All around us, however, dreams were crumbling along the hierarchy. The Hong Kong manager was rumored to have opened several restaurants and failed. Head chef Mike had also tried to run restaurants but failed miserably each time. Boisterous waiter Steve would brag about his one-year stint in medical school whenever drunk. "I could have become a doctor," he would announce sullenly, "if only we'd had money."

None of that fazed Ah Ching. He counted his pay carefully each night, would get his US citizenship, buy a restaurant and one day go back to China a proud man.

Only once, on a lazy Saturday afternoon peeling string beans, did he keep silent.

"Nothing," he replied casually to my inquiry. After a while, he began talking about his past, riding a motorcycle with his girlfriend through his village, and stopping at friends' places for drinks.

"I was happy then," he said.

I did not probe further. I could imagine his routine - up at 10 am, at the restaurant by 11 am, working until 1 am, no English skills, no friends, just dreary repetitive days.

"You are studying for your doctor's degree. That's a future ... " His voice trailed off.

On my last night, we celebrated with chocolate cake. He packed an extra one for me to take home, patted my back cheerfully and said: "Go get your doctor's degree and have a good life in America."

I never got my degree. I often wondered if he achieved his American dream.