Sai Gon. April 8, 2001.
The problem with Vietnamese people is that for as much as they respect elders, they lack respect for youth. It drives me insane.

Perhaps I didn’t drink enough coffee this morning, but I’ve been unusually irritable today and am wishing I was back home. Homesick? I don’t really think so. What I’d really like is to get in my car and take a nice drive somewhere away from the noise and annoyance that current company brings.

At least some solace comes in the form of the only music I brought over on Minidisc – Italy’s Lucio Battisti or New York’s Redtime. As for the few CDs I actually brought with me, I leave those to maintain sanity in the office. It’s a trade-off – the people who work for me can’t stand my U2 and on the other hand, how much George Michael, Kenny G, and Vietnamese Pop can one tolerate? (My patience is running low.)

I am beginning to consider living alone, buying myself a Honda, and reclaiming my independence. I would rather die driving a motorbike in Sai Gon than live in fear of an accident, which is what my aunts and mother (and perhaps Eileen if you only knew) have decided would happen to me if I drive here. Good motorbikes only cost about $500. Li? Yes. What does that mean? Well, in Vietnamese, “li” has several meanings – audacious, insolent, courageous and intrepid (often paired as gan li). It can sometimes carry a negative connotation here (when meant as audacious or insolent). I happen to be accused of it quite often and PROUD OF IT. I am SICK, SICK, SICK of not being mobile.

Another generalization in cultural character: for the most part, ordinary people here lack education and educated people lack intellect. So maybe they don’t. Maybe it’s the language barrier I have that impedes any sort of intellectual conversation. Maybe it’s my foul mood that chooses this occasion to write about it. Maybe it’s really because I can’t speak Vietnamese worth a dime to have an intelligent conversation. Or maybe it’s the people who have besieged my existence here in VN. If I hear “do you have family” one more time, or “guess how old she is,” I might hither onto someone’s shoes. Or I might say “mind your own goddamn business.”

Then, of course, I’d get accused of being li again.

So instead, I listen to Italian lessons on Minidisc, read the Vietnamese dictionary, Jack Kerouac’s letters, my anti-communist travel guide by Fodor’s, and Roget’s thesaurus. Please send consolation letters to hanihong@hotmail.com.