Tag: Saigon

Sudden sadness

In the news today, we read about stock market ups and downs, a VP pick and the need to floss often (TIME). Then, though rarely, I clicked on Google News, Vietnam-related items, among which, this.

https://thebrunswicknews.com/news/local_news/column-perspective-the-death-of-the-best-known-vietnam-veteran/article_55a8efa2-533a-11ef-b514-d751e9f45001.html

It was about My Lai, and the atrocity that took place there. I guess at the time, “Mad Dog” and cohorts all thought alike. Peter Arnett – after the Fall of Saigon recalled a comment: ” gooks killing gooks don’t make the news” (here in the US) as News Bureau wouldn’t send him back to cover the war aftermath.

Last night, I watched “The Apostle” ( been a Robert Duvall fan since Lonesome Dove and the Godfather). Set in Louisiana, the “church” he helped found was almost razed by the KKK (even when he himself, a White fugitive minister from Ft Worth) had not for his quick thinking i.e. laying an opened Bible as barrier – not bridge- to stop the bulldozer. God’s mercy versus man’s justice.

Prejudice runs deep, in the South, in the North, inside each of us. Can’t get around it.

The impetus and propensity to knee-jerk think, verbalize or act out what’s in our vein. Waste ‘ m.

Bayonets, burning bright or atomic solutions. Just drop ‘m. Once upon a time in the West, then the Rest. “Clean” Eastwood. Lone rider into the sunset with a fistful of dollars in the over-the-shoulder-leather pouch.

The music, the scenery and the galloping. Free and clear. No hard labor. No conviction.

I also read about South Korean atrocities during the Korean and Vietnam war. That’s on top of the rape of Nanking. And Hue in 1968, later on in Khmer Rouge Cambodia ( Museum in the Mekong at Ba Chuc as shown here).

Skulls, skulls, skulls. The dead don’t lie. There is no need to. No further gain by being dead.

For a choice (between being dead and being there), I’d rather being Chance (the main character in Being There), tending and watching flowers bloom and die in the garden = their graveyard.

So much bloodshed. So much lies and cover ups. Today’s platform (social media and You tube) gives rise to unchecked opinion-served-up-as-facts.

Keep your head. Differentiate between snake oil and baby oil, sales and spin.

The dead can still be useful in reminding us – the living – that atrocities are still happening on a daily basis, in the name of this and that, with deniability..

Mad Dog or Mad Max. It’s all killing on an industrial scale. In today’s environment, they kill your reputation with disinformation, cyber bully your kids (in their own room at home) and we cannot do anything. Of late, Google was found guilty of monopolizing Search while its 1st employee, the garage owner who rented out to the two Stanford grad founders, died yesterday.

If we Searched at all. Those like the author of The Rape of Nanking, after search and re-searching for her book, committed suicide. I would, if I re-lived and empathized with the victims;, haven’t we had enough of bitter taste in the mouth (in NYC, they shot J Lennon, took down the Twin Towers and deceived millions of their saving; just yesterday).

Please tell me that grass don’t grow back in Hue, in My Lai and Nanking (stocks bounced back today).

There is still hope. Only if they researched and not repeated the same mistakes.

Lots of folks like Chuck Colson and Duvall’s fictional “Apostle” tried to re-invent their lives. Only to get caught in time, by the long arms of justice. It’s good to know, rarely but surely, that life always has its gives and takes. And those who play God, oh well, please act it all out. First thing first. Death comes before the Resurrection.

In the news today, there was commentary about My Lai, news about the Minnesota Governor and the need for frequent flossing. It’s helpful and relevant. Except for the first item brought sudden sadness; as I remember watching black-and-white newsreel about Hue (and not a lot about My Lai).

Fast forward to today, atrocities on both sides were set aside as evident in the Philippines and Vietnam joint exercise at sea to protect their bases against China aggression. Time heals all wounds. The enemy of my enemy is my friend. The dead were buried, except for the museum of skulls to remind us history can still repeat itself ( then more skulls will join its extension wing).

Sadness is our default state, while with happiness, you need to seek, embrace and nurture it.

Sudden sadness.

10,000 hours

How many among us actually put in that many hours pursuing one thing?

Yet studies show it takes that much practice to master a skill or a trade.

That long to promote ourselves to the rank of outlier : Bill Gates coding skill, the Beatles smooth performance etc…

Today marks my first 10,000 views of this silly blog, which I started as an experiment, to see if the Recession would break or make me as in Hemingway‘s Farewell to Arms “the world breaks them all…but we remain strong in broken places”.

I started blogging when I was married, until I am single again for two years.

It remains my focal point and commitment. To fail time and time again, and stand up if not standing tall.

I am sure the Beatles learned this lesson. They put it in the lyrics of My Sweet

Guitar Gently Weeps “with every mistake, we will surely be learning”.

As adults, we  shy away from trying out new things, meeting new people and going to new places.

We take the path of least resistance. I have friends who keyed down the karaoke coding for their song list, and started to punch them in while the rest of us fumble through the dirty pages of its song book. Apparently these people just want to stay within their range and comfort zone.

I understand the fear of the unknown.  I am living it everyday: from motor-biking on the streets of Saigon, to meeting new faces.

I often found relief, culturally, when going indoor, air-conditioned and culturally conditioned (English-speaking, pipe-in music, and preferably with a menu I can order from without hesitation).

The American part in me must be the true Quiet American, seeking and embracing the Third Force.

Neither here nor there. So sometimes, I escape to my cocoon.

Expats who came here from the Philippines, Singapore and America express similar sentiments.

They are a bit homesick. Like during this time of the year. White Christmas and Oh Holy Night.

It gets cool here but not winter cold. I still put on my shorts and T-shirt, sandals and helmet.

Perhaps it will take a total of 10,000 hours of coming back and living in Vietnam for me to hone my survival skill.

People seem to go about their daily lives, not in quiet desperation, and certainly, not constituting “the lonely crowd” as David Reisman puts it. I hardly came across news of lonely people commit suicide over Christmas holidays as I had read in the States.

On Christmas Eve, in Saigon, people just pour out onto the streets, taking souvenir photos, in front of major hotels (using  their decorations as photo-shoot background) and go to the church (Notre Dame du Saigon). The sacred and profane intersect that night like an annual eclipse.

It’s known as Noel, after the French. And well-off families would gather for Reveillon mid-night dinner.

Now that part I can relate to. The feeling of in but not of it, alone in the crowd, celebrating but not belonging.

Something significant takes place in those hours, of the crowd pushing but not hurrying, dressing up but not showing off.

Just logging in another year, an hour or ten hours toward that something called life experience.

Now that I have put down my humble and jumble thoughts, being viewed for more than 10,000 times, I hope I can detect a pattern. Some of you are also lonely, but not to the point of desperation. It’s our Christmas and Holy Night.

Someone important is joining our party. Might not “tenu de soiree”, but wrapped in peasant cloth. To the trained eyes (the 3 kings), it’s a phenomenon. But to us, commoners, our instinct tells us it’s an event not to be missed. Cut through the noise and clutter, we might find the gem. No matter how you view Nativity, Christmas is here to stay. An excuse for us to affirm our humanity and to be validated. Yes, you are still here. I am still here. Mistakes and all. 10,000 hours to go. Starting now. We’ve only just begun. With baby steps. With starting point in the manger or manager office. As long as we don’t lose sight of that child-like fearlessness, of trying out new things, seeing new faces and learning a few more lines of poem, of lyrics or famous motivational quotes.

The intent of 10,000-hour grunt is not to discourage us. It is rather a reinforcement and affirmation for us to keep trying and fail, instead of fail to try. ( I know the difference between this and the definition of insanity). Persistence is fumble after fumble without losing enthusiasm, says Winston Churchill (I have just learned this quote today). Merry Christmas to you and yours. Never stop trying.

 

Goodbye Saigon, pt II

Another friend flew out for Thanksgiving.

There is no such a thing here in Saigon: oven-roasted turkey, croton and mashed potatoes, cranberry sauce , yam and apple pie.

Mouth-watering!  children running around and old folks reminiscing the good old days.

Yes, his destination has a few hallmarks of the American Dream.

Here in old Saigon, the only thing that changes is new names on old streets and schools (no longer segregation, so it came with a shock as I rode pass the old all-girl Gia Long High to see the new mix of male and female students)

My friend likes the quote from T.S. Eliot (In my end, my beginning).

He knows the Earth is round, and that at the end of his short stay in Saigon is the beginning of his trans-continental journey to America and Europe.

Before meeting him, I carry water and chop wood.

After meeting him, I carry water and chop wood.

But he left a vacuum hard to fill. Just like our mutual friend, before him (see Goodbye Saigon).

They have sons and daughter to attend to, paper work to sign and friends to play catch up with.

None of us gives up on Saigon. We all think the place deserves a make-over, a second chance (as if it needed our help and opinion).

Rated as most competitive in the nation, Saigon is quite poised to soar and regain its former glory (Pearl of the Orient).

Skyline and sea harbor, street signs and shops, all compete for clientele. Back-packers have a hard time configuring  their Google-map routes. But everyone here knows or are supposed to know where they are going.

Young work force pour over the key board, while street vendors peddle their wares (walking Wal-Mart).

When my friend was here, we used to sit at one of the ronde’s, French round-about, to feel and feed on the energy of bustling traffic.

Afterwards, we would retire to his quiet alley just a few feet away to recuperate. It’s exhausting and exhilarating at the same time to live the night life in Saigon. More bikes take up the space a few moments ago reserved for buses.

Years ago, they stopped allowing tow-trucks to come through before mid-night. So on this Thanksgiving eve, there is no Black Friday here in Saigon. Only window shopping and online shopping. Tourists find it refreshing to stroll the old boulevard, to discover names like Majestic, Continental hotels etc…

Time seems to freeze-frame here. And we took advantage of this to “re-enter” our past (as if it’s ever possible).

American pop songs overheard from retail shops can lure you back to a time when you were first in love or discover love.

Don’t give up on us, baby.

On the other side of the trans-Pacific flight, my friend perhaps is checking out his luggage, going through custom, with the reflexive greeting “Welcome home, mr Ngo”. I like America. When being addressed by Mr so and so, you know it’s official and that you have paid your taxes and your due.

Consumer confidence is returning with rising home prices in the Bay Areas. I hope it spills over across the pond. After all, Fukushima tsunami waves got tossed all the way to San Francisco bay. Why not this time around, with rising economic waters from the West. When my friend returns, he’ll know once again, his next stay in Vietnam would just like T.S. Elliot puts it, “in my end, my beginning”. No way around the inter-dependence and inter-connectedness of our 21st-century living.

Brunch w/ a bunch (of jamers)

It’s my first time at  Van’s Cafe, 46 Pham Ngoc Thach, District 1 Saigon on Sunday morning. And I found myself walking into the door with 2 musicians I know: Mr Hai, on base guitar, and Quoc Dat (blind but extremely gifted jazz pianist, and a student of my now deceased friend.).

Before I knew it, people with guitars, chains in their jeans, rings in their ears, started to fill the room.

It’s a very rare place, if not, the only place where everybody knows your name (Saigon version of Cheers) . But you have to shout over their perfectly set acoustic.

Two sweetest Singaporeans, twice my size, recommended “banh mi bo kho”on the menu (that was before the owner, Khac Trieu, also multi-talented: drummer, vocalist, guitarist, clarinetist and keyboardist, ordered beef wasabi, Van’s Cafe new item).

The lead vocalist is named Rex, from the Philippines. He sings in English, Korean and Vietnamese (or trying).

My fear of  being new at Sunday jamming was dissipated, when Quoc Dat, with my help to get to the piano, started his jazz numbers.

World-renown photographer showed up, with Vietnamese wife and his daughter (who I had eye contact with to help me jump-start my Beatles‘ Imagine number). Other expats followed suit.

You can never guess what would happen at Sunday Jamming, or at night on the 2nd floor with scheduled Rockers, French singers (BTW, Christophe is in town here in Saigon this weekend), DJ at half time and open-mike jammers at midnight.

That’s when I met our regular clubbers-turned-friends like Willie and Warren, Danny and Bill.

And of all people, my friend from childhood also showed up. Apparently all roads lead to Rome for music lovers.

So come, for the food and the fun, the music and musicians. You won’t be disappointed as I have found out.

But don’t come too early. Live music starts at 9:30PM 7 nights a week. With Sunday morning, we can call it 8 days a week at Van’s Cafe here in HCMC. See you one of these beautiful sundays or, if you want to dance too, then after 9:30PM 7 days a week.

“You may say that I am a dreamer. But I am not the only one. We hope someday you’ll join us…..”

Isolation, interaction and interpretation

One person to himself.

One or more chatting, arguing, agreeing.

Then, a multi-lingual gathering, with or without a headset, with a bilingual person in the middle, trying to transport the weight behind loaded words. In Chinese Zodiac, Jackie Chan tried to smooth out intercultural tension by giving an opposite translation from the intended message.

We also remember the scene from The Great Escape, where after each failed attempt, Steve McQueen, the King of cool, would be put back in isolation (at least fellow inmates still keep his glove and baseball for him).

When you send out a signal, a text or any form of communication without getting any feedback, you are in isolation. It could drive one into despair.

Marconi kept building taller towers near the seas, and sending out ship-to-shore signals in the hope that he could compensate for the curvy horizon.

In Cast Away, Tom Hanks couldn’t deliver his message in the box (fed ex), or the bottle.

Somewhere out there, there is someone waiting to receive your signals.

Blogging has started to fill this empty space.

A guy posted a picture of the Northeast, the gathering storm, or a nice trail.

I share his cold, and his wintry isolation.

Tet in Vietnam is warmer and with a lot more activities.

Tet in Orange County Little Saigon is wet and isolating.

And far away in Vietnamese communities such as Louisiana, Washington DC or Washington State, I suspect it’s even wetter and more isolating.

Yet people send out messages, through Mai branches (equivalence of Christmas pine trees) and red-lucky envelopes (equivalence of red stockings). It says “we are here, the new American with our tradition very much like the early Americans with theirs”.

So there are some interaction between the two cultures, East and West, the Lunar calendar vs the Solar.

Those who live and breathe between two worlds are lucky.

It is as though we barely cleaned up after one celebration before we start another. Once the cat is out of the bag, there is no end to it.

Now it’s no longer the turkey and carvings, it’s the Green bean cake and pickled onion.

The only shared sweet element between the old American native and the Vietnamese is sweet potatoes and boiled corn.

I start getting mouth-watered. So counting down to Tet 2013, 45 years since Tet 68.

The American public was more familiar with that shocking turn of event, and perhaps, decisive turning point of the war. You won’t find army flak jackets on the streets of Saigon as back then. You will find something very similar to the Rose Parade, except it’s stationary on blocked streets. And music is in the air, with ao dai floating and flirting . Take a picture, take a look. Be not isolated. Come out and interact, even if you need help from an interpreter.

Isolation, interaction and interpretation.

Slippery Saigon

I went out for my morning jog in slippery Saigon.  I was hoping for cooler weather. Now that my wish was granted, I begin to have second thought: if it’s cool here, it means somewhere up North, people are freezing, or boats and houses destroyed.

We live in a connected world and leave behind carbon footprints.

A cigarette tossed into the wild could ignite a forest fire. A harsh word, ill-thought-out and unsolicited comment could damage a child’s self-esteem.

Should they be protected, insulated and shielded from the pain-filled world out there?

How much “reality” should a show depict to open a child’s eyes?

When 9/11 happened, my then 10-year old could not comprehend its magnitude.

Now, my second kid and I are “following” each other on Twitter. Cool!

Back in my time, my parents hardly ever sat down with me, much less “follow”. I am a product of multiple generations, where an uncle, a cousin, an aunt and now nephew, all chipped in with unsolicitated advices. It’s our version of social compact.

But when this social compact broke down, it’s quite ugly e.g. to pay down gambling debt, a father/mother would offer their daughter(s) as payment (to be an unpaid maid or concubine – a phenomenon not unheard of in the bordering towns near China and Cambodia).

WE HAVE A BIG 21st CENTURY PROBLEM: TECHNOLOGY IS MOVING FASTER THAN OUR CAPACITY TO ABSORB IT, WHILE OUR CULTURAL MORES STAY IN THE BACK WOODS OF EMERGING COUNTRIES.  People are still auctioned off, raped, murdered and mutilated over a fake I-phone, for instance. In India, gangs raped bus passenger or Swiss couple who camped out.

Our Western liberal mind screams out when hearing about these incidents.

Then we shrugged it off when the Mafia in Chicago make their extortion route.

Hollywood even made money on these film-noir genre. Hypocrisy? Absolutely.

Who am I to judge? Who am I to carry the chip on my shoulders (Hey Jude).

In What the Dog Saw, Malcom Gladwell pointed out that although imaging and images have better resolution, our capacity to read them (intelligence) will have to increase ten fold to make it effective.

So we need to keep up with our own invention. The tool has become the teacher. This begs a related topic: our capacity to reflect. To think about our mistakes (committed or omitted), to change course. This integrative skill differentiates us from mere technologists (repetitive) order takers (reactive). Back when the 3 networks (TV) ruled, the anchor who could ad-lip was highly sought after. He/she had the skill to see and describe reality in context and in step with what were happening  real-time. Peter Jennings did that during 9/11. After having a smoke, he died of lung cancer. He crossed that journalistic line, from being an observer to being a participant of that same drastic event.

It’s still slippery outside. I promise myself not to slid and slide in the rain. Now is the time to reflect on slippery Saigon. On our capacity to keep up with modern technology. Just have to stay away from the clans who somehow manage to crawl on Facebook, trying to “friend” you with unsolicited postings. Something isn’t going to change, or avoidable. Just like the wet weather here today.

World on wheels

You want to see wheels at work, you come to Saigon.

(Baby) strollers, scooters, (food) stalls, all on wheels.

But instead of having you walk up to a vending machine, here the merchandise come to you. Ladies in cone hats would walk about with all sorts of knickknacks on their shoulders: toe clippers, wallets, key chains etc….

At night, snack vendors come around the neighborhood, waking everyone up.

“Banh gio”.  KFC, Pizza, Hot noodle bowls all delivered on wheels.

It’s a 24/7 world on wheels. Rolling, rolling, rolling on the river.

They finally put the canal fences up, but the “river doesn’t flow through it”.

Saigon used to be known as the Pearl of the Orient.

Neither Paris nor London, Saigon is a synthesis of every strand and shape. Young people from the country side pour in and mix in to form a kaleidoscope. It is as if the old energy from a mix of Cambodian and Chinese were not enough. Now with young and old, East and West, it is transformed into something unrecognizable. Perhaps a Singapore of the next century.

I live next door to a young couple. Their son is just one year old, barely taking baby steps. In the morning, mom would be walking vending machine. In the afternoon, Dad would walk around shoe-shining. The boy is well cared for. The boy has just got a toy automobile for Christmas. The young couple were discussing about buying a Nokia phone.

The future of Saigon. Of Vietnam. Soon they would save up enough for a scooter. Nuclear family on wheels. The kid after all had already got his wheels.

World on wheels.

Traffic dance in Saigon

First-timers to Saigon are shocked on arrival: the dance of two-wheel traffic.

Some even had to flag down a cyclo (three-way cycle) to take them across the street. An Ivy-League Math Prof was killed when crossing the street. He was there for a conference on solving traffic problems.

I have slowly built up confidence and coordination not to fight traffic but to dance with it.  Here are some observations:

– People ride on survival instinct and years of communal living: negotiating, turn-taking…

(unlike Western’s right of way)

– Expect the unexpected (scooters that go the wrong way)

– Traffic signs are not hundred per cent observed. In short, break all rules

– At rush hour, people tend to ride more slowly to accommodate heavy volume

– With the helmet law strictly enforced, there have been fewer accidents

– Almost everyone has been hit, ran over, or got a scratch. It’s a badge of honor

– When in an accident, people quickly blame the other party (emblemic in face-saving culture) then move on

– Buses, automobiles, scooters, cyclos, pedestrians, handicapped people v.v… all have equal right of way, but buses have louder horns and weave in and out of traffic per passenger’s request

– best way to navigate rush hour traffic is to take a “xe-om” (taxi-scooter) since these drivers know which alleys and arteries for short-cut

– when it rains, it’s best to stay out of the street, since available surface is taken over by undrained water (sewage problems).

Traffic don’t just get to be this dense overnight. It’s been built up over time.

The same with your capacity to become one with it. It takes time. In my case, many trips and trials (got whacked once by a wrong-way scooter) barely got me to be a member of the club.

After that, your next lesson will be how to stay out of the sun given a few shades left in the city. For now, watch in ALL directions when crossing, not just the designated flow of legal traffic. Survival trumps legality. Be brave and smart. Watch before you leap, but then, he who hesitates is lost.

If you got in an accident, blame the other party first, then move on.

Romancing Saigon

Good luck! Bit it’s better  for you to wait until the scorching heat subsides, before you have a chance.

There are layers to Saigon, like you would peeling an onion.

Cafe Sua Da prices fluctuate from one street corner to the next.

On the main tourist strip, you still find Zippo lighters and even dog tags next to pirated copies of Vietnam War classics.

In fact, you don’t need to visit the museum of war (atrocities) to turn the clock back. The whole city could be viewed as a museum of war. The battle of ideology 1963, battle of Tet 1968 all took place here . Just walk the streets, you can relive the intensity of those struggles. Yet, in danger, there are romances. People live faster lives (translated to shorter ones). Self-immolated monk wasn’t the only one who burned himself to nirvana. Privileged youth are fast-tracking there as well, a phenomenon familiar to US “urban youth” (whose life expectation has  been rumored to be just above the legal drinking age.) Here, it’s already an improvement as compared to back then when widows and orphans were common.

A plane load of orphans took off and crashed just before the city itself “fell” to the hands of victors.

Now, you find bars. reincarnated versions of what used to be night clubs, hang-out places for GI‘s and their unspent payrolls. Today, beers popped open. Conversation started, most of which like two ships passing in the night. And young backpackers, many of  whom with Lonely planet’s guide, searching frantically to geo-ID themselves.

Oh well, drop those guides. Follow your instincts. Live a little. risk a little. Romance it. Don’t expect everything is set.

But then, what do you expect. War time might be over, but it’s still a “war zone”.

Can’t miss that tank on permanent display at Independent Palace.

Yes, you will find romance, but the price is to drop your guards, your expectations and prejudices. Saigon and Vietnam always reward seekers. But serious inquirers only. And the down payment is stiff, once paid in blood during the conflict.

And pain lingers on. Someone has to pay for reparation. It might as well be you. And you, and you. Sorry to pass on the virus which I myself have contracted while romancing Saigon.

Hyphenated Identity

Last month, during the height of the election campaign, I saw plenty of signage for local board seats. Many hybrid names (Vietnamese-American) which tell me two things: second-generation immigrants are now politically active, yet they still want to keep those last names, to serve as bridges to the old world.

Old World–New World.

I know both very well. I travel back and forth lately, observing, taking it all in.

The good, the bad and the ugly. Both sides now.

For example: here in the US, I drive by 24-hr Emergency Pet Clinic every day.

But I also know that a lot of people, not pets, are homeless (including the newly added Post-Sandy Tent City). The best piece on the American Dream went awry was already portrayed by Ben Kingsley in The House of Sand and Fog (Iranian big-shot bought an illegally repossessed house, just to end up losing his life along with it).

Meanwhile, in VN, everybody tries to move to the city centre, where there hardly are any space left unless a storm, almost as strong as Sandy, knocked down a few more trees.

The US got junk yards (industrial waste). Vietnam got grave yards (Agent Orange). Both got people “mooning” although for a very different reason.

Back to hybrid identity. So we came, we saw, and we campaign (not conquer).

Good for them.

John Nguyen, Joseph Cao etc…

May their descendants prosper in this land of milk and honey. When elected, don’t forget to put people above pet. I fear that by the time they drop those last names for let’s say Joseph Smith,  they will also have acquired a taste for fast cars and fast food.

And perhaps 24-hr gym, 24-hr Donut  Town and 24-hr Emergency Pet Clinic.

It all makes sense after living here for a while. But to any foreigner who has just arrived, America certainly is a peculiar place, worthy of year-long culture shock (this was verbatim from a Filippino immigrant whose lingerie line finally distributed by Target, making her a millionaire).

Before you know it, they pledge Allegiance to the Flag, and drop those hard-to-pronounce first names. Voila! We are all American. One Nation under God, withstand against all enemies, foreign or domestic (mostly foreign, so watch out. Adapt quickly and just say “to go” when asked: FOR HERE OR TO GO?).