Tag: Pennsylvania

Repatriation

You can take a boy out of Texas, but you can’t take Texas out of the boy.

This happens to me, not once, but twice. Culture shock upon culture shock! until I feel numbed.

I jog on the street full of motorbikes (nice people would say “Co len”, bad people would try to run me over), or tell jokes at music jam session, oblivious to the fact that half of the audience barely catches the meaning, much less the punch line.

So I made a few mistakes upon repatriation.

Mistakes I have had to pay for dearly, monetarily or otherwise (just stop short of  becoming a social stigma since it’s more acceptable to backpackers to come across as free and loosed, not someone whose outward looks exactly like locals).

There are Viet Kieu, and there are Viet Kieu.

The former, tourists – waving their US dollars , and the later, expats – hiding their VN dong.

Or, as I often joke: the real Viet Keu would react “OUCH!” when got slapped, while the fake ones “UI DA!”.

But it depends on where you go and spend your money. If a place rates you on how thick your wallet is, then it will throw you out the next time when you are a bit short .

Back to my jogging across the round-about. Quite challenging. In the rain, and in the thick of Saigon rush-hour traffic, I had to tap dance, jog in place or run in opposite direction like a running back at the starting line of another down in football).

I do miss my time at Penn State. Just like when I was at Penn State, I missed my time in Saigon. You can take the boy out of Saigon, but you can’t take Saigon out of the boy. At Penn State, I simply wished for a meal surrounded by my extended family, or to hang out with friends, some smoke, some play the guitar. Now, I am back, repatriated. With some new friends who smoke, some play the guitar. Then all of a sudden, I wish for that 8-shaped trail which wraps around the University Park golf field. There, I wouldn’t get run over by two-wheel bikes, but then, I wouldn’t hear “co len” by complete strangers either.

More than once, I have let the outside affect what’s inside. Now, after taking so many punches, I counter-punch by let the inside affect the outside. Like telling a joke in English to an audience of mostly Vietnamese . The experience was diametrically opposite to the time at Penn State when I was trying to blend in without  “getting” the punch line (since I was unprepared for a completely different conceptual frame of reference ). Exile to expatriaton.

At the end of all travel, one returns to the starting point and know the place for the first time. It has happened to me. Like a newborn again, taking in and embracing everything. So familiar yet so foreign.

Recognition as motivator

Ceremony has its place in every culture.

It’s an occasion for recognizing distinctive people or acts of valor.

As opposed to guilt and shame, praise and recognition validate achievement.

Maslow ranks this need right above survival and security need. Self-esteem.

Martial Arts and Military subscribe to ranking and recognition more than often:

black belt and red belt, purple heart and silver star.

As of this writing, the Pentagon has just lifted the ban on women in combat.

Half of the population has just been recognized.

Long way from those bras-burning days.

Students got special stickers from teachers; workers special parking.

Sales folks are paid by performance, but non-sales counterparts should also be recognized for their contribution (1001 ways to reward your employees).

Knowledge workers volunteer their best minds, software coders give up their sleep.

Best way to recognize go-beyond-the-call-of-duty is to point it out publicly.

Applause does wonder to the soul, brings tears to actors at Golden Globe Awards.

There is nothing staged when being recognized. Instant elation.

It touches us. We are more than a profile. We are proud people.

We rise above ourselves and our circumstances. We enlist and enlarge qualities long laid dormant: heroism, sacrifice and quick reflexes.

Those soft skills and abilities are not activated until circumstances call them out (United flight 93 over Pennsylvania on 9/11, for instance).

Kids should be exposed to many worlds: Sahara, Salvador and Saks Fifth. And not just Saks Fifth. We will never know how we act when in want. But people do survive the worst of times, selflessly and secretly. Mother Theresa identified with the poorest of the poor. In losing herself, she ended up being recognized. Survivors of the Holocaust still have tales to tell.

Recognition, while a reward for excellence, is also a motivator, from the standpoint of management. Recognize your employee of the month, but spot and validate their initiatives every day (positive reinforcement). People and company, military or martial arts, all need to build up ranking and recognition into their reward system.

Praises go a long way, while put down is counter-productive.

Matchmaking

In Vietnam, one of the first questions is What animal represents you? (12 symbols of the zodiac).

Second question is, how come you are single. Find someone to alleviate your miserable state of being single (collective society).

Third and logical conclusion: find someone, whose symbol matches yours, yin-yan, fire and ice, earth and sky etc…

I found this mechanism an easy way out, as opposed to Vietnam Got Talent, where candidates are picked base on their merits.

What do you expect? You are known to others as son or daughter of so and so.

This reminds me of the Museum of Innocence which recounts a story of a character who fell in love with his distant cousin. No where can you find individualism collide more with social more. He managed to collect even her hair to be displayed later in what he called, the Museum of Innocence.

I found a public comb hanging in the men’s restroom at an ACB bank branch here in Vietnam. Apparently, it’s common property, to be shared among the men.

Part of my missing education, was that by the time I was supposed to reap the benefits of all that our country had to offer e.g. matchmaking system, shared mores, shared pot of luck (guests would pitch in to jumpstart a new family), I instead launched cold turkey ino the culture of sports at Penn State, of extreme competition although we always chanted “We Are”.

The “We Are” in Vietnam is quite different from the “We Are” at Penn State.

The latter nailed Coach JoePa to be the fall guy (while it’s Sandusky who was supposed to be nailed).

I am not defending the former “We Are”, nor do I accuse the latter.

But in Vietnam, for example, a rape which occured within the four walls, stays within the four walls.

The victim would rather be dead than seeing her family be put to shame.

So life goes on. What’s your animal symbol?

Use that comb. Shake off  the past. Forget and move on.

You will never find a public comb in Penn State lockers, where We Are is the chant.

But you will find it here.

and maybe, even a suitable other-half, if you can answer the first few questions by the matchmaker.

Oh, by the way, these days, they also asked if you had own a house. A scooter was a given. Just as back then, they assumed you own some buffalos to tend the field.

My sister has lived a hard but productive life. As symbolized by the animal represents her.

Mine? you guess. It’s the monkey. Jumping from tree to tree , culture to culture and not commit completely to one set of beliefs. It’s boring for a monkey to sit under the shade of just one tree in a forest full of them. It would bore him to tears. Scratching that ich all day wondering if the next tree might be worth the leap. Who knows, I might find happiness at the next bend, next road less travel. And if not, the journey itself is the reward.

What’s your animal symbol? or Avatar? You see, each culture has its own way to move beyond one self. To break out of what’s given, what’s restricted.

May you find your match, off or online.

mass innovation

We got into this mess (housing bubble and derivative fallacy) en mass.

Are we going to suffer in isolation? No way!

With crowdsourcing, virtual forum, email, cloud etc.. we got enough in our arsenal to reverse the course. Technology (the way) and the will. That’s all we need.

And a little bit of love (courtesy of the Beatles).

I know this sounds unrealistic and romantic.

But the same passion and energy people rushed into the bubble will help them backtrack. But not without help from friends.

It’s the equivalent of a jail pass. Bailing out.

Think of the GI bill, and how a generation of well-educated and well-paid workers built the American Century.

From fridge to bridge, they built with pride. It was the envy and marvel of the world.

I still remembered my brother’s stories. He got sent to Denver for one-year training.

This was back in the early 70’s. According to his description (and my imagination), America must have been 7th Heaven: lush green, snowy white, and blonde girls (who  partied their hearts out on New Year’s Eve).

I know my brother. The changes must have shown through, unequivocally.

Then it was my turn, landed in Pennsylvania: again, lush green, Indian country, vast space (Beaver Stadium now second largest in the US).

Last month, I got back to the US, but did not feel excited.

What’s happened here?

Aren’t we becoming less resourceful? No longer a land of opportunities?

In my neighborhood, when time was good, you see all sorts of signage: realtor, loan refinancing, people running for offices and people moving their offices.

Black, Hispanic , Asian and White were all at it, hustling and bustling.

Now, it was depressing even on July Fourth.

Mind you this is not Detroit in 2000 (congratulations on the city’s revival).

We got into this mess en mass. We need one another to get out of it.

Use technology and mass innovation. Crowd-source and open source.

Do whatever it takes. Be more than aggressive (Double the GI bills).

Comb through the evidence like a medical examiner for the cause and manner of death (of the vibrant economy) in a post-morterm. Then, prescribe. Stick to the action plan. One by one, we will get out.

All we need is love (Beatles). All we need is each other. All we need is time.

Closure

Fact 1: I went to Penn State.

Fact 2: I felt ashamed and defensive (no punt intended) at the same time

Fact 3: I am not alone in this.

There are more stuff to be worried about these days: immediate and long-term future.

Already a book was out (at 50% off) about Penn State and the culture of silence.

Collective amnesia.

Just like Vietnam War aftermath.

Or Watergate aftermath.

We move on. Have to.

It takes time discounting some relapses.

We are not therapists, much less self-therapists.

And we men don’t talk it out over coffee. Ain’t cool.

Let’s hit the gym.

Put some more weight on the bench press. Could you spot me!

Let pain reign.

It ain’t hurt.

Psycho-somatic syndrome.

What’s outside should not be let in, to infect and destroy what’s inside.

We last longer than the storm.

We survive disaster after disaster.

Only to get to the best part: closure.

By then, we have turned semi-experts on the subject of recovery.

Survivors and strivers. Long-distance runners and deep thinkers.

Conversation with myself while running, for instance.

Zen and the Art of Motorcycle maintenance.

Each generation is tossed a curved ball. Up to us to catch it, spin it and develop new coping strategies.

Ours faces threats that we have never seen before.

Sometimes, from within. From the defense line. From the top whom we respect.

The day the music dies. Sometimes, I think it’s best for the candle to go out at peak.

Like James Dean, M. Monroe, J. Lennon and M. Jackson. At least, they are icons frozen in time.

A sense of permanence and immortality. For now, being human, I got to deal with stages of grief. I got to get to closure, to acceptance. Got to look at myself in the mirror and smile reluctant.

Twice, it’s alright

I did everything twice. It’s become a pattern. It’s become a pattern,

6th grade found me fumble from a French-system to then Vietnamese system, so I ended up repeating my 6th grade at two different Middle Schools.

Then, my freshman year got interrupted (by the White Christmas song that was played on US Arms Force radio, the same one that gave us Robin William’s impression “Goooood Morning,Vietnam”) so I floated on barge, navy ship, C-10 cargo plane, then 747 to Pennsylvania to start college again. This time, from the Vietnamese system to its American counterpart (with the help of Red Cross translation services which provided notary public among other relief packages such as toothbrush and underwear). Twice a freshman.

Plug-in: let’s give via Red Cross to the victims of Japanese earthquake.

Back to twice, it’s alright.

Every person’s history is a miniaturized version of his/her larger historical context. In my case, it was a transition from the French-colonial education system, to a more modernized approach (I even took a SAT, the nation’s first, using number 2 pencil for computerized grading). Ironically, when people discuss the efficacy of NATO’s involvement in Libya, Vietnam’s quagmire was once again mentioned. To put some meat into the analogy, we are referring to 3+ million deaths in that conflict, and an aftermath of Agent Orange, PTDS etc…Talking about “Reflections of My Life” (view the Youtube version which features the kids running toward a returning vet).

Others might have it easy (playing tennis on Guam Island in transit). But for me, I had to do things twice at school and in life.

Years later, I met one of my sales agents who had stayed behind in the camp until he got kicked out.

He certainly took the easy way out. To him, it’s always once, the last option that is (like the default choice that software engineer often recommends).

Although my life-changing event happened a life time ago, but to me, it still resonates (still raw, like “the first time, I ever saw your face”.)

I want to silently thank those who lost their lives and limbs, while reflecting on my lost years.

In comparison, my lost college year was a very low a price to pay. BTW, I had to search twice for my SAT IBM-spit out scores (turned out that some of the exams had to be graded manually due to a computer break-down. My grades came in on the second batch, a few days later). So much for the angst of pencil number 2  for the machine to read. Later, to satisfy my penchant for “twice in everything”, I went overseas twice to volunteer for Relief Work (reciprocity and pay it forward), two graduate schools and won two cars at MCI to pay off my school loan.

Twice, it’s alright.

Never let them go!

B3, CVA

Black and White. Grainy. Shirts and Skins.

Friends from junior-high , whom I shared the ping-pong tables and school canteen.

We sat through civic lessons, English lessons, Math tests and Lab tests.

The photo must have been taken at one of those off-site PE classes.

I learned about honor, honesty and history; the institution and the Constitution. Friends looked out for friends, clique against clique.

Pass the ball, you selfish b…

Play your guitar but with less volume!

(Invaders from a rival school) They are coming (so we stuck together , believing there were safety in numbers.) Often times, we got a kick out of pulling pranks on our English teachers or being chased by the Priest who tried to protect his church lawn.

And inch by inch, we grew from boys to men.

I remember being picked for the school magazine sales team (to visit nearby high schools – notably co-ed) and learned to pitch (and got my first date with daughter of a furniture store owner).

I reached out to new classmate, made new friends in our high school band.

John Lennon‘ s Imagine served as background music, to place us in context

(classes resumed normal after the Tet 68 incident).

I grew up with those now-men-with-wives-and-grown–up-children.

We weren’t fully grown men back then. In school uniform, crew-cut and unbounded energy, we roamed the school yard: volley ball, football and ping-pong.

During recess, everybody ran, jumped and rushed from one place to the next.

Recently, one of the guys on the Skin team just dropped in (via a phone call). It forced me to look up old photos, among which, one of mine, taken at a cousin’s wedding.

You can run from the past, but you can’t hide.

Sure, the waist line grew and hair-line receded. Just signs of maturity, which means hard-earned lessons in character formation i.e. learning to deal with intuition and inhibition.

When you know someone from high school, you know him well.

After all, habits were formed during those years: taste for food (not fast-food), for fashion (bell bottom) and for friendship (tribal kinship).

We listened to Elton John’s “Your Song“, theme song for a siesta-induced radio program.

“I’ll buy a big house,….” or Seasons in the Sun “skin our head and skin our knees”. I knew then just as now, that the ride wouldn’t last. And that fate will alter our course (after all, we were living in war-time).

And I wrote in our Wall Poster that year “whichever turn we end up taking,

let’s greet one another later in life as if no time had passed in between”.

I sure hope for this at our reunion.

I sure hope I can still recognize some of them.

And most importantly, to find myself once again, as seen by others.

Of all the ills society exacts on us,  the worst is self-alienation.

I am still stuck with a desktop and have not had I-pad 1, much less I-pad 2.

But I refuse to be viewed from a materialistic stand point. We were put there in the same class by our nearest grade distribution.

To be among peers as we walk down memory lane is a luxury. That’s where a man can for a moment, experience reverse transformation back to a boy. This time, please pass the beer! You can have the ball. I miss them already, those guys in grainy Black and White photo, the only class picture I have in my possession after years of moving around.

This time, I will never let them go.

P.S. We ran into one of the guys in that same picture this past summer, after 40 years of drifting apart. Wow!

Kindness from your lips

My kid’s elementary school is collecting lip balms to send to our troops overseas.

It struck me that we spend our entire life trying to do good, from small gestures to larger ones, only to see others take it away in an instant.

I saw the beautiful picture of the 9/11 girl whose life ended last Saturday in Tucson.

http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20110110/ap_on_re_us/us_congresswoman_shot_girl

Said she wanted to attend Penn State (We are). Her grandparents live in Philadelphia,

hence the Penn State motif.

9/11 generation already shows some promises, potentials and now with its poster child.

It also struck me that with every click, every digital image and footprint, we leave behind our legacy. Henry Gates, the professor who had a run-in in Cambridge, MA last year (resulted in and resolved at Beer Summit on White House Lawn) authors a book about how DNA live in us from ancestors on down, never gone through mutation.

What we collect and store become archives for future generations.

It looked as if we lost a few leaders this past weekend, one of whom could have become Class President who delivers Commencement Address at Beaver Stadium.

In the East, there is a saying ” When Bulls and Bears are in combat, mosquitoes get smashed”.

That baseball team will miss its only girl teammate and Penn State its future recruit.

I am going out to buy some lip balms, but feel sad inside for the parents who couldn’t do a simple act of kindness I am about to do. Hug your child and have him/her hear kindness from your lips. The troops will know this too while under heavy fires.

Kindness in the most unlikely place.

 

Kindness of strangers

Years ago, my roommate invited me over for Thanksgiving.

The ride from Penn State to Lancaster was a long but memorable one.

It’s predominantly Amish there. And I remember discussing with his Dad about
“Turning East” by Harvey Cox (the subject I took that summer).

Years have gone by. While Western consciousness has yet turned East, its consumption certainly has.

We are having China Head of State over for a visit while a few years ago, Nobel prize has been awarded to his jailed dissident.

I couldn’t even imagine the scenario myself over cranberry sauce and sweet potato back then.

The take away: season comes and season goes. But the kindness displayed to strangers at that table wasn’t going to fade away that easily. I read somewhere that PA was one of the States in the Union where people tend to stay put (less internal migration).

Harrisburg was having a hard time paying its bills.

I was there, wiring the tiny microphone on Governor Thornburgh to record an interview during the Three-Mile-Island crisis.

Harrisburg was where I first landed in America. Harrisburg was also my last stop upon graduation. My first few months there in the camp, I volunteered to go to court with unaccompanied minors, helping them as an interpreter. All of them

eventually got placed in suitable foster homes, and enjoyed many Thanksgiving dinners in Pennsylvania.

For me, just that one dinner in Amish country. It’s cold by my standard.

Autumn foliage struck me as picture perfect. And the aroma of the bird to be carved stuck with me for a long time.

My roommates went on to do great things (they were graduate students at the time)

such as professorship in Africa and Vermont.

Not once did they laugh at my remedial reading (I read “Catcher in the Rye” etc…. to make up for not attending high school here in the States).

That dinner filled me not only with everything a Lancaster farm had to offer, but also with a critical piece to understand America: the strength of a pilgrim community e.g. barn-raising party, stuck together through thick and thin, sharing gifts from the wild, a tradition brokered by the Native American. Latest studies on human motivation reveals what long been felt: we are most motivated when we seek to help others. The act of kindness might surprise both the giver and receiver.

I observe today that the drinking-water supplier put out front free water for passerby. This act of goodwill I am sure not will not be gone unnoticed. (in fact, lottery ticket vendors stop by every time to fetch a needed drink). Doing good and doing well.

The strength of a nation has always been measured by how it treats its weakest link. not the propaganda on the DoS website. That trip was one of my most memorable  pilgrims in America, of course, with Apple pie for desert.

First love

First day of  my kid’s summer. First day of  being a FT Mr Mom.

It happens! I reflect on Summer 75 when I was looking forward to resettling in Central Pennsylvania.

America, Land of the Free. Back then, I was sure the nation was still in a state of shock, and perhaps was relieved that

I wish I could hang on to that  first-love moment for this country.

Everything at the time smelled strange and was hard to categorize: from the Pennsylvania meadow to Fall foliage, and onto snow flakes and snow frosts,

the perpetuating soft rock music on the radio. American should learn to love its land and ideals all over again.

From the kindness of strangers for a foreign student potluck dinner to a  coffee refill at the Corner Room.

How about just a “hello”, because we are all here today, gone tomorrow: American or Amish.

Let’s make this ride a memorable one. Long or short, it matters who you are riding with and how you enjoy his/her presence. Even the De Niro character  (a bounty hunter) could finally appreciate his apprehended accountant at the end of Midnight Train. First love was special because it came around once, and graced us with lasting memories. BTW, the perpetual song on the radio those days that sticks out was “I will never fall in love again.”