Tag: Ho Chi Minh City

Unlikely place

Ugliness and evil exist in unlikely places.

So are beauty and goodness. A vulnerable butterfly dancing in rush-hour traffic, an innocent child on the way home from periodic check-ups.

Life offers us not an a-la-cart menu, but a buffet.

Fill up not with french fries and jello.

Yet at the same time, eat not in full the dry roast beef.

Instead, try to sprinkle some ground beacons and top everything with raisins and sunflower seeds.

Who knows.

The beauty is in the combo.

Your combined choices make up life tapestry.

Mine has certainly been an interesting one: like a bouncing billiard ball, I went from boy-to-man, from being a Vietnamese college freshman, to an US graduate, then back to living and working in Vietnam.

I have built and burned bridges, and I have seen both beauty and beast.

Ugliness and evil co-exist with beauty and goodness.

Life buffet.

Choose wisely.

And make your combination a great one, uniquely yours.

Life is so boring with a bunch of automatons, all cut from the same cloth.

Campbell soup cans.

15-minutes of fame.

Go for it. Live a little and slow to die.

Assert, charge and fire (then aim).

While at it, don’t forget to notice the dancing butterfly in traffic, free of worry and free of self-sabotage. If  human, you and I, cannot live as free as those lower-species, then why bother at all. I learn this in the most unlikely place: while crossing Saigon traffic. Call me lunatic, call me poetic and romantic. Whatever you can label me with, just try it out for yourself: start flapping your wings. P.S. a friend mentioned that while jumping to their deaths, some 9/11 jumpers tried to fight gravity even for a few last seconds. This graphic scene wells up tears in me as I am sure it will in yours. I believe I can fly.

Saigon Skyline

Like a scene from Cinema Paradiso (when the film producer returned to his village just to find out his beloved movie house demolished for a parking lot) I too start seeing the skyline of Saigon rising, blocking the old bank where my sister used to work. Another one is being planned next to cho Ben Thanh where on a Sunday stroll, one could hear restless horses tapping their shoes on city pavement.

Modernity and memories.

Future and nostalgia. Progress and the Past.

More square feet from above and less stretching room down below.

Skyscrapers and shanty towns share the same eco-sphere.

Pedicabs and taxicabs, Marlboro and cappuccino.

Let’s go.

I remember the go-go bars on what used to be called Tu Do (now Dong Khoi). Our first rock and roll band played there at Ritz (Jo Marcel) with matinée show, which I sneaked in to hear. Toi muon minh la thu co cay, vui trong gio va khong uu phien (just want to be wild flowers, flirting in the wind without worry).

The 60’s America sang about “share the land”, while its military industrial complex “spray the land”. Now people are planning to build on the land.

Green building and green bag of money.

More living space on top of bank, more trees in the middle of  concrete structure.

Let’s do it.

Let’s do a deal.

Let’s build and they will come. Like Vegas and Venetian, like Macau and Madrid, Shanghai and Singapore.

No more Cinema Paradiso.

Just lost love and lost youth.

The village fool still stands in the town square, wondering what all the fuss was about. To him, cinema or parking lot, skyline or battle line, are the same. He never got a chance to be in the game.

He never even registered that his presence was acknowledged, much less his opinion.

Our iconic producer however felt a lump in his throat, seeing  the icon of his youth got demolished. As of this edit, my old neighborhood cinema just happened to catch fire.

You can never swim in the same river twice.

Certainly not here in the Saigon River.

 

Stress and songs

The audience sang along, occasionally to the shared mike.

We will we will rock you.

Tonight gonna be a good good night.

Even Top of the World which was a relic from the 70’s.

A night at Acoustic, Saigon.

A night to release the stress.

A night to see Rock rules in a whole new generation.

The warm-up band was from Australia. “Don’t cry, don’t cry”…

Then the Filipino band who without fail stepped on the stool to elevate themselves (Britney, Gaga numbers).

Last but not least was the House band, mainstay.

I will always love you….

Wonderful tonight (in Vietnamese, can you believe, with ” I give her the car key“, not scooter’s).

We had joy, we had fun last night.

Wholesome and healthy. My young sidekick did not even touch a beer.

He ordered milk.

Young people are health-conscious, environmentally aware (can you put out the cigarette?).

No problem.

So we together decompressed, sang along, shouted along. Soared throat.

Soaring spirit.

That’s what it’s all about.

Partying.

Live a little.

Then come back to work harder.

To get more stress and strain.

I am ready.

Try me.

Hit me.

One more time.

One more song.

One more day in Saigon.

Full of stress, but then, if you know where to look, full of strength.

Strength in unexpected places, in a corner there at the end of the alley.

At Acoustic.

Strong in broken places

I see strength in broken places every day. In people peddling lottery tickets, in pedicab drivers, in xe-om and  conical-hat ladies.

They move about under the shadow of high rises here in Saigon.

Broken limb and broken dream.

Yet I see strength in their struggle.

I see resilience where there should have none.

Death is in no special hurry, writes Hemingway.

A farewell to arms. An invitation to plowshares.

Cultivate and enculturate, learn and love.

I see students pairing up and partnering up.

I see students strive for and take ownership of their future, here and abroad.

Even an eagle needs a push.

Raise the standard (academic) and quality.

Raise the bar and the price. No pain no gain.

Like their African-American counterparts in the US, young Vietnamese are discovering their USP (Unique Selling point): Vietnam Got Talent, soccer,

and fashion (design).

In between 2000 and 2012, I have seen gradual changes: from bicycles to motorbikes, from motorbikes to Vespas, from Vespas to V6 .

Upward mobile.

Skyscrapers that reach out to the heaven.

Soar.

Touch the face of God.

Show and prove to the world that you exist and make a difference.

Wipe those tears from the children’s eyes. Lift your face to the rising sun and pray that God would have mercy .

Reincarnate or resurrected, active voice or passive voice, just find your voice.

Colonial days and imperial days are over. After darkness comes day light.

The storm that swept through Saigon last week was more than symbolic.

It cleansed the city of impurity and inertia. Now, with a cleaner slate to start over, I expect to see the next phase of growth, of optimism and confidence.

After all, I live here now. My city. When it does well, it rubs off on me as well.

Strong in broken places. Even death is in no special hurry. So why should I.

Memory of a flood

I jumped on the divan and sat in the middle of it, as far away from the rising water as possible. For a  3 year-old, the sight of water everywhere must be frightening. Water like what was brought in yesterday by the storm. Saigon was hit direct.

Trees toppled and treasure lost.

The French architect planned this Indochine admin city for less than 100,000. Now it caters to 10 million. Tu Xuong, Hoang Van Thu and Ky Hoa, all saw huge oaks fallen.

These oaks were like heroes of a thousand faces, stood firm to witness the changing of the guards.

I listened to the radio back in 1963. General after general making great claims just to be toppled by another.

Boom, bang.

The city was flooded not with  water, but waves of army men and women. Some from Australia, others Korea. What did they have to gain – showing off their Martial Art and weaponry ?

To lose?

Amerasian children later immigrated to the States.

They were accepted by neither society.

This land is our land, from California to the New York Island.

From sea to shiny sea. America America….?

Can’t even take care of your own, however illegitimate.

Don’t blame it on the controversial war.

When the GI had sex, he was just American as Apple Pie.

When Agent Orange was sprayed, the toxicity was traced back to DOW.

Just as American consumers are blaming Made-in-China dry-wall products.

Have you ever heard of RFID? We got the technology to scan, to search, to ID.

Come on!

Be brave. Clean it up and move on.

Just as people are doing all over this city now. Solve the big problem by divvying it up into smaller pieces. Make for good firewood.

The water is now receding. Life is back to normal i.e. noise, pollution and traffic jam. Yet people are happy to pack away their ponchos. Soldiers during war also packed away their ponchos. I saw them retreat (7th fleet). I saw people toss bags of  currency that were no longer of any value. I saw tears in the rain. Rain like yesterday once more. Rain like when I was growing up. Jumping right into the middle of the divan, hoping to stay clear of the rising water.

Memory of a flood, of rain, of tears and of separation.

Of loss and of despair. Water recedes, rain stops fallen, but tears still flow. Otherwise, it wouldn’t be pain. I know, I know, no pain no gain. But pain of your own choosing is different from imposed pain.

Ask the GI’s who fathered those Amerasians. They would rather forget than be reminded. Yet their Amerasian children are growing up, hopefully married and raising a family of their own. Their grandchildren will surely ask? Why do I look like this?

What event brought my parent here? Who and what did grandpa say if anything when met? How would he react? Shameful? Regretful? Forgetful? Memory of a flood. Memory of a war. Biological memory of humanity in the balance. 

Mua Saigon (rain on tin roof)

Out of hundreds, emerged one. Winner of the throne. Winner of brand simple. Vua Hung Vuong, Vietnam‘s first King. His campaign? Neither communication skill, nor combating skill. But culinary skill. Simple dishes yet full of meaning: square bean cake representing the Earth, round one the Moon.

Harmony without and symmetry within.

Bingo!

The throne is yours. May the gods bless your descendants. Expand and guard the territory now known as Vietnam.

Big and small, wave after wave.

Rain and tears.

Falling on tin roof and tile roof.

Musical- sounding and melodramatic.

Separation and reunion.

Hatred and healing, forgiveness and forgetfulness.

It’s easier to take revenge than to win the enemy over.

Whatever the motive, the results are the rewards.

Mua Saigon mua HaNoi.

Love those wet feet that stand deep in the mud. The agrarian culture.

Back bent over to harvest rice in the bowl.

Um. An di con. Eat so you can grow up and may your future be better than mine. Broken back and broken heart.

Go some place and don’t come back. How can I?

How do you expect me to turn my back to the buffalo in the field or the bean cake on the table?

Brand simple.

Square for Earth and round for Moon.

Incense for the altar and candle for the grave.

Noi chon nhau cat run (birth place and burial-place).

The apple cannot fall far from the tree.

You can take a boy out of Saigon but you can’t take Saigon out of the man.

District 1 to District 10, and any number in between.

Crooks and intelligentsia, fake and real (vang thau lan lon). Who cares!

Keep bragging. It’s your fate to be born here and die here, in whatever style you choose . The lucky ones went overseas. Are they “saved?” Don’t they know, it’s the end of the world, it ended when you said Goodbye.

Mua Saigon Mua Hanoi.

The rain keeps pounding on neighbors’ tin roof. And I feel jolted, by caffeine and endorphin, nicotine and nostalgia. It is so weird that I miss Saigon while already in it. Perhaps I miss what Saigon itself is missing: the longing for things past. Shared poverty and joy. Shared human fate. Bonjour Tristesse. Makes me teary. Makes me want to reach out and pull someone in my arms and say “it’s going to be OK”, you and I, fellow human being. After the rain the sky always clears up. Cry with me and for me, for now, rain and tears. No one will laugh at us. For everyone is doing the same but too ashmed to admit. Mua Saigon. You cannot understand it until you are in way deep.

Saigon Jazz

It reminded me of the scene from Woodstock: long-hair kids, guitar, tatoo and scooters. All converged in an alley. Parking was a problem. I asked neighbors to pitch in: it’s a wake for a musician friend who had recently passed away.

His students came from My Tho, those with eye-sights and those without. They jammed, they celebrated, they sang.

Come Together….right now.

My friend, the host, wore red shoes and brown hat. He jammed too. A lot.

After all, he has done so with the SF Jazz band.

Someone got to get those blind musicians some food. There you go, buddies. Want some beer?

So we went on: band after band.

A mini-Woodstock, minus the mud.

I learned about my deceased friend by experiencing his music legacy.

My friend had reflected on his life before he passed away in a hospice: his friends (who were present last night) and his students (who were playing then) were nearest to his heart.

I have never been prouder.

We played together when we were in 7th grade.

The passage of time tore us apart but meeting him before his death helped fill that gap.

He was alert and caring.

I blogged about him in Long’s Last Christmas.

But last night, at Jazz night in Saigon, he “reincarnated” through younger versions of himself.

You want to be rejuvenated, then that’s the place to be.

I am a believer in the healing power of music.

Last night, I learned one more thing: it helped the blind express themselves much better than those of us with sights.

I wish you were there. I wish to hear those blind musicians again, soon. I miss them already.

Then came the rain

It rained on the book fair here in Saigon.

Word and water don’t mix.

But I must admit seeing young readers eager to browse anything and everything, even kissing the note books we handed out, warms my heart.

I can relate to why the Happiness Index listed top countries such as Costa Rica and Vietnam.

Money might not equate to happiness despite its buying power.

Except for things money can’t buy: loyalty, happiness, class, intellectual ability and natural talent in the arts. Yes, money can buy arts, but only commercial art.

We are nearing the Sunday evening gathering at my friend’s studio.

Not concert for Harrison, but for Long, our dear musician friend who had recently passed away.

Celebrating a life.  A pursuit of perfection. Of Art.

In my last conversation with him, I promised to live in full (as I always have).

A promise is a promise.

Long’s musician friends who still love him dearly, will have to perform early since they still have to make a living later that evening.

Books, music, and arts. We are here to make our marks in the world, to brand, to make it lasting and influential. To know and be known that we once existed.

Many held a low view of themselves. Others overshot their positions.

I know my friend well. He lived within his means, his range and his circle.

He left behind many people who are still endearing him.

And he had been one of the few with a smile that is hard to forget.

Thinking of Long, I associate a 7th grader with short-sleeves, playing bass guitar.

Time passing, but not dividing, lost but not forgotten.

I hope when I am gone, I can make a few dents like my friend.

Dents in people’s hearts, because they would be uncomfortable thinking of me. How the hell did he carry all those chips on his shoulders!.

I love Long because of who he was.

The rain has stopped. It served its unintended purpose: street washing. Now can my people go to the book fair!

Vibration and sensation

What do you do when you are awaken in the dark, with trumpet sound out “auld lang sync”? (To te con me danh du).

Should we forget the time we picked daisies in the field.

Yet that vibration created sensation at the early hour here in Saigon.

The departed tried to fight traffic to his/her burial ground. No more struggling and striving, action and reaction – stimulus and response. Just vibration without sensation. Stimuli with no response. The dead is gathering dust. Girls become ghosts. The ghosts of Vietnam.

No rest for the weary.

Just more exploitation built on top of the other.

Auld Lang Sync. Chet cha con ma nao day, thang Tay het hot, than lan cut duoi.

1+1=3

Organizations go through many life cycles before winding down, or absorbed in a M&A.

Here in Vietnam, fluidity is the word that describes the dynamics of organization.

Like organism that evolves with its environment, organization here often bends and changes beyond recognition.

We know the solution is embedded in the problem.

Yet we need to affect change slowly.

Harmony is key.

Disruptive behavior is not encouraged.

Yet to grow, organization has to build disruption into its timeline.

As long as 1+1=3

Synergy.

Organizational change is a microcosm of a larger trend, similar to the rise of  BRICS.

The South-South axis will influence emerging nations much more than North-South Imperialistic past (as of this edit, there is a book out entitled “The End of Power”, in which the author argues that power is more fleeting and transient than ever before).

For instance, students from Vietnam are offered choices to study in Australia, Singapore and US.

Yet for financial reasons, they cannot pick US, their premier destination.

With option A, they come back only know Australia as the outside world.

Yet Australia takes its cue from the UK and North America.

Hence, two-step flow of cultural change.

This trickle-down effect is accelerated by the internet and network effect.

Voila! We got a borderless world, whether we like it or not.

Open U and Open Door.

All we need now is open mind, to welcome change.

Young mind will take in anything.

Just build, and they will come.

Be courageous, and be flexible.

1+1 might equal 4 here in Vietnam.