Vignettes of Viet Nam

"It is one of the more unjustifiable pretensions of our age that it measures time and experience by..."

Tue, 28 Feb 2012 17:28:20 -0500

“It is one of the more unjustifiable pretensions of our age that it measures time and experience by the clock. There are obviously a host of considerations and values which a clock cannot possibly measure. There is above all the fact that time spent on a journey, particularly a journey which sets in motion the abiding symbolism of our natures, is different from the time devoured at such a terrifying speed in the daily routine of what is accepted, with such curious complacency, as our normal lives. This seems axiomatic to me; the truer the moment and the greater its content of reality, the slower the swing of the universal pendulum.”

- Laurens van der Post, “Venture to the Interior,” in which he documents a journey to his mother’s homeland in Africa.

This is something I can wholly agree with from my trip to Viet Nam this past summer. Time was agonizingly drawn out, like a dream that morphed fluidly from one scene to the next, spanning days, weeks, months. But everything was real, sharply so, and it was almost painful to live through.

The van rolled in past the gates, gravel from the main road audibly crunching beneath the tires. The...

Thu, 12 Jan 2012 01:46:11 -0500

The van rolled in past the gates, gravel from the main road audibly crunching beneath the tires. The few kids running around the fountain in the driveway stopped when they saw us—their heads cocked sideways, eyebrows scrunched, probably wondering what this strange car with these strange people were doing here. I made eye contact with a little girl wearing pink through the window. She then turned to her companion, said something, laughed and then the small group of them ran off, away from my line of sight. They’re skinny. All of them were so skinny.

Everyone unloaded from the van. I stayed behind, almost frozen. My friend Nam turned to me, “Don’t be afraid. They’re people. Nothing will happen.”

“I’m not afraid. I’m just—I’m not.”

I stepped down from the van and looked around at the expansive property. The pink columns, the pink walls, children’s laughter somewhere behind the main entrance—it all felt too happy. Too happy for a place where people come to die.

Let me reiterate. I wasn’t afraid. I was…

—-

The start of something I can’t finish. Maybe I’m afraid to. Maybe I don’t have enough motivation. I pitched this story. Rejection killed the writing mood.

My first visit to the Mai Hoa AIDS Centre in Cu Chi, Sai Gon.

Si Hoang: from kingdom to paradise

Thu, 03 Nov 2011 00:28:05 -0400

Si Hoang: from kingdom to paradise

Bột chiên. Rice pastry mixed with egg and delicious spices,...

Wed, 02 Nov 2011 23:28:00 -0400

Bột chiên. Rice pastry mixed with egg and delicious spices, drizzled with a tangy sweet soy sauce.

I thought I’d be sick of Vietnamese food by the time I was back in Canada.

Not so.

Interlude

Mon, 24 Oct 2011 18:28:00 -0400

I tried to prepare myself for what would happen when I came back to Toronto, when this blog would become defunct. I brainstormed for the perfect final post—something that encapsulates my experiences in a place that means so many things to me. I thought long and hard about what words would paint perfectly the soul of a foreign homeland, an industrializing state, a contradiction of desperate Westernization and steadfast Vietnamese cultural tradition, and above all, the history of my people, my family.

But then my Cathay Pacific flight landed at Pearson, and then my cab pulled up to my parents’ driveway, and then my suitcases piled up in my room and then I went out with friends and then I moved back downtown and then school started and then, and then, and then.

I struggled these past couple months to write the concluding paragraph of that chapter of my life, to no avail. It refuses to be written.

Because maybe that wasn’t a “chapter” of my life. Maybe that was an opening theme which finishes but doesn’t end. Or like the first movement of a long and complicated classical sonata (you know the ones I’m talking about). Its notes twinkle throughout, choosing to come back strong in a reprise or ending but only after they have coloured the life of the piece.

Vignettes of Viet Nam lives on. The sounds playing in the background will occasionally emerge to become a passage, a movement, a cadence—whatever it needs to be.

I was sitting in a Vertu store with a friend of mine. In walks a man who dropped $80 000 000 VND (or about $4000 CAD) in cash to buy a cell phone. A cell phone. And outside? People were making their living peddling lottery tickets.

Sun, 02 Oct 2011 03:34:58 -0400

How wicked awesome is it that I am Red Cross certified,...

Sat, 01 Oct 2011 15:19:00 -0400

How wicked awesome is it that I am Red Cross certified, in Viet Nam?!

This is the result of a first-aid workshop at Dreams Fulfilled Relief Organization’s leadership camp, back in June.

Sometimes

Tue, 27 Sep 2011 01:25:18 -0400

when I wake up, I can still hear the birds chirping. The leaves rustle. The water drifts. Sometimes I mistake the air conditioning in my apartment for the gentle breeze early morning in Sai Gon.

I leave my suitcase out, for when my responsibilities take me to the next province, to the next 10 homes. Of course, they don’t.

I’m easily awakened by my plastic curtains here. A change from the deep slumber awarded by long days and suppressive heat.

Instead of “yes,” I have “vang” on the tip of my tongue. I often feel the urge to respond in Vietnamese. It’s beginning to be a problem.

Sometimes, I just miss being where my actions actually made a difference. It’s so easy to forget the other side when this side relentlessly drags you through the dirt of its ambitions, its selfish desires.

Easy is neither here nor there. But simple—spiritual—uplifting? They’re over there. Far, far away from my Canadian grasp.

Downtown Sai Gon on a rainy night. Taken from outside the Sai...

Fri, 16 Sep 2011 16:46:17 -0400

Downtown Sai Gon on a rainy night. Taken from outside the Sai Gon Opera House.
District 1, Sai Gon

Where do we go? Nobody knows.

Thu, 15 Sep 2011 02:42:31 -0400

I am happy—unbelievable so—to be home. The wide streets, room to breathe, the English language and the liberation that comes with being able to say what’s on my mind. Communication. Solidarity.

Home.

I have been looking forward to this since before I left, four months ago. I think the most exciting part of my going to Viet Nam was coming back to Canada, to Toronto, and reflecting upon my transformative summer. Nevermind the actual trip and the actual experiences, I was more interested in seeing the kind of person I would become after those experiences.

And here she is, here she’s been for the past two weeks since her feet touched Canadian soil. And she…is exhausted. Breaks, barely breaths of air, are fleeting.

Everyone I’ve met again thus far has asked me, “How was Viet Nam?” as if I could sum up all the challenges, decisions, experiences, emotions in a paragraph, a sentence, a word, a look. It was one of the most difficult, and rewarding, experiences of my life. How does that work? Generic enough for you?

I don’t mean to be harsh. It’s tough to figure out what I want to say, because I want to say everything. It’s tough to gauge what people want to hear, because I feel people don’t want to hear, can’t be bothered with anything I say. Any of my humanist spew.

How can I intimate the frustration of dealing with foreign bureaucracy and their silly rules and politics when all I want to do is help their citizens? How about the total inconvenience of getting sick, getting hospitalized conveniently on a mission to do good deeds? How can I express the violent twisting of my heartstrings after visiting an AIDS centre for the terminally-ill—playing with the seven-year-olds and wondering if they’ll still be alive next time I visit?

How can I say all this so that you’ll care? Because you don’t care. Your lives are so far removed, your lifestyles so privileged (in comparison. Always in comparison), your troubles so much more important, your decisions with greater impact. People here exist unperturbed while people there survive to live, live to feel, feel to hope and hope to survive.

I spent time in a newly industrialized country (“Third World” is irrelevant; “developing” pejorative) this summer and now I’m back in a country with the eighth-highest HDI index in the world.

And with my technology, my freedom, a future filled with hopes, dreams and desires, I am as far removed from those darlings in the AIDS centre as anyone else. The world unrelentingly chugs forward while its passengers fall off, are pushed off, onto soft dirt, hard rocks—lacking all control of their fate without anyone reaching quickly enough to save them. And the person I am now can’t stand idly by while that happens.

After a year of $480,000 VND/month (equivalent of $24 CAD), this...

Thu, 15 Sep 2011 01:45:38 -0400

After a year of $480,000 VND/month (equivalent of $24 CAD), this little boy writes a letter to thank his sponsors
Soc Trang
13 August 2011

Walking down the path to freedom (and all along the horizon...

Wed, 14 Sep 2011 01:40:31 -0400

Walking down the path to freedom (and all along the horizon line, past the frame of the photo)
Tra Vinh
12 August 2011

Home is where your stuff is

Wed, 31 Aug 2011 23:16:00 -0400

A few quips before I zonk out (I spent nearly 24 hours in transition and in the air):

-We take for granted so many things over here. Things like closets, cold water and Tropicana orange juice with pulp
-Facebook without having to screw around with DNS or proxy settings = nice
-Big Mac, Starbucks, Tim Horton’s, a juicy steak = self-explanatory
-There really is nothing better than going home to your own bed. Finally I can fall asleep without worrying about putting up my mosquito net, worrying about the wrath of those little bloodsuckers.
-Unpacking sucks. Especially when you have to then pack it all up again to move back into your apartment

It has been a hell of a summer. I have learned and am still learning so many things about myself, pushed boundaries, challenged my personal limits. I discovered an entire country, an entire heritage. My heritage.

But I miss my home. All the beautiful people and things that come with it.

You can take the family out of Viet Nam, toss them in Canada, take the girl out of Canada and send her to Viet Nam, but she knows where she belongs and it’s right here. The true north, strong and free.

I interviewed these guys yesterday. Dubbed by The Beats Saigon...

Tue, 30 Aug 2011 08:17:24 -0400

I interviewed these guys yesterday. Dubbed by The Beats Saigon to be Vietnam’s first funk band, 6789 is a quartet of guys with heart, skill and plenty of jokes.

Story to come.

Meanwhile, this is “The Groove.” Enjoy.

Travel tip #7: Crossing the street is a commitment

Tue, 30 Aug 2011 04:21:07 -0400

When crossing the street in Viet Nam, it is necessary to walk slowly but surely. The motorists, they can smell fear. Except for moments when either the pedestrian or the motorist is not paying attention, you’ll find that it really is a smooth and problem-free venture. Cars and bikes will move around you.

Remember:

Once you’re in, you’re in. There’s no going back. Vehicles move in all sorts of directions and the less confusing your journey is to the people around you, the easier it is for people to predict where you’re going to go and thus, stay out of your way.
Look not just both ways, but all ways. Motorcyclists are uncompromising and heartless. Cars aren’t much better.
Don’t let traffic lights fool you. To the Vietnamese, yellow doesn’t mean slow down; red doesn’t mean stop.
You might think that a small alleyway that has barely enough space for you to walk through would be off-limits to vehicles, but you’d be wrong. Motorcycles, mopeds, scooters—those babies go everywhere.
Sidewalks are no place for pedestrians. Actually, there is pretty much no place for pedestrians. What might look like a sidewalk to you is usually parking spaces for motorbikes.

Highlands Coffee— The Starbucks of Viet Nam. Photo found...

Mon, 29 Aug 2011 03:02:04 -0400

Highlands Coffee—

The Starbucks of Viet Nam.

Photo found using Google.

After having spent over three months living in Viet Nam, I still have no idea what a Vietnamese breakfast is.

Sun, 28 Aug 2011 21:59:09 -0400

Stills from Talk Vietnam, 27 August 2011. A few...

Sat, 27 Aug 2011 15:15:00 -0400

Mother and I with emcee Ky Duong

In the middle of something

Tears at Nat'l Institute of Burns

Mother performing on stage

Emcee Ky Duong and I

The fam enjoying a spring roll meal

Why I love Vietnamese food

THE show

Siblings altogether now

Goofin' off with the "I'm Yours" finale

Stills from Talk Vietnam, 27 August 2011.

A few explanations:

My family and I were invited onto the show because of our humanitarian work in Viet Nam—strong and steady since 2008.
I’m all decked out and a-glitter because ~~I was forced~~ the Vietnamese care about pageantry and the sashes and crowns that come with. That is, I was a 2010 Miss Teen Canada-World national finalist. That is, I was also Miss Teen Vaughan-World. That is, I don’t want to talk about this anymore.
The puffy face: I, uh, had a particularly emotional moment during my first visit to the National Institute of Burns to see Thuong and Phong before their surgeries.
The kitchen scene was when my family and I made spring rolls (and most importantly, ate them) to show off our hip-to-the-jiveness with Vietnamese culture and cuisine
The straw hats at the end were crucial costume pieces as we performed I’m Yours by Jason Mraz for the show’s finale (quite informally. That is, sitting down)
I had just gotten out of the hospital two days prior to filming this. They cut out all the parts when I coughed (and coughed and coughed), as well as the bit where emcee Ky Duong mentioned my hospitalization. Basically, for any lapses in speech or poorness in voice, you can blame on ill health

Apologies for the poor photo quality.

On the other side of the coin

Sat, 27 Aug 2011 14:48:45 -0400

There is something so incredibly sharp about going straight from an AIDS centre for terminally-ill HIV/AIDS patients to your mom’s millionaire friend’s home for dinner.

There have been plenty of moments where I can’t bring myself up to eat, but never out of sheer guilt.

Viet Nam, summer 2011. Three and a half months of constant ups-and-downs. Raw bipolarity.

The apples here are this small

Sat, 27 Aug 2011 14:09:28 -0400

The apples here are this small