Thang Nguyen 555

We came from outside of Saigon, yet we are labeled: “Miss Saigon”. Agent Orange, B-52 carpet bombing, and of course, Strategic Hamlet campaign drove us there, a city of a little over 1 Million before the war.

Why not. A Shakespearean saga, Vietnamese version: “selling your body” for the greater good. A transaction; nothing more nothing less. Some of us got raped at an early age – even by close relatives. Eat your young (they treated us as if we were canned goods, to be “khui” – with cat food can opener). Auctioned up our virginity for good luck.

Hence, Miss Saigon, Miss Bangkok, Miss Okinawa ….wherever there is a war in the Pacific, wherever drugs and dollars are rampant ( MPs busy at work).

Sell, sell, sell.

The last chopper. Hang on tight to dear life.

Bar girls and bell hops.

Abandoned and aborted children.

Even the so-called orphan charity flight (with under-the-table corruption and black-market dealing) did not make it. It crashed.

Everything could have gone wrong had.

The Vietnam War.

Back to our Miss Saigon, with high heels and mini-skirts (the French 60’s style).

Come on in!

Check us out!

high stools, high counters, drinks and deals.

My tragicomedy character sees herself transported cross-culturally and cross-generationally: country-side to city, bar stool to Bar exam.

She typifies both what went wrong and right.

A twist of fate. The stone that was rejected turns corner stone.

The underdog with his sling shot.

Samson brings down the Temple.

Monte Cristo gets his last say.

Miss Saigon gets her steady pay checks. Lots of them. For revenge. For compensation. Justice and fairness for all.

Her children, of mixed races, United Races, go on and thrive, and contribute. Even fight for others. Vietnamese refugee child clerking for Afghanistan justice.

Miss Saigon, now grey and mature, been through and lived in both sides of the world.

She not only smells opportunities, she seizes them.

Lots of steady income. No fuss. Live well.

Come on in! Come see Mama. I am the owner. Of every saloon and spa in town. Good times, guaranteed.

War and Peace. Seen them all. Weathered them all. Come out of multiple crashes, unharmed and charming phoenix (of course, lots of cosmetic surgery behind).

I am an aged Miss Saigon. I hate men. But love their money. What can I say. It’s the flow and fluidity, embedded in our nation’s struggle and reflected in literature:” Thuy Kieu”, sells everything for the greater good, for filialism, for patriotism, for every “ism” out there, except for my individualism. Yet, out of my bosom, comes a whole new race, mixed races.