April 22, 2001.
Happy Birthday Nellie!
Sai Gon lately has been unbearably hot; even the locals can’t stand the heat. In other brief news, Chuong’s back from his trip to China, and because of our print deadline, I won’t make it to Bangkok (some other time) but may possibly take a quick trip to the beach at Phan Thiet/Mui Ne.
I’m adjusting further, and well, into life in Vietnam, but I think I hear New York calling. Recently, quite a lot of people have commented on the difference in my Vietnamese from when I first arrived, even the girl at the film developing shop. There is a noticeable difference in my fluency, though I still occasionally say things with the wrong tone (just yesterday I said “phan mem,” meant as “software” but instead I said “soft stool”), and my vocabulary is still limited. Natural language acquisition – learning to speak by what we hear – is not of good use here since the language of adults and elders is different than that of one’s equals and I cannot use the same vocabulary when speaking to others.
I’ve gotten used to eating on the streets here, though we bring our own disposable chopsticks with us for sanitary reasons. I have fallen into a relative routine (as I suppose we all do when we settle in somewhere) that generally involves drinking coffee in the morning, working about 8 hours, eating dinner out or at home, and then writing to all of you at home, and back into the next day. Weekends change slightly depending on whether I stay in town or not, but have been relatively mundane as of late (which is fine for a bit of rest). When I travel next should be when I have more to say about what I see. Till then, I hate to bother you with my daily details…
I am sending Souris more pictures of Hue, so go to her saigonsoldier site to have a look (give her a coupla days to get them posted).
April 22, 2001
April 18, 2001
Sai Gon. April 18, 2001
Last night I had a spectacular six course dinner at my aunt’s house with an Englishwoman, a Vietnamese couple from France, a Vietnamese woman, my aunt, and a true Parisian named Jacques. I love everyone I’ve ever met named Jack and I’m going to name my first son Jack. I’ll name my second son Jack, too. Since the Englishwoman, Vivien, spent the last 30 years in Switzerland, she’s fluent in French, and of course, all the Vietnamese people, and so I thus spent an evening recalling my long ago studied French. Jacques is altogether jolly and avuncular, loves food and wine and Vietnamese women, and is great company to be around. He also asked me if I was Sicilian.
This of course, can only be added to the countless times people have tried to guess my nationality (particularly here in Vietnam), but I think it’s second to “Are you Israeli” I got from my cousin’s Hebrew teacher while in Atlanta.
Tonight I go to meet Vivien at Dong Du Café with her friend who built and manages a hospice here for 25 children and about 20 – 30 invalids (from industrial accidents) as well. I’m looking forward to meeting her and having interesting conversation in English!
Our second issue of the guidebook is going to go to print soon and may interfere with my travel plans to Bangkok. My aunt who works for SaigonTourist has a special rate for me to go 6 days and 5 nights, includes airfare, hotel, breakfast, lunch, dinner, travel arrangements while in Thailand, and a trip to Pattaya from Bangkok for $275 USD all inclusive! I guess if I can’t go this time, there will be other opportunities. Other than Bangkok, there are not other real travel plans for at least another month.
Off to dinner. More later.
Last night I had a spectacular six course dinner at my aunt’s house with an Englishwoman, a Vietnamese couple from France, a Vietnamese woman, my aunt, and a true Parisian named Jacques. I love everyone I’ve ever met named Jack and I’m going to name my first son Jack. I’ll name my second son Jack, too. Since the Englishwoman, Vivien, spent the last 30 years in Switzerland, she’s fluent in French, and of course, all the Vietnamese people, and so I thus spent an evening recalling my long ago studied French. Jacques is altogether jolly and avuncular, loves food and wine and Vietnamese women, and is great company to be around. He also asked me if I was Sicilian.
This of course, can only be added to the countless times people have tried to guess my nationality (particularly here in Vietnam), but I think it’s second to “Are you Israeli” I got from my cousin’s Hebrew teacher while in Atlanta.
Tonight I go to meet Vivien at Dong Du Café with her friend who built and manages a hospice here for 25 children and about 20 – 30 invalids (from industrial accidents) as well. I’m looking forward to meeting her and having interesting conversation in English!
Our second issue of the guidebook is going to go to print soon and may interfere with my travel plans to Bangkok. My aunt who works for SaigonTourist has a special rate for me to go 6 days and 5 nights, includes airfare, hotel, breakfast, lunch, dinner, travel arrangements while in Thailand, and a trip to Pattaya from Bangkok for $275 USD all inclusive! I guess if I can’t go this time, there will be other opportunities. Other than Bangkok, there are not other real travel plans for at least another month.
Off to dinner. More later.
April 15, 2001
April 15, 2001. Sai Gon.
Much recovered from my bout of bad temper, particularly credited to Kaly’s letter and to yesterday’s activities in the house (that is, the recovery, and not the bad temper), and reading a good old english novel (_Sense & Sensibility_, in which I saw some of my lack of discretion in Marianne and my sister’s sense in Elinor), I now feel able to write again. Sitting in bed, listening to music and reading a novel easily takes me any where I wish to be in the world. The difference is that in Vietnam, I have someone come knocking at my door with my lunch, iced coffee, and freshly squeezed o.j. waiting for me.
Yesterday was the am lich (lunar calendar) date marking the first anniversary of my grandfather’s of having left us. There was a very very large affair at the house in which we each took our brief turn praying for him in his afterlife prior to having a very grand vegetarian luncheon. The commemorative event is called “dam gio” and Ong Ngoai’s was complete with paper money, paper shirt, cravate, sunglasses, comb, and other toiletries necessary to aide him in comfortable living in his afterlife. Of course, our family being one that values food far over material goods, he was sent with a plethora of real fruit and delectable dishes and the aforementioned paper goods and money (paper goods were later to be burned and food to be eaten).
Later in the evening, Di 10 showed some friends the pictures taken in his last few days with our family, which made me miss him all the more, but to be grateful that my grandmother is currently so settled and healthy and happy where she is.
There are a few things I’ve been meaning to mention for a while which I find simply amusing and entertaining. The first is the moon. You see, forever, the moon is one of my most favorite objects, as it follows me whereever I go. In Vietnam, however, my luna has decided to wear a different face. Rather than fattening up from left to right, the moon here fills from bottom up. It therefore begins not as a crescent set upright but as a grin set on its arc, increasingly filling up like a fishbowl would fill up with milk. As for other strange sightings, I can only say that my astronomy is dreadful, and that I only recognize Orion’s belt, and that I think the big dipper looks upside down from here if it is the big dipper at all.
Several hours later.
Abruptly interrupted by power failure, a rather frequent occurrence here, I’ve lost my train of thought to continue other observations further. I have at least to say that despite my previous fretful mood swing, it now appears that it was unbeknownst to everybody, particularly Di 10, who just earlier sent an email to my mom and dad telling them how especially well mannered and behaved and happy I am.
Thanh is the exception, who during my two-day low disposition, asked me several times if I was feeling unhappy or discontent and shared in my grief over my criticisms. Always thoughtful and observant, he is always conscious of my comfort and feelings here in Vietnam. It comes as a relief to have a friend like him here.
As further proof to myself that nobody really noticed my temper, at its absolute apex of frustration, I was to dine with Di 5, 9, 10, Uncle Tony, his wife, and Minh Thu (a friend of my aunts’). On Friday I met with my friend Minh Nhu, Minh Thu’s daughter, who told me with such cheer that her mother, upon arriving home from our shared dinner, raved to her about how much she had enjoyed my company and talking with me at dinner. So it is just to say that despite my unhappiness during those days, I am only glad that it was not an imposition on anyone here, as it remained mostly internal, emoted through my writing (as is the purpose of my habit and hobby of writing) on which you happen to be on the receiving end. So empathize no more, I’m back in good spirits. I write as I feel, as I have done for the better part of my 28 years, and forget that now I have an audience.
On to finish my book.
Much recovered from my bout of bad temper, particularly credited to Kaly’s letter and to yesterday’s activities in the house (that is, the recovery, and not the bad temper), and reading a good old english novel (_Sense & Sensibility_, in which I saw some of my lack of discretion in Marianne and my sister’s sense in Elinor), I now feel able to write again. Sitting in bed, listening to music and reading a novel easily takes me any where I wish to be in the world. The difference is that in Vietnam, I have someone come knocking at my door with my lunch, iced coffee, and freshly squeezed o.j. waiting for me.
Yesterday was the am lich (lunar calendar) date marking the first anniversary of my grandfather’s of having left us. There was a very very large affair at the house in which we each took our brief turn praying for him in his afterlife prior to having a very grand vegetarian luncheon. The commemorative event is called “dam gio” and Ong Ngoai’s was complete with paper money, paper shirt, cravate, sunglasses, comb, and other toiletries necessary to aide him in comfortable living in his afterlife. Of course, our family being one that values food far over material goods, he was sent with a plethora of real fruit and delectable dishes and the aforementioned paper goods and money (paper goods were later to be burned and food to be eaten).
Later in the evening, Di 10 showed some friends the pictures taken in his last few days with our family, which made me miss him all the more, but to be grateful that my grandmother is currently so settled and healthy and happy where she is.
There are a few things I’ve been meaning to mention for a while which I find simply amusing and entertaining. The first is the moon. You see, forever, the moon is one of my most favorite objects, as it follows me whereever I go. In Vietnam, however, my luna has decided to wear a different face. Rather than fattening up from left to right, the moon here fills from bottom up. It therefore begins not as a crescent set upright but as a grin set on its arc, increasingly filling up like a fishbowl would fill up with milk. As for other strange sightings, I can only say that my astronomy is dreadful, and that I only recognize Orion’s belt, and that I think the big dipper looks upside down from here if it is the big dipper at all.
Several hours later.
Abruptly interrupted by power failure, a rather frequent occurrence here, I’ve lost my train of thought to continue other observations further. I have at least to say that despite my previous fretful mood swing, it now appears that it was unbeknownst to everybody, particularly Di 10, who just earlier sent an email to my mom and dad telling them how especially well mannered and behaved and happy I am.
Thanh is the exception, who during my two-day low disposition, asked me several times if I was feeling unhappy or discontent and shared in my grief over my criticisms. Always thoughtful and observant, he is always conscious of my comfort and feelings here in Vietnam. It comes as a relief to have a friend like him here.
As further proof to myself that nobody really noticed my temper, at its absolute apex of frustration, I was to dine with Di 5, 9, 10, Uncle Tony, his wife, and Minh Thu (a friend of my aunts’). On Friday I met with my friend Minh Nhu, Minh Thu’s daughter, who told me with such cheer that her mother, upon arriving home from our shared dinner, raved to her about how much she had enjoyed my company and talking with me at dinner. So it is just to say that despite my unhappiness during those days, I am only glad that it was not an imposition on anyone here, as it remained mostly internal, emoted through my writing (as is the purpose of my habit and hobby of writing) on which you happen to be on the receiving end. So empathize no more, I’m back in good spirits. I write as I feel, as I have done for the better part of my 28 years, and forget that now I have an audience.
On to finish my book.
****I wrote this last Thursday, but blogger was down.****
April 12, 2001 Sai Gon.
Alright, everybody. I’m fine. I’m okay. I’m over it. I had about six consecutive good meals, enough caffeine to put me in withdrawal for weeks, self-contained personal space, and now I’m okay.
I will never ever get used to the way adults talk down to youth. It will always seem disrespectful to me (and I cannot tolerate disrespect). But it’s the way things are - it is a literal impossibilty for an adult to disrespect anyone younger as it is also implausible for an adult to be rude to anyone younger. By literally, I mean that this is apparent in their culture, but most evidently in their LANGUAGE.
For example: a junior person can not “teach” a senior person ANYTHING. That is to say, I can NEVER say “I taught Kiki to do so-and-so” as Kiki is my older sister. I also can not teach my parents anything, nor my aunts and uncles, or anyone who has higher rank. I can only “tell” them. The word “dai” (sp.?) which means “to teach” is GRAMMATICALLY INCORRECT if used to describe the action of a younger person teaching an older person anything. It can only be used to describe the opposite.
I am not allowed to tell an adult that they are impolite. The word for “rude” can only be used for children towards adults. It does not apply to adults. Again, it is grammatically incorrect. Being rude to a child does not exist. Of course, all of this disrespect for youth is ingrained in the Vietnamese language much the way I described (several weeks ago) how extensively respect for elders is integrated into the language. Vietnamese people think I’m imagining things when I tell them I have several close friends who are in their 40s, 50s, and 60s (this relationship can not exist here because I could never be equal to someone older).
I’m not allowed to say that my aunt is inconsiderate for being incessantly late. It’s disrespectful on my part and just absolutely not permitted (she’s allowed to be as late as she wants). In fact, I have no manners for saying so. Adults have every right to interrupt anyone younger while in mid-sentence. They also have every right to ignore you when you ask a question. They have the right to push you out of their way. They have the right to take and use your things without requesting or even acknowledging so. Adults even have the right to talk about you with their friends as if you are not sitting next to them. It’s the rudest experience I’ve been subjected to here, yet somehow, there is absolutely nothing extraordinary about this boorish behavior.
I tried to describe my frustration of this behavior with Thanh. He explained that this is how things are. That no matter what, an adult is ALWAYS right. That adults are allowed to treat children this way. That children are given few allowances, if any. I must remember to come back to Vietnam when I’m 95 so I can tell everyone what to do.
What really kicked all of this off, I think, is the invasion and violation I felt last week when two police officers came into our home at MIDNIGHT to investigate the paperwork for all those staying under this roof. When entering VN, you MUST indicate your place of stay. Once in the country, you have to go to several offices and get paperwork filled out explaining who you are, where you are staying, what your relation is to the person with whom you are staying, etc. If investigators come by and you lack the paperwork, you’re fined. And well, they can come any day they want, any time they want, as many times as they want. So they came into my room after midnight, checked all of my paperwork and that of all of the people who work for my aunt 10 (all the aunts happened to be out of town), and they even went into my grandmother’s room where the old lady was sleeping. Never fear, this would NOT happen if one is at a hotel or other sort of tourism gig. It’s reserved for nationals and expatriates.
So anyway. I can live here. I can let it go. Easiest of all is to just ignore the annoyances, move away from them, and move on. Of course, none of this indecorous behavior applies if you’re not asian. Westerners are fanatically loved and respected regardless of their age (I think this has something to do with height differences). Adults only feel entitled towards younger asians (my problem is that I forget that I’m asian, and a short one at that).
The end of the month is a holiday – April 30 and May 1. The first of May is Labor Day. The 30th of April… Well, all my life, I’ve only known it to be called “mat nuoc” or literally, “to lose-country.” Here in Vietnam it’s called “Liberation Day.”
I say “Get me to Bangkok.”
I’m hoping to go during the 4 day weekend.
This weekend will be a busy one since we will commemorate the one year anniversary of my Ong Ngoai’s (maternal grandfather) death. Though it fell on April 25 of last year, we commemorate based on the “am lich,” or lunar calendar. I think it falls on Sunday, so we’ll be having another large banquet in a couple of days. This year, there are two Aprils on the lunar calendar. I don’t know what this means in terms of commemorations.
Having been well fed by then, I shall send a brighter report. Till then, stop worrying, I’m totally okay. I eat ice cream almost every single day, sometimes twice.
P.S. Whoever keeps trying to MSN Messenger me, I can't respond. Messenger doesn't work in VN.
April 12, 2001 Sai Gon.
Alright, everybody. I’m fine. I’m okay. I’m over it. I had about six consecutive good meals, enough caffeine to put me in withdrawal for weeks, self-contained personal space, and now I’m okay.
I will never ever get used to the way adults talk down to youth. It will always seem disrespectful to me (and I cannot tolerate disrespect). But it’s the way things are - it is a literal impossibilty for an adult to disrespect anyone younger as it is also implausible for an adult to be rude to anyone younger. By literally, I mean that this is apparent in their culture, but most evidently in their LANGUAGE.
For example: a junior person can not “teach” a senior person ANYTHING. That is to say, I can NEVER say “I taught Kiki to do so-and-so” as Kiki is my older sister. I also can not teach my parents anything, nor my aunts and uncles, or anyone who has higher rank. I can only “tell” them. The word “dai” (sp.?) which means “to teach” is GRAMMATICALLY INCORRECT if used to describe the action of a younger person teaching an older person anything. It can only be used to describe the opposite.
I am not allowed to tell an adult that they are impolite. The word for “rude” can only be used for children towards adults. It does not apply to adults. Again, it is grammatically incorrect. Being rude to a child does not exist. Of course, all of this disrespect for youth is ingrained in the Vietnamese language much the way I described (several weeks ago) how extensively respect for elders is integrated into the language. Vietnamese people think I’m imagining things when I tell them I have several close friends who are in their 40s, 50s, and 60s (this relationship can not exist here because I could never be equal to someone older).
I’m not allowed to say that my aunt is inconsiderate for being incessantly late. It’s disrespectful on my part and just absolutely not permitted (she’s allowed to be as late as she wants). In fact, I have no manners for saying so. Adults have every right to interrupt anyone younger while in mid-sentence. They also have every right to ignore you when you ask a question. They have the right to push you out of their way. They have the right to take and use your things without requesting or even acknowledging so. Adults even have the right to talk about you with their friends as if you are not sitting next to them. It’s the rudest experience I’ve been subjected to here, yet somehow, there is absolutely nothing extraordinary about this boorish behavior.
I tried to describe my frustration of this behavior with Thanh. He explained that this is how things are. That no matter what, an adult is ALWAYS right. That adults are allowed to treat children this way. That children are given few allowances, if any. I must remember to come back to Vietnam when I’m 95 so I can tell everyone what to do.
What really kicked all of this off, I think, is the invasion and violation I felt last week when two police officers came into our home at MIDNIGHT to investigate the paperwork for all those staying under this roof. When entering VN, you MUST indicate your place of stay. Once in the country, you have to go to several offices and get paperwork filled out explaining who you are, where you are staying, what your relation is to the person with whom you are staying, etc. If investigators come by and you lack the paperwork, you’re fined. And well, they can come any day they want, any time they want, as many times as they want. So they came into my room after midnight, checked all of my paperwork and that of all of the people who work for my aunt 10 (all the aunts happened to be out of town), and they even went into my grandmother’s room where the old lady was sleeping. Never fear, this would NOT happen if one is at a hotel or other sort of tourism gig. It’s reserved for nationals and expatriates.
So anyway. I can live here. I can let it go. Easiest of all is to just ignore the annoyances, move away from them, and move on. Of course, none of this indecorous behavior applies if you’re not asian. Westerners are fanatically loved and respected regardless of their age (I think this has something to do with height differences). Adults only feel entitled towards younger asians (my problem is that I forget that I’m asian, and a short one at that).
The end of the month is a holiday – April 30 and May 1. The first of May is Labor Day. The 30th of April… Well, all my life, I’ve only known it to be called “mat nuoc” or literally, “to lose-country.” Here in Vietnam it’s called “Liberation Day.”
I say “Get me to Bangkok.”
I’m hoping to go during the 4 day weekend.
This weekend will be a busy one since we will commemorate the one year anniversary of my Ong Ngoai’s (maternal grandfather) death. Though it fell on April 25 of last year, we commemorate based on the “am lich,” or lunar calendar. I think it falls on Sunday, so we’ll be having another large banquet in a couple of days. This year, there are two Aprils on the lunar calendar. I don’t know what this means in terms of commemorations.
Having been well fed by then, I shall send a brighter report. Till then, stop worrying, I’m totally okay. I eat ice cream almost every single day, sometimes twice.
P.S. Whoever keeps trying to MSN Messenger me, I can't respond. Messenger doesn't work in VN.
April 08, 2001
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.
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.
April 05, 2001
As I’ve been telling just about anyone I’ve been writing, I’m mad for a steak and cheese sandwich from 2 Chefs! Beef is not very good here – I miss hamburgers and hot dogs, too, but chicken is organic and free range. I suppose it’s a positive flip side to being a poor country – agriculture hasn’t quite caught up with technology and chemicals.
I’m taking a cab home from work today. I’m getting sick of being dependent on others to get around town. I spend endless hours waiting around sometimes, it’s an incredible inconvenience, and not being able to do and go as I please drives me crazy.
Work is good. I got paid some USD and some VND. My VND wad is about 3 inches thick. It’s easy to feel rich here, even when I’m making less now than I did at age 13, fifteen years ago. Of course, I made less than I did at age 13 when I lived in NY, and considering the cost of living difference between NYC and Sai Gon, I’m in a pretty good place.
At work, I have 2 superiors who are flexible and great, I’m in a relatively autonomous position, and I have 2 people who help me get my work done. Soon we’re going to make greeting cards – design, write, and draw – which will be fun. Greeting Card Creator is one of the jobs I have on my “List of Jobs to have in my Lifetime” list. I have for years kept a list of jobs I’d like to have one day. Of course, these cards will be written in Vietnamese, so I won’t be of much help in the copywriting department. Maybe one day I’ll fulfill my “Toy Engineer” job wish.
Homeward bound. I’m starving.
I’m taking a cab home from work today. I’m getting sick of being dependent on others to get around town. I spend endless hours waiting around sometimes, it’s an incredible inconvenience, and not being able to do and go as I please drives me crazy.
Work is good. I got paid some USD and some VND. My VND wad is about 3 inches thick. It’s easy to feel rich here, even when I’m making less now than I did at age 13, fifteen years ago. Of course, I made less than I did at age 13 when I lived in NY, and considering the cost of living difference between NYC and Sai Gon, I’m in a pretty good place.
At work, I have 2 superiors who are flexible and great, I’m in a relatively autonomous position, and I have 2 people who help me get my work done. Soon we’re going to make greeting cards – design, write, and draw – which will be fun. Greeting Card Creator is one of the jobs I have on my “List of Jobs to have in my Lifetime” list. I have for years kept a list of jobs I’d like to have one day. Of course, these cards will be written in Vietnamese, so I won’t be of much help in the copywriting department. Maybe one day I’ll fulfill my “Toy Engineer” job wish.
Homeward bound. I’m starving.
April 03, 2001
Tuesday, April 3, 2001. Sai Gon VN
A bit of history to preface my journal entry from Hue:
From 1802 to 1945, 13 emperors of the Nguyen Dynasty ruled from within the citadel of the Imperial City which stretch over 1200 acres. Inside the citadel lies the Forbidden Purple City, 22 acres, and surrounded by another square of walls with four entrances. The Imperial City was built between 1802 and 1833 following the rules of geomancy; its back faced the mountains and its front faced the sea. It is bordered by a moat, and its destruction began in 1947 by fire and razed further in 1968 during the Tet offensive.
The outer city of Hue has a population of around 300,000 (about the size of Arlington); its denizens dine on imperial cuisine and represent Hue as a center for learning. I never made it to the Museum of Royal Fine Arts, nor did I get to the Dong Ba Market in the outer city. I didn’t even get to take a dragon boat ride. With 3 days to spend in Hue, of which a day would be dedicated to Chuong’s paternal side of the family (we are related through my father and his mother, who is my first cousin), my time was limited.
Friday, March 30, 2001. Hue, Vietnam. 10:35 p.m.
I can’t even begin to describe how I feel being in Hue. The sensation I felt stepping off the plane when I first arrived in Vietnam in February is only magnified with my arrival in Hue, much the way a camera would zoom in to magnify its subject – the detail and vividness of color, the magnification of feeling and sensation.
Vietnam is my homeland. Sai Gon is where I was born. But Hue. Hue runs through my veins. Hue was where dad was born. Phan Thiet, which I just visited a few weeks ago, is where mom is from. The difference? Aside from being two completely different cities in terms of demographics, geography, language, and geology, Hue makes me feel as if I am meeting myself for the first time. I consider myself to be a relatively self aware and introspective person. But all my life – and that of my siblings – we have been exposed to the Nam way of life – the South Vietnamese way of life. By this, I mean that we have grown up immersed in my mother’s life and family – I know all her 9 siblings, my 21 maternal first cousins, second cousins, raised nearby my maternal grandparents, and grew up speaking tien Nam, the southern dialect. Going to Phan Thiet was a wonderful experience – seeing mom’s elementary school, her home, her town. Going to Phan Thiet was an extension of the Vietnamese culture I already knew. In fact, it was so familiar that I felt completely at home in Phan Thiet.
I am an American. A Vietnamese American. By American, I need not explain. By Vietnamese, I defined myself as the world I knew of my Vietnamese culture – my South Vietnamese half. My Phan Thiet half.
Arriving in Hue, I have now just discovered my other half. I have just opened my eyes to a part of me that I have never seen before. Simultaneously foreign yet intimate. I feel a connection so deep with Hue – a deep love for Hue. It’s as if I have just met my father – I have just envisioned his life for the very first time. I have just met my other half. And goddamn, I like it.
Hue is the last Imperial City. Much of it irrevocably destroyed by war. It lies in central Vietnam, the Demarcation Zone nearby. It is peppered with my relatives, some of whom I met today. Hong Du Duc, my father’s third cousin, and the youngest of the Du/Giu generation, stopped in while I was paying a visit to my cousin, Chi Hy (whose late husband is Hong Khac Thieu). Chi Hy brought out a booklet to share with me – it is the Hope Diamond in my geographic and genealogic treasure chest – a record of the Hong family line in relation to the Nguyen dynasty of Vietnam. It’s in Vietnamese, but Chu (uncle) Duc tried to explain as much of it as he could with me. Unfortunately, the natives of Hue speak with a thick accent and my Vietnamese is far from good enough to understand everything – I sat wishing I had my MD recorder.
Long, Chi Hy’s youngest of 3 sons, will make a copy for me to bring home where I will have dad translate. Dad’s brother (my uncle) who shares the same name as Long’s father (my first cousin), Hong Du Thieu (my uncle), was part of the South Vietnamese airborne troops. On his day off duty, he happened upon his unit, preparing for a mission. He made a fatal decision to join them that day. My cousin, Hong Khac Thieu, was involved in the war as well. Incarcerated while Chi Hy was 2 months pregnant with Long, Long never really got to know his father. Anh Thieu was released when Long was 14. When he was 15, his father died. These are only a few tidbits I have collected from being here. In time, I hope to discover more. I am so incredibly moved to be here, I can not describe how I feel.
Saturday, 1 April 2001. Hue, VN
Early this morning, Chuong and I walked around the Forbidden Purple city – I photographed all of the gates into the city. Tomorrow morning we’ll go inside.
We then went over to Chi Hy’s to meet up with relatives (Long, and his brother Phat and Chu Duc) and went to the Hong nha tho (shrine) nearby, cared for by a distant cousin of my father’s, Co Phu. Again moved beyond words, I surveyed each of the red and gold wooden shrines within the nha tho structure, one for each branch of the Hong family lines. I examined further the embellished gold tablets with Hoa lettering (Chinese characters), that hung overhead – gifts from the Emperor to my grandfather. From the Hong nha tho, we all piled in the car and headed for the mountains, the burial grounds of my ancestors. It is protocol to visit the burial grounds regularly in remembrance of our ancestors, for whom we pray, and for which these prayers are symbolized by the incense we light & leave for them. At least that’s what I think the incense is for. I went to see my great-great grandfather’s grave (the first of the Hongs who came to Vietnam from China) and in front of which lay multiple other graves of ancestors remains that were moved from another site in the 1980’s. Next to this, was another set of graves. My grandfather, Hong Quang Dich, 1888-1949. His first wife, 1888-1930 (her first name does not appear on the headstone, but instead it reads “Mrs. Hong Quang Dich). My grandmother, Nguyen Thi Tu Anh, d.1933 (though that is what is carved into stone, I think it might be wrong). Northerners have a way of putting the name of the eldest son of the dead upon their tombstones. Therefore, on my grandfather’s was etched Hong Du Chau, my dad’s eldest brother (first son of the first wife). The shock was in seeing dad’s name (spelled differently, Hong Du Chuong) engraved upon my grandmother’s stone. I got over this, paid my respects to each of my grandparents, took photographs both for dad and for chronicling purposes, and then we all got back in the car to go back to town.
The rest of the day was, gratefully, much lighter. Long, Phat, Chi Hy, Chuong, and I went to a local eatery for banh beo, banh nam, banh loc, and banh khoai, all foods that are original to Hue. Five of us ate plenty for 62,000 VND (four dollars and change), and headed for Lang Co, a resort town and beach that face the Marble Mountains. We spent a few hours by the beach relaxing (just what I needed to help restore my mind), then back to the city by evening for a brilliant imperial dinner, to a special island whose soil is exceptional for corn crops, and had che bap (a sweetened corn gelee) for dessert. We went by the river to finish our evening with coffee, which ended sooner than expected because of my loud complaints of mosquito bites. Chuong and I drove around the citadel for just a little bit before going back to the hotel (he rented a motorbike for $5/day). The weather was perfect (for once it was cool in Vietnam), and the Ngo Mon Gate (Noon Gate, the main entrance to the Forbidden Purple City) was lit up beautifully.
Tuesday, April 3, 2001. Sai Gon VN.
Since I didn’t have the chance to finish writing about my trip to Hue from Hue, I’ll finish it off here. I spent Sunday morning inside the Forbidden Purple City alone. Entering the grandiose Ngo Mon Gate, I faced the Thai Hoa Palace (Palace of Supreme Harmony) beyond the two lotus ponds. Lined up along both sides of the path leading to the Thai Hoa Palace are two rows of stelae, each marked in Chinese/Hoa lettering, at which the Military Mandarins and Civilian Mandarins would stand. The emperor received delegations and presided over major ceremonies from his throne inside the Thai Hoa Palace. Since the emperor faces the audience, per se, the Military Mandarins would stand stage right, and Civilian Mandarins stage left, in order of rank. My grandfather stood at the second stela along the line of Civilian Mandarins. I stood there and touched the stone where he once stood, where he faced the Emperor, where he worked, where he lived. For the umpteenth time in Hue, I swallowed the lump in my throat. How strange that it is only two generations ago that this place was graced with landscaping divine and resplendent architectural beauties. This is where my father’s father lived. I can’t believe it sometimes. Of the 300 edifices that once stood in Hue, only about 80 remain, of which many are in desperate need of renovations.
I further explored the city within the city, passed through pavilions and temples, and the Cuu Dinh (the Nine Dynastic urns), bronze masterpieces weighing 3500-5700 pounds each, set in relief, cast in 1835-1837, and dedicated to different emperors.
After two and a half hours of wandering, I met up with Phat who took me to Chuong’s relatives, where we all met so that six of us could go see the Long An vs. Hue soccer game. Like in every other country in the world, except America, soccer is second to none. Long An ranks first in the country, Hue last. Always a fan for the underdog (and after all, my bloodland), we all rooted for Hue. Long An has the country’s star – the Michael Jordan of Vietnam – and we were in for a tough game. Within just the first few minutes, Hue scores! Several minutes later, another goal for Hue! I thought (hey, which team is in red? Us or them?). In the second half, though, Long An came back and scored 3 in a row. We were doomed. In the final minutes, an unlikely goal for Hue! Tied, we were thrilled. Then just five minutes later, another fortuitous goal for Hue! All we needed was for the clock to run down… it did, and 20,000 spectators (crammed in a space meant for thousands less) hooted and hollered. I love live sports.
After dinner back at Chuong’s great uncle’s house (who happened to be the engineer behind the Ho Chi Minh Trail and whose son was a decorated Communist General), we went back inside the Forbidden Purple City where there was a special evening of song and dance. I sat in my chair, propped my legs up, and fell asleep by the second number.
By the next morning, we flew back to Sai Gon, where I napped from noon to night, and then slept through to Tuesday. My first trip to Hue was complete, and thanks to Chuong, I was able to experience and understand so much of where I come from, and what I’m made of. For that, I am incredibly grateful, for I could not have gained so much in so little time without him.
A bit of history to preface my journal entry from Hue:
From 1802 to 1945, 13 emperors of the Nguyen Dynasty ruled from within the citadel of the Imperial City which stretch over 1200 acres. Inside the citadel lies the Forbidden Purple City, 22 acres, and surrounded by another square of walls with four entrances. The Imperial City was built between 1802 and 1833 following the rules of geomancy; its back faced the mountains and its front faced the sea. It is bordered by a moat, and its destruction began in 1947 by fire and razed further in 1968 during the Tet offensive.
The outer city of Hue has a population of around 300,000 (about the size of Arlington); its denizens dine on imperial cuisine and represent Hue as a center for learning. I never made it to the Museum of Royal Fine Arts, nor did I get to the Dong Ba Market in the outer city. I didn’t even get to take a dragon boat ride. With 3 days to spend in Hue, of which a day would be dedicated to Chuong’s paternal side of the family (we are related through my father and his mother, who is my first cousin), my time was limited.
Friday, March 30, 2001. Hue, Vietnam. 10:35 p.m.
I can’t even begin to describe how I feel being in Hue. The sensation I felt stepping off the plane when I first arrived in Vietnam in February is only magnified with my arrival in Hue, much the way a camera would zoom in to magnify its subject – the detail and vividness of color, the magnification of feeling and sensation.
Vietnam is my homeland. Sai Gon is where I was born. But Hue. Hue runs through my veins. Hue was where dad was born. Phan Thiet, which I just visited a few weeks ago, is where mom is from. The difference? Aside from being two completely different cities in terms of demographics, geography, language, and geology, Hue makes me feel as if I am meeting myself for the first time. I consider myself to be a relatively self aware and introspective person. But all my life – and that of my siblings – we have been exposed to the Nam way of life – the South Vietnamese way of life. By this, I mean that we have grown up immersed in my mother’s life and family – I know all her 9 siblings, my 21 maternal first cousins, second cousins, raised nearby my maternal grandparents, and grew up speaking tien Nam, the southern dialect. Going to Phan Thiet was a wonderful experience – seeing mom’s elementary school, her home, her town. Going to Phan Thiet was an extension of the Vietnamese culture I already knew. In fact, it was so familiar that I felt completely at home in Phan Thiet.
I am an American. A Vietnamese American. By American, I need not explain. By Vietnamese, I defined myself as the world I knew of my Vietnamese culture – my South Vietnamese half. My Phan Thiet half.
Arriving in Hue, I have now just discovered my other half. I have just opened my eyes to a part of me that I have never seen before. Simultaneously foreign yet intimate. I feel a connection so deep with Hue – a deep love for Hue. It’s as if I have just met my father – I have just envisioned his life for the very first time. I have just met my other half. And goddamn, I like it.
Hue is the last Imperial City. Much of it irrevocably destroyed by war. It lies in central Vietnam, the Demarcation Zone nearby. It is peppered with my relatives, some of whom I met today. Hong Du Duc, my father’s third cousin, and the youngest of the Du/Giu generation, stopped in while I was paying a visit to my cousin, Chi Hy (whose late husband is Hong Khac Thieu). Chi Hy brought out a booklet to share with me – it is the Hope Diamond in my geographic and genealogic treasure chest – a record of the Hong family line in relation to the Nguyen dynasty of Vietnam. It’s in Vietnamese, but Chu (uncle) Duc tried to explain as much of it as he could with me. Unfortunately, the natives of Hue speak with a thick accent and my Vietnamese is far from good enough to understand everything – I sat wishing I had my MD recorder.
Long, Chi Hy’s youngest of 3 sons, will make a copy for me to bring home where I will have dad translate. Dad’s brother (my uncle) who shares the same name as Long’s father (my first cousin), Hong Du Thieu (my uncle), was part of the South Vietnamese airborne troops. On his day off duty, he happened upon his unit, preparing for a mission. He made a fatal decision to join them that day. My cousin, Hong Khac Thieu, was involved in the war as well. Incarcerated while Chi Hy was 2 months pregnant with Long, Long never really got to know his father. Anh Thieu was released when Long was 14. When he was 15, his father died. These are only a few tidbits I have collected from being here. In time, I hope to discover more. I am so incredibly moved to be here, I can not describe how I feel.
Saturday, 1 April 2001. Hue, VN
Early this morning, Chuong and I walked around the Forbidden Purple city – I photographed all of the gates into the city. Tomorrow morning we’ll go inside.
We then went over to Chi Hy’s to meet up with relatives (Long, and his brother Phat and Chu Duc) and went to the Hong nha tho (shrine) nearby, cared for by a distant cousin of my father’s, Co Phu. Again moved beyond words, I surveyed each of the red and gold wooden shrines within the nha tho structure, one for each branch of the Hong family lines. I examined further the embellished gold tablets with Hoa lettering (Chinese characters), that hung overhead – gifts from the Emperor to my grandfather. From the Hong nha tho, we all piled in the car and headed for the mountains, the burial grounds of my ancestors. It is protocol to visit the burial grounds regularly in remembrance of our ancestors, for whom we pray, and for which these prayers are symbolized by the incense we light & leave for them. At least that’s what I think the incense is for. I went to see my great-great grandfather’s grave (the first of the Hongs who came to Vietnam from China) and in front of which lay multiple other graves of ancestors remains that were moved from another site in the 1980’s. Next to this, was another set of graves. My grandfather, Hong Quang Dich, 1888-1949. His first wife, 1888-1930 (her first name does not appear on the headstone, but instead it reads “Mrs. Hong Quang Dich). My grandmother, Nguyen Thi Tu Anh, d.1933 (though that is what is carved into stone, I think it might be wrong). Northerners have a way of putting the name of the eldest son of the dead upon their tombstones. Therefore, on my grandfather’s was etched Hong Du Chau, my dad’s eldest brother (first son of the first wife). The shock was in seeing dad’s name (spelled differently, Hong Du Chuong) engraved upon my grandmother’s stone. I got over this, paid my respects to each of my grandparents, took photographs both for dad and for chronicling purposes, and then we all got back in the car to go back to town.
The rest of the day was, gratefully, much lighter. Long, Phat, Chi Hy, Chuong, and I went to a local eatery for banh beo, banh nam, banh loc, and banh khoai, all foods that are original to Hue. Five of us ate plenty for 62,000 VND (four dollars and change), and headed for Lang Co, a resort town and beach that face the Marble Mountains. We spent a few hours by the beach relaxing (just what I needed to help restore my mind), then back to the city by evening for a brilliant imperial dinner, to a special island whose soil is exceptional for corn crops, and had che bap (a sweetened corn gelee) for dessert. We went by the river to finish our evening with coffee, which ended sooner than expected because of my loud complaints of mosquito bites. Chuong and I drove around the citadel for just a little bit before going back to the hotel (he rented a motorbike for $5/day). The weather was perfect (for once it was cool in Vietnam), and the Ngo Mon Gate (Noon Gate, the main entrance to the Forbidden Purple City) was lit up beautifully.
Tuesday, April 3, 2001. Sai Gon VN.
Since I didn’t have the chance to finish writing about my trip to Hue from Hue, I’ll finish it off here. I spent Sunday morning inside the Forbidden Purple City alone. Entering the grandiose Ngo Mon Gate, I faced the Thai Hoa Palace (Palace of Supreme Harmony) beyond the two lotus ponds. Lined up along both sides of the path leading to the Thai Hoa Palace are two rows of stelae, each marked in Chinese/Hoa lettering, at which the Military Mandarins and Civilian Mandarins would stand. The emperor received delegations and presided over major ceremonies from his throne inside the Thai Hoa Palace. Since the emperor faces the audience, per se, the Military Mandarins would stand stage right, and Civilian Mandarins stage left, in order of rank. My grandfather stood at the second stela along the line of Civilian Mandarins. I stood there and touched the stone where he once stood, where he faced the Emperor, where he worked, where he lived. For the umpteenth time in Hue, I swallowed the lump in my throat. How strange that it is only two generations ago that this place was graced with landscaping divine and resplendent architectural beauties. This is where my father’s father lived. I can’t believe it sometimes. Of the 300 edifices that once stood in Hue, only about 80 remain, of which many are in desperate need of renovations.
I further explored the city within the city, passed through pavilions and temples, and the Cuu Dinh (the Nine Dynastic urns), bronze masterpieces weighing 3500-5700 pounds each, set in relief, cast in 1835-1837, and dedicated to different emperors.
After two and a half hours of wandering, I met up with Phat who took me to Chuong’s relatives, where we all met so that six of us could go see the Long An vs. Hue soccer game. Like in every other country in the world, except America, soccer is second to none. Long An ranks first in the country, Hue last. Always a fan for the underdog (and after all, my bloodland), we all rooted for Hue. Long An has the country’s star – the Michael Jordan of Vietnam – and we were in for a tough game. Within just the first few minutes, Hue scores! Several minutes later, another goal for Hue! I thought (hey, which team is in red? Us or them?). In the second half, though, Long An came back and scored 3 in a row. We were doomed. In the final minutes, an unlikely goal for Hue! Tied, we were thrilled. Then just five minutes later, another fortuitous goal for Hue! All we needed was for the clock to run down… it did, and 20,000 spectators (crammed in a space meant for thousands less) hooted and hollered. I love live sports.
After dinner back at Chuong’s great uncle’s house (who happened to be the engineer behind the Ho Chi Minh Trail and whose son was a decorated Communist General), we went back inside the Forbidden Purple City where there was a special evening of song and dance. I sat in my chair, propped my legs up, and fell asleep by the second number.
By the next morning, we flew back to Sai Gon, where I napped from noon to night, and then slept through to Tuesday. My first trip to Hue was complete, and thanks to Chuong, I was able to experience and understand so much of where I come from, and what I’m made of. For that, I am incredibly grateful, for I could not have gained so much in so little time without him.
