in my short life, i have been privileged.
this afternoon i jumped in the car with my father and we headed for the jersey shore. we were going to bond, spend time together before i headed back to vietnam. we haven't had time to spend together as father and son for at least two years.
our relationship has grown and blossomed. when i was a child i jumped at anything he said. we never were able to get along because i could never understand why he was telling me what to do. i am now different. i now cherish the time i have with him and we sit over a cup of coffee and grin and joke about life, love and life again.
the two of us will spend the next two days watching people walk by and talking about what moves us. returning to this part of the world has taught me much about what makes me tick. i have jumped back into a world that was familiar but that i am having to interpret with eyes that are two years older. my eyes have aged.
the beach is beautiful. the water is flat and calm like the mekong. everything moves slowly here and giant cars hum by with their bright lights shining the way. everything is incredibly organized.
i like watching the ocean. the water laps on the shore and then cycles back to the depths only to return to the shore again and see it with new eyes, to feel it anew.
Friday, June 11, 2004
Thursday, June 10, 2004
Wednesday, June 09, 2004
i drive down the roads here and things feel hyper-organized. the stop lights work on sensors. people stop at stop signs. everyone follows speed limits and there are cops everywhere. it doesn't make sense how anyone could have road rage here. there's nothing to be angry with except being bored.
i drive here and want to blow my horn. every time i see another car i want to blow the horn. i do not want to stop at lights but would rather blow my horn and plow through. i am afraid that others are not going to stop at intersections and always end up looking both ways even if i have a green light. honk.
i drive here and listen to the radio. i listen to the sports talk radio program because people argue and it's fun to listen to them argue.
of the time i listened to the show today, the people who called in and the hosts talked about the same five things over and over again. the phillies do not have enough depth at pitching. lary brown should have fouled shaq at the end of the nba finals game last night. the eagles are going to be good. who cares about the sixers. and so on.
they also had segments designed to flesh out the important issues in life.
they spent one hour trying to design the perfect woman. what is the one characteristic of a woman that is the most important? responses ranged from money to hygiene to physical attraction. they argued for an hour about something that no one could possibly agree on. really getting to the core of what life is about.
then there were the advertisements. every ten minutes there was someone yelling at me trying to get me to buy something. i was too fat. i wasn't cool enough and therefore didn't eat the right food or drink the right drinks. i was too stupid and therefore didn't invest here or apply for a job there. such ridiculous things as telling me i would be unique by drinking someone's beverage that was being advertises nationally. why do we all fall for this?
in vietnam i am also barraged by people trying to sell me things but it is of a completely different nature. people there will hawk their wares and they will do so aggressively. they, however, never play on my sense of self in order to have me buy something. 'you will be much more unique and cool if you eat this plump rice dumpling!' 'you will have all the women if you buy this lottery ticket!'
i'm really not sure which is more annoying or why we end up tolerating either.
i drive here and want to blow my horn. every time i see another car i want to blow the horn. i do not want to stop at lights but would rather blow my horn and plow through. i am afraid that others are not going to stop at intersections and always end up looking both ways even if i have a green light. honk.
i drive here and listen to the radio. i listen to the sports talk radio program because people argue and it's fun to listen to them argue.
of the time i listened to the show today, the people who called in and the hosts talked about the same five things over and over again. the phillies do not have enough depth at pitching. lary brown should have fouled shaq at the end of the nba finals game last night. the eagles are going to be good. who cares about the sixers. and so on.
they also had segments designed to flesh out the important issues in life.
they spent one hour trying to design the perfect woman. what is the one characteristic of a woman that is the most important? responses ranged from money to hygiene to physical attraction. they argued for an hour about something that no one could possibly agree on. really getting to the core of what life is about.
then there were the advertisements. every ten minutes there was someone yelling at me trying to get me to buy something. i was too fat. i wasn't cool enough and therefore didn't eat the right food or drink the right drinks. i was too stupid and therefore didn't invest here or apply for a job there. such ridiculous things as telling me i would be unique by drinking someone's beverage that was being advertises nationally. why do we all fall for this?
in vietnam i am also barraged by people trying to sell me things but it is of a completely different nature. people there will hawk their wares and they will do so aggressively. they, however, never play on my sense of self in order to have me buy something. 'you will be much more unique and cool if you eat this plump rice dumpling!' 'you will have all the women if you buy this lottery ticket!'
i'm really not sure which is more annoying or why we end up tolerating either.
Tuesday, June 08, 2004
and then there was japan.
i landed and it was raining. it was miserable. i stumbled off of the plane and walked towards customs. because i was going to stay for 12 hours, i was looking to find a transfer visa and then a bus to the hotel the airlines had booked for me for the day.
i asked people where to go. they smiled and pointed me in the right direction. i went through security. at the end the security guard said i was in the wrong place. i went through the temporary visa section. at the end the lady told me i was in the wrong place. i went through the another visa line and eventually made it out of the airport after two hours of haste.
i waited for the bus in a small box painted on the sidewalk next to a giant sign that said '25'. there were upwards of 30 some busses that took people to different hotels and everyone stood in painted boxes. there were signs that said, 'NO HAWKING OR CALLING TO TAXI CARS. IF YOU HAWK OR CALL TO TAXI YOU WILL BE FINED.'
i fell asleep in the hotel room after setting the alarm next to the bed. the alarm didn't wake me up and i ended getting up one hour before the boarding of my plane. i panicked. i ran out of the room, forgot some of my clothes and hawked and called for a taxi. i boarded the plane shaking, minutes before it took off.
12 hours in one chair is ridiculous. there are only so many positions you can sit in.
i arrived in new york. i slowly made my way through customs and found myself facing a long, empty hallway. there were no more inspections and i was free to leave. i walked down the hall slowly, not knowing what to expect. i turned a corner and could see a mass of people gathered outside of a giant glass wall. i scanned the audience and found my parents standing next to the railing. my father was taking pictures. my mother was smiling and my brother's eyes were beautiful and huge. i ran to meet them and we hugged. we stood there and i didn't cry.
we eventually found out way out of new york city and drove down giant roads full of giant cars and trucks arriving home late at night. everything was fine and i felt normal.
i walked in the house. i walked up the steps. i was walking into a museum of my previous life. i was walking into a world that had remained silent in the back of my memory for the last two years. i walked into this peaceful place and was bombarded by memories. there were pictures everywhere. i walked into my room. there were books everywhere. each book brought back the memory of reading it. each picture on the wall brought back the event. there was just too much. i didn't have any idea how to take it all in.
i laid down on my old bed and cried into the pillow. i remember saying, 'i just don't know where i am', over and over again.
in a way, i'm just pathetic. inside, i'm just tired.
i landed and it was raining. it was miserable. i stumbled off of the plane and walked towards customs. because i was going to stay for 12 hours, i was looking to find a transfer visa and then a bus to the hotel the airlines had booked for me for the day.
i asked people where to go. they smiled and pointed me in the right direction. i went through security. at the end the security guard said i was in the wrong place. i went through the temporary visa section. at the end the lady told me i was in the wrong place. i went through the another visa line and eventually made it out of the airport after two hours of haste.
i waited for the bus in a small box painted on the sidewalk next to a giant sign that said '25'. there were upwards of 30 some busses that took people to different hotels and everyone stood in painted boxes. there were signs that said, 'NO HAWKING OR CALLING TO TAXI CARS. IF YOU HAWK OR CALL TO TAXI YOU WILL BE FINED.'
i fell asleep in the hotel room after setting the alarm next to the bed. the alarm didn't wake me up and i ended getting up one hour before the boarding of my plane. i panicked. i ran out of the room, forgot some of my clothes and hawked and called for a taxi. i boarded the plane shaking, minutes before it took off.
12 hours in one chair is ridiculous. there are only so many positions you can sit in.
i arrived in new york. i slowly made my way through customs and found myself facing a long, empty hallway. there were no more inspections and i was free to leave. i walked down the hall slowly, not knowing what to expect. i turned a corner and could see a mass of people gathered outside of a giant glass wall. i scanned the audience and found my parents standing next to the railing. my father was taking pictures. my mother was smiling and my brother's eyes were beautiful and huge. i ran to meet them and we hugged. we stood there and i didn't cry.
we eventually found out way out of new york city and drove down giant roads full of giant cars and trucks arriving home late at night. everything was fine and i felt normal.
i walked in the house. i walked up the steps. i was walking into a museum of my previous life. i was walking into a world that had remained silent in the back of my memory for the last two years. i walked into this peaceful place and was bombarded by memories. there were pictures everywhere. i walked into my room. there were books everywhere. each book brought back the memory of reading it. each picture on the wall brought back the event. there was just too much. i didn't have any idea how to take it all in.
i laid down on my old bed and cried into the pillow. i remember saying, 'i just don't know where i am', over and over again.
in a way, i'm just pathetic. inside, i'm just tired.
Sunday, June 06, 2004
my last day in ho chi minh city for a while. it all feels strange.
i came up to the big city on one of the school's vehicles. in that vehicle i met two wonderful women who had been born in vietnam and had lived in america for the past twenty odd years. they were working with an ngo on some quite important development projects.
upon arrival in ho chi minh city, they asked me if i wanted to eat lunch with them. i didn't have anything to do from about 11:00 am until midnight when i get on my plane and i gladly accepted their invitation. we went out to eat and talk about the world. while we were eating we happened to meet some people who had worked directly with the american/vietnam catfish problems that were spawned by farmers in the mississippi delta. this chance meeting was a once in a lifetime opportunity.
in california there are about two million ethnic vietnamese. they have quite a tight knit community and i know very little about it all. these two worlds came together and i sensed the opportunities that could possibly arise if i would learn more about life in california. i might plan a trip out there upon my return.
on a different note: this city scares me.
i entered their hotel. it was beautiful. i went up to the top floor and looked out over the city from beside the pool filled with europeans in skimpy shorts and bloated bellies. i walked around and starred. i gawked. i had to go outside and chat up a taxi driver to feel comfortable again.
my two new friends also chided me about how vietnamese i really was. they said my english had turned into a hybrid language. it is slow, clear and full of references to vietnamese words and culture. i pronounce american cities and names with vietnamese accent.
there's a character people talk about in vietnam, he's a mixture between mythology and reality, whose name is 'chu hai lua'. he is from a very rural area, like where i teach, and he doesn't know anything about city life. there are a number of stories about his life which all revolve around him coming up to the city and doing silly things or not understanding how things work.
i'm not there at all but my two friends kept joking that i was truly 'chu hai lua'. also, to make matters worse, vietnamese people here joke that i am 'chu hai lua' because of my strong southern accent.
tonight i can eat just about anywhere i could want. of course i couldn't go to a diner and order a weak cup of coffee and a greek salad, but i could go to a pizza place, or get indian food, or thai or korean or anything but i'm really not hungry for any of them. all i really want is a nice bowl of vietnamese soup or maybe some grilled beef. i don't understand. i used to crave the foods i could get up in ho chi minh city just a few months ago.
agh.
maybe this is all nothing. it's probably just in my head. i mean, how many people have spent a good deal of time in a foreign country without ever heading home. how many people have spent two years in a rural area immersed in a culture that is diametrically different from western culture. how many people have worked in this culture, had close friends in this culture and adapted completely only to return home. thousands. millions. this is nothing. this is a walk in the park.
i will go home, walk off the plane and be normal. i will sit in a restaurant and not spit on the floor. i will not touch other people in tactile ways. i will not be shocked by traffic. i will not be shocked by the size of americans. i will not be shocked at people's questions. i will not be shocked by...
so, that's where i am. i'm sitting in what feels like a very opulent internet cafe about to walk aimlessly around this place which feels so familiar and yet i feel so out of place. i feel like i do not belong here and i do belong here. there is such a duality to this experience. i have, on the one hand, had to adapt to this culture. in doing so, i have become a part of this place. i care about this place so i want to be a part of it. i want to be accepted here.
on the other hand, i will never be accepted here. i am not vietnamese and i never will be. i cannot understand the culture. i cannot feel the culture. i can sense it, perceive it and experience it but i will never be it.
on the third hand, i am not as american as i was before i came over here. in leaving my culture, i have missed out on a great deal. i have not experienced all you have back in the states for the past two years except through emails, internet news and the occasional western visitor.
however (no more hands), i also feel like i've learned a great deal about my culture. after having learned about this place, i now feel comfortable making more solid comparisons about how things work for us back home. so, in some ways, i feel like i understand my culture more than ever.
nonsense.
i came up to the big city on one of the school's vehicles. in that vehicle i met two wonderful women who had been born in vietnam and had lived in america for the past twenty odd years. they were working with an ngo on some quite important development projects.
upon arrival in ho chi minh city, they asked me if i wanted to eat lunch with them. i didn't have anything to do from about 11:00 am until midnight when i get on my plane and i gladly accepted their invitation. we went out to eat and talk about the world. while we were eating we happened to meet some people who had worked directly with the american/vietnam catfish problems that were spawned by farmers in the mississippi delta. this chance meeting was a once in a lifetime opportunity.
in california there are about two million ethnic vietnamese. they have quite a tight knit community and i know very little about it all. these two worlds came together and i sensed the opportunities that could possibly arise if i would learn more about life in california. i might plan a trip out there upon my return.
on a different note: this city scares me.
i entered their hotel. it was beautiful. i went up to the top floor and looked out over the city from beside the pool filled with europeans in skimpy shorts and bloated bellies. i walked around and starred. i gawked. i had to go outside and chat up a taxi driver to feel comfortable again.
my two new friends also chided me about how vietnamese i really was. they said my english had turned into a hybrid language. it is slow, clear and full of references to vietnamese words and culture. i pronounce american cities and names with vietnamese accent.
there's a character people talk about in vietnam, he's a mixture between mythology and reality, whose name is 'chu hai lua'. he is from a very rural area, like where i teach, and he doesn't know anything about city life. there are a number of stories about his life which all revolve around him coming up to the city and doing silly things or not understanding how things work.
i'm not there at all but my two friends kept joking that i was truly 'chu hai lua'. also, to make matters worse, vietnamese people here joke that i am 'chu hai lua' because of my strong southern accent.
tonight i can eat just about anywhere i could want. of course i couldn't go to a diner and order a weak cup of coffee and a greek salad, but i could go to a pizza place, or get indian food, or thai or korean or anything but i'm really not hungry for any of them. all i really want is a nice bowl of vietnamese soup or maybe some grilled beef. i don't understand. i used to crave the foods i could get up in ho chi minh city just a few months ago.
agh.
maybe this is all nothing. it's probably just in my head. i mean, how many people have spent a good deal of time in a foreign country without ever heading home. how many people have spent two years in a rural area immersed in a culture that is diametrically different from western culture. how many people have worked in this culture, had close friends in this culture and adapted completely only to return home. thousands. millions. this is nothing. this is a walk in the park.
i will go home, walk off the plane and be normal. i will sit in a restaurant and not spit on the floor. i will not touch other people in tactile ways. i will not be shocked by traffic. i will not be shocked by the size of americans. i will not be shocked at people's questions. i will not be shocked by...
so, that's where i am. i'm sitting in what feels like a very opulent internet cafe about to walk aimlessly around this place which feels so familiar and yet i feel so out of place. i feel like i do not belong here and i do belong here. there is such a duality to this experience. i have, on the one hand, had to adapt to this culture. in doing so, i have become a part of this place. i care about this place so i want to be a part of it. i want to be accepted here.
on the other hand, i will never be accepted here. i am not vietnamese and i never will be. i cannot understand the culture. i cannot feel the culture. i can sense it, perceive it and experience it but i will never be it.
on the third hand, i am not as american as i was before i came over here. in leaving my culture, i have missed out on a great deal. i have not experienced all you have back in the states for the past two years except through emails, internet news and the occasional western visitor.
however (no more hands), i also feel like i've learned a great deal about my culture. after having learned about this place, i now feel comfortable making more solid comparisons about how things work for us back home. so, in some ways, i feel like i understand my culture more than ever.
nonsense.
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