poated December 4, 2010
Grand Street sprawls like a clogged artery to the heart of New York's Chinatown. People brush through sidewalks packed with shops selling fresh fruit. Restaurants display whole shriveled barbecued ducks. Old women haggle for fish in harsh Cantonese tones. Souvenir shops offer fake golden Buddhas, fish carved in cheap jade, and bonsai trees growing in porcelain vases.
For some Americans, stepping into this ethnic enclave feels like stepping onto another continent. It might seem that Li Rong Liu, a native of Fujian in southern China, would read the Chinese lettering on shops and feel at home—but it's a bleak home where he started on the lowest level as a busboy, working seven days a week from the early morning to midnight for six years before upgrading to a sushi chef. He now works a more modest 10 hours a day. the rest
"There was something genuine about this faith, unlike the idols we worshipped in China," Liu said. "When I was in China, I had heard of Christianity, but I didn't think I needed it. Now in the U.S., when I'm alone and facing new hardships, here is where I find God."