I did have some admiration from a few boys, but I didn’t go on dates with them as I assumed when you go out on a date with someone, it means you have an obligation to marry him. I thought it would be a good time to try dating since he seemed to be a decent man, and my old Taiwanese culture no longer dominated my life in Chicago, although I had a pressure buried in me that I didn’t want to be an old maid.

I-ming came to pick me up and we went to a humble Korean restaurant for dinner. The dinner was spicy and delicious and affordable. He was not a talkative man, and it seemed like he was naive and lacked experience in socializing with girls. We had a boring evening. When he took me back to my place, I felt like I was coming home from work, like it was nothing special.

Surprisingly, he called and asked me out again and again. We didn’t eat out but strolled in the path of Lincoln Park every evening after we each ate dinner at our own places. We were not feeling bored anymore, but like good old friends; we shared our fun encounters and complained about negative experiences at work and discussed some political issues. We had the same affection for our homeland and concern about its political future.

Without a doubt, we were attracted to each other and we didn’t even know it. We started out liking each other, and progressed to falling in love, and became madly in love within four months. When we were together, it was like we possessed the whole world and there was nobody else who existed. We both agreed it was the happiest and the most mysterious and meaningful relationship we had ever had.

Good times and good things don’t last forever. The two lovebirds would have to be apart. I-ming had to move to Utah for his PhD in engineering at the University of Utah in Salt Lake City in order to fulfill his dream of receiving a higher degree, in the hope of having a better career and a brighter future, as well as to honor his family and to glorify his deceased ancestors .

I had to continue to work at the hospital in Chicago in order to help support my family in Taiwan.

We had a decision to make: Either quit the relationship or continue our relationship through the mail. In the 1960s long distance telephone calls cost $10 per minute, which was outrageous to me. I didn’t mind becoming a frequent writer. One love letter a day or every other day became my after-work routine. To receive a response once or twice a week was a generous reward from him and a great joy for me.

I understood his brutal schooling was a big burden, and he wanted to complete his degree as soon as possible, so I didn’t have high hopes of him writing back to me often.

I-ming left Chicago for Salt Lake City in the middle of September, 1968. We didn’t see each other until the winter break when he returned and stayed with his friend for two weeks. We enjoyed our meetings at the park again to rewarm our loving hearts, even in the freezing cold weather. It was a pure and inseparable two weeks for us. When the temperature dropped to minus 40 degrees with the wind chill factor, we had no choice and the public library became our precious nest to build and maintain our love. We talked about getting married in the future.

Getting married is a family affair in Taiwanese tradition. It was complicated, especially with his widowed mother and his maiden older sister, and he was the only son, so his marriage was a big deal for him and his family.

When I-ming shared with them the news of his relationship with his girlfriend, his sister Ying-ying, a chemist at a New York City hospital, insisted on coming to see him around Christmas time, 1968.

Actually, she had a mission to inspect and approve of who her brother was dating. Two days before Christmas Ying-ying came to Chicago and took us to The Nutcracker ballet. The whole time I felt uncomfortable and restless, and I noticed Ying-ying was sneaking glances at me frequently.

I was right about the negative karma of my relationship with I-ming. His mother and the relatives were against our plans to get married in the future.

I was a registered nurse, not good enough to glorify the family and ancestors.

Ying-ying had found an ABC (American Born Chinese) medical student for her brother. She insisted that only someone with a medical degree or a PhD was good enough to be of equal status .

I was outcast by I-ming’s family because I was only a registered nurse and a certified nurse-midwife, plus I came from a poor farming family. His father had been a government employee; we were of different social status.

I understood the whole thing because I was familiar with my culture and adapted to it and accepted it. But my heart ached and I foresaw the possibility of losing my love.

No words could express how I felt, and it was bad enough to drag me into insomnia and loss of appetite.

Despite all the interference from his sister and relatives, I-ming didn’t give up on his love for me. He wrote to his mother stating he didn’t want to give up his relationship with the one he was in love with. If his mother didn’t want to be involved with the affair, he would just let it be and take care of it himself. Wow! What a rebellious guy to dare to go against the rule of law—obedience and filial piety .

We continued to interact with each other as diligent pen pals, seeing each other on spring and summer breaks. Around mid-October, 1969, I-ming wrote, “My advisor was so kind; he is going to grant me a special permission to take my finals sooner, but he wants me to keep it a secret. So can we get married in the winter break?”

Like a lightning strike, what a surprise! He wanted to get married without his family’s approval: a truly loving gesture to me, and a blessing. Without a second thought, I agreed to his proposal.

In such a hurry and without any plan, I was going to get married. I had no idea what to do or how to do it.

I had attended the wedding of my colleague, Katie, who had gotten married eight months before. Her wedding took place in a very unusual setting, in the loft of a warehouse. About 30 people attended the ceremony, mostly her coworkers and a few of her friends; her family was absent. There was a big screen on the wall with colorful flashing lights coming from a projector that reflected colorful water that had oil floating on it. Both bride and groom were barefoot.

Katie wore a white wedding dress she had hand-stitched at work for a few months when no one was in labor, her tiara was made of thin twigs decorated with wildflowers, and the handsome groom was dressed like a black-belt judo sportsman. Some of the attendees enjoyed wild dancing with disco music and self-served punch, and the cake was decorated with petals of flowers and grass. I was told a hippie wedding reception was not a sit-down dinner but was going to have something that would make me feel good, happy, and high. I was too naive and didn’t feel comfortable with the atmosphere, and I excused myself and left the party early with my friend Teresa. We both had to go to work early in the morning.

Their honeymoon was soon over. Katie happily came back to work two weeks later. Her life went on like a roller coaster; sometimes Katie came to work with black eyes or bruises on her face and arms. Then she would receive an amazingly beautiful bouquet along with a fancy note. The sweet and bitter romantic marriage lasted only about eight months before it dissolved, and Katie became happily single again, free as a bird. Since her wedding ceremony was so strange, and her marriage was so short-lived, I had no desire to have her advice. All of my other colleagues were single. Miss Lou, the head nurse, who was 10 years older than me, kindly offered some information and tips on what I needed to do for the wedding, such as picking a church, ordering a boutique and invitations, planning a reception, and so on.

Back home in Taiwan, we would be like puppets with the parents and relatives totally dominating the wedding planning and festivities. Some newlywed couples wouldn’t even see each other until the wedding day.

I was excited but nervous to have a wedding ahead of me. With less than two months left, I swiftly ordered 50 invitations, and a bridal bouquet that cost $36. I thought I was stretched to my financial limit, and I was lucky to inherit a handmade bridal gown from a friend in Evanston; it was passed along to two other friends after my wedding.

I was all set to get married except for finding someone to marry us at a church. I panicked when no church was available around Christmas time for the wedding. I called every single church listed in the phone book, but I was like a fly that was headless, bumping into the wall in despair. No one told me I could get married without doing it the traditional way. You can go to city hall for a wedding ceremony and register without a hassle and it doesn’t cost a lot. All you have to do is present test results of your blood type and proof of a negative STD test.

God never fails you! As I was walking home from work one afternoon on Fullerton Avenue, I glimpsed a gentleman walking out of the Presbyterian church. Even during the crisis, my brain power was still sharp. I rushed across the street and without introducing myself, I got right to the point, asking him if there was a possibility of having a wedding around Christmas. He introduced himself as Pastor William Taylor. He apologized and deeply sympathized with my situation, and asked, “Didn’t you call the other day? It’s not possible to find a place—it’s busy Christmas time and it’s such short notice…” He stared right into my teary eyes and said “Excuse me!” Then he went back to the church. I was puzzled why a pastor would so heartlessly ignore me.

It took him about 10 minutes, and he returned with a smile. “What a surprise! You are so blessed, there are three weddings on December 20th, back to back, the first one is at noon. Christine is so nice; she is kind and willing to help you, but you have to leave by 11.” The pastor was in a hurry to leave, but he promised to give me a call.

Pastor Taylor called me on November 17 for a heads-up and then sent me a confirmation letter. The wedding would take place on December 20, 1969.

I fantasized, and expected it to be the happiest day in my life.

I was relieved and relaxed that I had one month to get ready for my wedding.

But unexpected trouble kicked in. There was back and forth with Ying-ying, who had issues with the wedding. She insisted I had to make the wedding a glamorous affair.

A once-in-a-lifetime evening wedding ceremony was a must, the groom had to wear no ordinary tuxedo but a tailcoat like President Dwight Esenhower’s grandson David, who married President Nixon’s daughter Julie, on December 22, 1968. What an unrealistic demand! What a joke!

Like a war without weapons, she got mad at me, and her last letter to me said, “You’re so selfish! You want to make the best of yourself, why not my brother!?” The only solution to calm the nonsense was to stop corresponding with her, a woman who was single and had her own dream picture. Both I-ming and I understood the momentary glorious wedding was meaningful to his family. But if you can’t afford it and it’s not the right time or the right situation, isn’t it just like slapping your face until it’s swollen in an effort to look imposing ?

When I-ming showed up two weeks before the wedding, the first thing we did was to purchase a black suit and a bow tie at Carson’s department store on State Street in Chicago. When you are poor, you need to be creative and try hard to adapt to the conditions; being thrifty, or even better, being stingy is the key. A suit that was marked down 50% was a good deal and a big deal. We felt we had gotten a bonus even though it was not the right size: one size too small, and too short besides. Who cares if there’s a little defect in something that is only going to be worn for two hours? We could always try to overcome the problem by just ignoring the imperfections. We were ready for the perfect and happy event.

Two days before the wedding, we met Pastor Taylor for marriage counseling at 1:30 p.m., and the two-hour session went smoothly. Before we left the church, Pastor Taylor asked if there would be a ring bearer, and we were puzzled before he explained about the wedding band stuff. We realized we didn’t have rings. We avowed that we were not only naive but also ignorant about the American tradition that you have to have rings to get married. The exchange of rings means the promise of unending love.

Pastor Taylor suggested we could buy a fake silver wedding band for a quarter and a fake diamond ring for a half-dollar at the Woolworth’s penny store if we wanted. We went to Woolworth’s, two blocks away, to check out the wedding bands and diamond rings. The fake rings looked okay, but I didn’t like them. They didn’t appear normal to me. Faking the truth was unethical, and fake meant cheap.

I-ming couldn’t afford to pay for the real thing; he was poor and thrifty. I had been working in labor and delivery for two years and I sent every other paycheck home to help support my family. I didn’t make a lot of money, but things were cheaper then. Money I didn’t need for living expenses went into my savings account, which was my only asset: $1,000. Actually, compared to some of my nursing colleagues, I was a rich young woman and I didn’t even know it.

We were like fledglings, an odd couple running around and not knowing what to do about the rings, and we didn’t have time to mess around. We didn’t want to call off the wedding just because of this silly thing. I came up with a strategy to let I-ming borrow my money to buy the rings. It was so embarrassing for him to be in my debt even before we became a married couple. What a laugh! Crisis management as a good alternative.

We hurriedly went to the bank to withdraw my money and kept $10 in my account, then we rushed to downtown Chicago to shop around for a good deal. We found two platinum wedding bands and a small but top-quality brilliant diamond set in platinum on sale at Sears, totaling $800 with a lifetime warranty. It was the most expensive thing he had ever had to purchase, and an unprecedented huge debt.

The night before the wedding, a swift and simple rehearsal took place. I was surprised the church was decorated beautifully and elegantly with a lot of red poinsettias, red roses, ribbons and candles, and a red carpet in the aisle. I was very grateful, wondering why the bride Christine was so generous and kind. I was emotional, and deeply touched by her message to Pastor Taylor that it was a small thing she could do to help someone who desperately needed help, especially in the Christmas season. I never met her or talked with her. I couldn’t imagine such a miracle happening in my life. What a noble gesture and gift she gave me. I never paid her back, and her Christmas spirit inspired an incredible impact on my life. I wanted to be as kind as she was.

The night before the wedding, I was restless and I was still wide awake at three o’clock. My head was pounding and my thoughts were spinning. I started to wonder if what I had done was a wise decision, to marry someone I loved so much but had only known for a few months. The only family member who could make it to the wedding was Ying-ying, a very pushy and bossy maiden. None of my family had a chance to come to help celebrate my marriage. They simply couldn’t afford to pay for the long trip from Taiwan. I felt scared and worried, and I cried. At seven in the morning I got myself ready, my face puffy from crying. Father Pu, the owner of the rental house where I lived, took me to the church. I hung up a three-foot-by-four-foot poster I had painted with a silver wedding bell, to make sure the reception room at the church was not too bare and boring.

One of my friends, Catherine, brought a bowl of non-alcoholic punch and some homemade cookies. A nice wedding cake was delivered to the church by nine o’clock. Everyone was ready to help celebrate my wedding, about 30 people. The whole process of the wedding ceremony took about 15 minutes, and a rushed reception was completed in about 40 minutes. Nothing fancy but a humble event that was inexpensive. The reception looked too cheap, but we had no choice. Excluding the expensive rings, the cost of the wedding ceremony and travelling expenses all totaled about one month’s worth of my salary.

Almost 52 years have passed. Unlike most of my Taiwanese friends who stored their diamond rings in the safe, I wore my diamond ring and my wedding band all the time since the day we got married. It was weird and crazy, but I have a fun memory of my bizarre wedding.

I still wish I could have had a decent, Western-style kneeling-down proposal with a diamond ring, and a normal wedding ceremony with my family and friends joining the celebrations. The low-cost wedding did stress me with some embarrassment and frustration. But I was able to convince myself we didn’t need to have an extravagant wedding to have happiness. A few of my friends had glamorous engagement parties and posh wedding ceremonies and receptions, with sweet honeymoons and all the fun times and the memories, but their marriages crumbled and ended in bitter divorces.

I had a bizarre wedding with no romantic kneeling proposal, no formal reception, and no dream honeymoon, but my life-long happy relationship with my dear husband was a blessing.

We enjoyed our honeymoon-like life later on. We had a good life together for 52 years, traveled to places we dreamed about, and had wonderful times and memories.

It was bizarre that my precious one-third carat diamond mysteriously dislodged from my ring three days after my husband passed away on my son’s 51st birthday. I couldn’t believe it happened. I looked all over the place, searching everywhere, but I couldn’t recover it. I wondered if the loss of the diamond had some significance to my marriage. I was sorry for the loss but wasn’t terribly disappointed.

My husband had paid off his debt a long time ago, and I had loved and enjoyed the rings for almost 52 years. I couldn’t find the warranty papers. It is regrettable but it’s not the end of the world. I removed the rings from my finger.

My hands are bare now, but my head, my heart, and my mind still rejoice with the meticulous memory of how I received my diamond ring, how I had to accept the reality of being poor and being thrifty, and how I coped with my bizarre wedding that paved the path to a happy ending.