There was only a scattering of overseas Chinese in Europe 27 or 28 years ago, and the term "overseas Chinese community" was practically unheard of. As few as we were, under the shadow of the political climate of the time, we fell into two clearly defined camps, the line crossed only by a handful. My foreigner friends were warmhearted and dear, but for someone like myself, with an especially heavy China complex, who feels down in the dumps after not chatting in Chinese or not seeing another person with black hair and tawny skin for too long, things could get pretty lonesome, and my longing for home and country would often flood over me in waves and drown me.

More and more Chinese came to Europe as the years went by, especially in the wake of several major political upheavals, when the number of Asian immigrants shot up sharply. As soon as there were more people, all kinds of groups and organizations sprang up, at first only Chinese associations, student groups and the like, but then organizations of every description, too numerous to elaborate.

The ways of life of overseas Chinese are not completely the same as those of Chinese back home or as those of the people where they live. They make up a community with special characteristics of its own, the overseas Chinese community as it is generally called. As a member of that community, I have seen it grow from nothing, from weakness to strength. Besides being gratified to watch, I have also received a lot of joy by taking part in it.

Actually, I almost never really joined any groups as a member. The reason is that it isn't right for a writer to pick up any partisan coloring, and an attitude of detachment allows one to express one's ideas more freely with the pen.

The first time I came into contact with the overseas Chinese community, I recall, was in accepting an invitation from the Chinese student association in Heidelberg, Germany. Their letter was very earnest. The gist of it was that they felt close to the characters in my books and very much wanted to talk with me. "A wayfarer in a foreign land longs for home. We hope you won't refuse." To tell the truth, I had never had the experience of giving a speech or chairing a seminar as a writer before. My children were still little then, and it wasn't easy to leave the family and go off by myself for several days. But I readily agreed, mainly because my feelings were so close to theirs; We were all wayfarers abroad, longing deeply for home. Being able to talk with them and perhaps bring them some warmth doing so was a source of pride and comfort. When the students' association in Munich heard that I was going to Heidelberg, the president wrote an eloquent letter saying, "Elder Sister, please come guide us in putting together the next issue of our newspaper and take a look at our election."

It was misty that day, typical of autumn and winter in the Alps, with drizzle floating in the air and the sun hidden behind the clouds. I put things in order at home, picked up a small suitcase and set out. It wasn't far to Munich from where I lived, a train ride of just over five hours, but I had never met any of them. What brought us together were shared emotions: the feelings of a wayfarer and love of our native land.

When they said it wouldn't look right unless I stayed in a hotel, my being a writer, I insisted that they spare the expense, that staying in dormitory would be enough. The result was that a student in both places lent me her room and found somewhere else for herself.

The Chinese student association in Munich was chock-a-block with talent back then, full of outstanding young scholars not only expert in their fields but gifted at writing, and they ran the newspaper splendidly. We spoke frankly, I watched the meeting and the election, and I attended the dinner. The piece de resistance was the seminar I chaired. The discussion revolved around living in a foreign land, coming to terms with the new land and the old, where the future of China was headed and so forth. Everyone talked in full confidence, unable to stop, and the seminar didn't break up until one o'clock at night. The next morning several students saw me off on the train to Heidelberg, where another group of young people was waiting for me.

The student association at Heidelberg wasn't as large as the one in Munich, but it was no less cordial. There wasn't anyplace available specially for holding a seminar, but a Ms. Wang, generously lent us the main room in her restaurant. Besides those from Heidelberg, several carloads of students from the neighboring blue-collar town of Karlsruhe turned up, making for quite a packed house and a freewheeling discussion. The characters in my books were the main theme, of course, but what was talked about most was homesickness and our concern for the state of the country.

By the time we returned it was already two o'clock. It was a new experience for me, one that made me realize how heavy the burden of history weighs on the shoulders of Chinese intellectuals. It was only then that I really became willing to step out of my little nest and join the overseas Chinese community.

For many years I enthusiastically did my bit as a member of the community. I wouldn't lightly turn down an invitation to give a speech, attend a meeting or take part in an activity unless I really had difficulties. I made many fine and trusty friends as a result. But in recent years I have been busy breaking into the Western writing scene, wrapped up with all kinds of "foreign" cultural activities, and I gradually became distanced from the overseas Chinese community.

When I came back to Taiwan this summer, I was asked to form a European chapter of the World Chinese Writers Association. Even as I agreed, I found myself mumbling to my-self: Europe is so vast, Chinese writers are so few and far between, and I rarely have anything to do with the overseas community--this is going to be like looking for needles in a haystack. So even though I sent letters off, I didn't harbor much hope of receiving replies.

How could I have guessed that the response would exceed my wildest dreams? After a couple of weeks the first letter came in, then another and another and another . . . from different countries all over Europe, all of them encouraging and enthusiastic. Some of them gave me such and such a writer's address, some said they had found leads and were looking for more details, and some wrote, almost apologetically, that it seemed there weren't any Chinese writers in the country, but they would do their best to keep searching and would keep me posted. I ended up with liaisons for Chinese writers in the twelve countries I had planned for, which was the first step in forming the club.

It was then that I came to realize how friendship lives on in the world. People still remembered my modest efforts for the community in the past. I realized that people don't lightly forget contributions made from pure motives, with no thought of personal gain, and that reciprocation will come to cheer you when you really need a helping hand.

The overseas Chinese community is a community with special characteristics, the greatest of which is warmth of human feeling.

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(photo by Arthur Cheng)