Kathleen Pualam Komala

It is a funny thing. In Indonesia we are considered Chinese, not Indonesian, but here we are Indonesians. I suppose it's fair enough since I hold an Indonesian passport, but it still means we are made to feel different in both places.

The boat trip [to Hong Kong] from Jakarta took two weeks, with a short stop in Manila. We arrived at 6pm and were kept on board because the immigration officials had finished work for the day. From the deck of the vessel, which was in the harbour opposite the old Hongkong & Shanghai Bank building, I could see Hong Kong's tall buildings.

They were shining on the water and I thought how beautiful they were. We did not have tall buildings in Indonesia and I had a feeling that I was going to stay here for the rest of my life.

I arrived in Hong Kong in 1947 to find a school to do my matriculation examinations. My studies in Singapore were interrupted by the war. I didn't want to return there because girls were taught things such as needlework and domestic science. I was interested in science subjects - physics, chemistry and biology. Luckily, St Mary's (Canossian) in Hong Kong offered these subjects to girls and I went there.

I spent two years at St Mary's but my father, who had lost his stevedoring business following Indonesia's independence in 1949, said university was too expensive so, after completing my schooling, I looked for work.

Not being able to study to be a doctor, I thought about pharmacy work. I got a job as a government dispenser at the Central Medical Stores. I was then transferred to the Queen Mary Hospital where I learnt a lot, because the hospital had a lot of dispensing and practical training. We didn't just dispense medicine; we were taught to make it as well.

After a few months, I was among the first intake of the government's pharmacy school. We worked eight hours a day at the hospital and then rushed to the King's College on Bonham Road, where a four-year course was taught. Our studies lasted three hours every day, on top of eight hours of work, six days a week. In the beginning, I was paid $120 a month. This had increased to $240 by the time I left in 1953. Of course, things were cheap then. The bus and Star Ferry were 10 cents, a bowl of wonton was less than $1, a bowl of congee was 80 cents and a sticky bun 10 cents. I shared a two-bedroom flat in Jordan with my sister and a friend. Rent was $120 a month and the amah was paid $20 a month.