Tag: North Vietnam

The ball that travels North

Saw him at an Orange County club back in 1989. He was already rowdy and his parties disturbing to conservative neighbors.

And now, after all these years, shows up in North Korea, on a basketball diplomacy tour. Dennis Rodman, NBA defender. HBO’s VICE has done a surprising job of casting for sports diplomacy (Google x-CEO would be suitable for technology but not for sports diplomacy. Eric’s tour to North Korea reminded me of Bill Gates‘ visit to North Vietnam almost a decade ago). This is our 21st-century version of 1971 Ping-Pong diplomacy .

http://thelede.blogs.nytimes.com/2013/03/01/with-rodman-stunt-american-reality-tv-and-north-korean-propaganda-fuse/

Sports and technology. The bridge over river Kwai.

The ball, the basket and the score board.

The elation and adrenaline.

Some even bet a horse or the farm.

Something about the heat of the game; suspenseful – time is irrelevant when that last ball travels in mid-air (even when game is over according to the clock).

Players were playing God (defying gravity and chronology).

And fans, well, were fanatics.

Fascinating and unpredictable, when a black man (blonde hair) with tatoo and pierced ears treks his way far up North. Make sure he carry an autographed ball (preferably from his friend Michael). That would make for a second display.

Travel advisory! Don’t try to imitate Rodman, just like you would trying to make the basket.

It doesn’t work every time. That’s why they call names like Magic Johnson.

That’s why there was a whole line of Nike merchandise, private label.

The magic that sells, across the cultures and across the DMZ.

The last time I saw on-screen about the region, was when they shot our fictitious James Bond until there hardly were any snow left on the ground.

Go figure! Something in this world still manages to surprise us. And however long a shot, I couldn’t have thought the man across the same room back then, would some day be seen in a North Korean basket ball court. Now his OC neighbors would sit up and watch for sure, besides offering to watch his estate, free. Hope that happen! Magic and miracle: going long to get across. Defensive game!.

On being a sidekick

I was born late into the fold. My brother and sister had already been in college when I arrived.

So I grew up watching “chinese fire drill” around the dinner table: Dad chasing brother, mom trying to intervene and my sister, w/nothing to do, joining the commotion. It’s like Chevy Chase‘s National Lampoon Vacation in Europe, caught on the inside ring of a Paris turn-about.

Later, when my brother picked up his date for an evening stroll at Flower Street Fest (Tous les garcons et les filles de mon age se promene dans la rue), two couples lost me in the crowd (but I found my way back to the car, stood on the hood, and raised the balloon up high for SOS).

Sidekick!

Born into a wrong decade. Too young to be drafted, but too old to pretend I am “Tommy this, Tommy that” in America.

My generation was a hybrid one: grew up in war time (Vietnam), but reaped not the benefits of peace time.

I am aware of the legacy, the hidden tolls (the Wall and all the wasted lives).

But because of ill-timing, I end up assuming the role of a memory keeper  (of dramatic events).

Sidekicks aren’t those who impact or influence an event. They just remember and recall it.

Hence, I stand on the sideline, watching dramas in my family, dramas in my neighborhood (monk burning), and dramas in the US  like  Happy Valley (see other blogs on VN evacuation, Three-Mile-Island, Monk Burning,  Boat People exodus, LA Riot, LA Earthquake, 9/11 and Katrina…)

I am not addicted to hype nor am I a thrill seeker.  But, I begin to notice my penchant for witnessing more than a fair share of disasters. They take a toll on my personal life. A sidekick wasn’t supposed to be impacted by the events he/she observed. I should have maintained that journalistic objectivity instead of being affected by events. Who wouldn’t; seeing all those suffering, striving and struggling?

My siblings seem to be coping much better, partly because they are much older (thicker skin) and have a better support system: they blocked out memories of the separation between North and South Vietnam (which had uprooted them even before I came into the picture). BTW, I did not intend for this blog to commemorate the division of North and South due to some Indochina agreement among the post WW II Colonial forces. I think it’s the 20th of July, 1954).

Here is how I see it: you can live life on the surface, skimming just the cream on top.

Or you can dig deep, to see the rottenness at the core. Or somewhere in the middle.

As a sidekick, if I end up digging, it’s because I can’t seem to erase the tape (like they did in Watergate or White House tape which lately have been declassified).

At Penn State, they were hoping for the problem to resolve itself by kicking the can down the road.

But we are not National Lampoon vacationing in Europe, to drive in circle as time lapses.

We live our lives forward, with memories as our guide and the future, our anchor.

Someday, I will pass these memories on. Because one cannot just get “shipped” to another place,

like they do with jobs and merchandise bought via e-commerce. Logistically, the US pulled it off really well during Operation Frequent Wind. But the long-term consequences and unintended consequences are there, ever-present, and creep up when least expected.

Yes, it’s hard to play sidekick. It’s not an option for me. Hence, it’s pre-ordained that I keep on retelling personal and social history as I remember it.

Is it painful? Yes. Is it dramatic? Yes. But not that different from other US immigrant stories, of leaving behind the known for the unknown. I still remember that veil of rain and tears the day I left Vietnam. I don’t know if my brother and sister could even recall their first trip leaving North Vietnam, let alone the second one leaving the South.

To judge them as heartless is premature. Perhaps they have used to blocking out painful past.

Now it’s my turn, to do the same, to move on while playing a perfect sidekick i.e. standing on the sideline of history and recalling snipets of memories which hurt every time, though not as much as those who had invested in much more than I.

Pre-Karaoke childhood

We always rushed through dinner to claim our living room space, or call it a stage.

Daddy’s mandolin, brother’s violin, and my guitar.

But we never played with one another, being from three different generations.

So “Du Am”, “Em Toi” and “Le Da” in mandolin.

Then “Serenade”, “Guitare D’Amour” either by violin or guitar.

Finally my turn, with the Beatles, Bee Gee or Bad Fingers.

I had never given any thought to the music of earlier generations.

But having lived in the US for most of my adult life, and now returned to the same place, I finally saw the connection:

music has been the invisible (but audible) links between us. Had there been a karaoke machine in the house, we would have fought over the mike.

But given that pre-karaoke era, the best we could do was to race through dinner to get first crack at the music room.

My Dad’s choice painted a vague but very sentimental pictures of North Vietnam where he used to live before the country got partitioned. Then through my brother’s choice, I had a peek at Johnny Holiday, Sylvie Vartan and Elvis Presley.

To me, those were “uncool” music, but I tolerated them.

My “youthful” music, by today’s standard, would be considered “uncool”.

Performers got wireless mikes, and could move about freely.

On YouTube, one can see how “stuck” the 60’s bands were to the confinement of the studio (lighting, cameras and boom mikes).

You can only do so much with dissolve and editing.

The best we could do in our time was those sound distortion accessories, once plugged into an electric guitar, produces solo material as you would hear from Santana.

I thought the world was already “flat” when Santana rules Woodstock (he recently married his drummer – a she).

A Facebook posting of “Le Da” brought all this back. Memories of yesterday, of rush dinners and spontaneous rehearsals, our secret sauce for survival. Now those survival instincts are returning like a long lost friend, whispering ” you don’t need all the gadget to be happy.”

In fact, overly accessorized society has produced more neuroses. Birds and lilies in the field don’t need to be adorned. They are beauties in their own rights. The funny thing about today’s headline in Yahoo, was that of Facebook founder riding a buffalo in Northern Vietnam.

“Ai bao chan trau la kho” (who said riding a buffalo was a chore). High tech needs high touch, the virtual needs the real. The Japanese knew a thing or two about these instinctual needs when inventing virtual pets, or a karaoke machine (without the band). The question is, with all the gadget for education and entertainment, are we learning more and singing better? I wish we (Dad, brother and me) had at least found one song we all loved to jam together. Ask your teenagers, if they would like to hang out with you or their friends?