The Unfits

Every once in a while, we see a re-run of the Outsiders, the Misfits etc… good ole Wild West.

But in closer scrutiny, we find that each of us is unique, with various strands of genome, not as homogeneous as our school uniforms might like to suggest.

Hence, we all are Unfits. No need to fit in (to what…it’s a moving and morphing structure anyway).

I was born into a refugee family, after they had settled down along with close to a million for 2 years in the South. I guessed with my mom teaching school, my Dad with Vietnam Airlines, they had finally overcome their initial shock (of hearing the Southern accent and the Southern ways, of leaving behind that which they had well-cherished).

Hence, me, not by accident, I hope.

It’s hot when I first arrived on the scene, at a busy intersection and wide-open misty air. Between the “tau ha mom” of Operation Passage Freedom (boats that open out like shark’s jaw) and the nurses at Tu Du, I found my safe harbor; and begin to open my own mouth to cry.

During that time the French was trying to “outsource” its last vestige of colonial territory and power to the American.

The Quiet American. While all the power struggles were going on, I clocked in to observe, to remember and to re-tell, all the in-fighting within the family, the nation and the world (Cold and Hot war).

All that had happened before I pumped a lung-full of primal scream – my first cry: for Vietnam, for Indochina, for eruptions wherever the two giants chose to point their nukes at each other (Cuba).

In my mom’s womb, and later via oral tradition, I kept hearing about 2 million people died of starvation due to the Japanese occupation.

Cry, my beloved country!

All sin and separation. Then before I realized what’s transpired, it’s my turn.

Like the movie “300”, where they stop the Pharaoh’s invaders at a narrow pass, our salvation laid bare at the gate of the US Embassy, not St Peter’s (Operation Frequent Wind). It would have been over-powered had it not been for the barbed wires and the marines.

Still people pushed and shoved, tossed babies over or climbed on top of one another for daylight ( my uncle did that).

Then after the evacuation, with the osmosis between North and South, and 2nd or 3rd migration by the diaspora community, things got stabilized and normalized.

Once again, my people pushed and shoved at Asia Airports to come back, to visit, to feel “ta day” ( Viet Kieu) (Operation One-up-manship???)

Both the ones who give hand-outs and the ones who receive them, none build up to develop a nation torn and tattered by years of neglect.

Hence the flooding and sea-level rising.

And the youth party on, night after night, joined by Tay Ba lo (Backpackers).

Beers are cheap and girls available. Born after the war, they only know how to enjoy the peace, the piasters and the pleasure it bought.

I was born to remember all. Not a day the struggle loosened its grip on me. I went to French school, only to catch up with Vietnamese school, then US ” cow-college”.

The French not only outsourced the war. They outsourced my education as well.

I was born to be told my uncle got shot by French secret service. 18 shots in all. He died single and an idealist.

My Dad later ended up with two wives to combat ratio-imbalance since women were so available in war time.

I was born right at the times they are a changin.

They had turned the other way on bi-gamy, then they ruled it unconstitutional (Madame Nhu).

Who am I to argue with changing realities and changing mores.

I just observe the remembrance of the dead, and offer services to the living.

I was born to think, to sing, and to become someone else but myself.

Vietnamese society at the time was a monologue: you obey your parents (cha me dat dau, con ngoi do).

No private room or nor privacy.

First rule: respect. Last rule: respect.

So I respect. By the time I take my turn to be senior, I told my kids to be what they are born to be.

Born into a proud lineage, but at the same time, get with the times.

Principled, honor and decency. But always in the back of your mind, know that you don’t have to fit-in. Be unfit, be the square peg you were born into.

You are unique. Look at the stars and soar. Don’t mind the round holes.

Always lend a hand to those less fortunate than yourself. And humanity can always be found in the least likely place.

I was born to notice stories of bravery, of sacrifice and of love.

I wish to “walk” into those stories myself, instead of a mere listener.

In the end, I am glad I was born where I did, with all its complexities and compromises. Given the context, I refrain from judging others. Although there shouldn’t be any justification for killing, but only we can absolve ourselves from self-recrimination ( for surviving and living on).

Only then can we face the 2 million deaths of starvation, 57,000 names on the Vietnam Memorial Wall, and millions more whose graves have yet been accounted for (or died at seas). Their odds of survival at the time was 50:50.

I am glad I was born and live on at all, fit or unfit.