Tag: Vietnam

Love as motivator

Fear, fun, money, dream, passion, human spirits are all strong motivators.

This series cannot end without the mentioning of love.

I came across a newspaper clip which showed two skeletons (male and female),

still clinging to each other. Apparently they died in an earthquake.

At least the saying “live together, die alone” doesn’t apply here.

Talking about dying. We just got news that Pham Duy, one of our great song composers, has just died. He was 92. His son, also a singer, had died a month before.

Live together, die alone.

Among Pham Duy’s thousand songs is Dua Em Tim Dong Hoa Vang.

I will be your guide to a yellow-flower cave.

Love. Where do I begin, to tell the story….

We talk a lot about rights not romance.

It’s not a passable legislative piece.

You come across as “soft”, not clear-headed.

Yet when in love, if in love, we get up earlier, stay up later.

We feel this surge of energy and possibilities.

In fact, when in love, eternity and the temporal intersect.

Motivating? Yes, indeed.

Embedded in love is self-sacrifice, the need to give up one’s self.

Love of the commons, love of neighbors among whom we find that particular person we can click and connect with.

We all know by now which activity we tend to lose our sense of time.

That’s what we love to do.

And a certain person we can’t wait to see.

(not like Meeting-with-Jesus , your sales manager).

Bonnie and Clyde got struck down by a hail of bullets (I saw the car but did not count the holes). They might be outlaws, but perhaps there was love between them.

I grew up hearing about the tale of Hon Buom Mo Tien (they could not marry each other in life, so they turned butterflies forever flirting and flying).

And Ngu Lang Chuc Nu (somehow, the offending God separated them except for an annual reunion).

Then right after the Fall of Vietnam, I have a cousin (female) whose husband MIA. 35 years later, she still was unsure whether to put his picture on the altar. Rumor had it that he had been sighted leading a convoy of refugees fleeing the war zone, and perhaps had been struck down (a documentary showing someone like him standing up next to his jeep driver).

Love. It’s elusive. It’s not supposed to last forever. But motivating indeed.

And in its absence, we feel even stronger. Lobo was singing “I love you too much to ever be your friend..so let the story kind an end”.

Love is more motivating than Like.

That’s why we got the second interview. We want to confirm those first impressions.

We want to “fall in love” with the candidate.

In “Blink”, Gladwell talks about the “first time, I ever saw your face”.

We are wired to decode and detect likability and loveliness.

And there is no better team than a team who love to work on projects with one another. High fives, the long hours and “let’s see where you got it wrong” tete-a-tete.

I hope for Washington the return of love for public services. For the pride and purpose of the Republic, indivisible (let the two become one).

I saw a quote on Facebook, when in love, even in the face of 99 bad things, we still look for that one thing to love. If God had been like men, we would have all been dead in hell. Alone. With no one to cling to. And archeologists of the future would stumble upon grave after grave, lone graves. Not worth noticing. They might label that society as lone-wolf, dod-eat-dog civilization.

Pham Duy, RIP. May you find that cave full of yellow flowers, with lovers (and butterflies) still clinging to each other in life and death beyond.

Money as Motivator

Money does something to us. It both elevates and debases us.

In War and Peace,  Pierre, as opposed to Prince Andrew, inherited a vast estate. Then things went south: duel, divorce and determination to “sanctify” himself by joining the Free Masonry Society.

When money is involved, motivators are involved, not all pure and noble.

We are shy to talk about it.

Great men and lowly men, are distracted and distraught by it.

Gone are the days of Bread’s Everything I Own (I would give everything I own, just to have you back again).

We live out Victor Hugo‘s script (Les Miserables as 99 percenters):

homeless and jobless drain on the system, interest rates eating up social security reserves.

Money man over Guitar man.

Pragmatic over Romantic.

Money rules and changes the rules.

Hire those who are hungry. They will stay with you, sing your praise and watch your back. (the lack of money) keeps them humble and loyal.

The poor gives us an opportunity to be God-like.

A tang of guilt is good for the noble soul.

When you do this to the least of these….

Not GM, nor IBM. The least of these.

Money is inherently a motivator, but not the motivator.

(this is a multi-part series on Motivator e.g. music, passion etc…)

If Money is the only thing, we should all be bankers and be bailed out.

If Money is the only thing, then what happened before Money? (Read The Ascent of Money).

I have run into people who genuinely believe Money is Miracle, not just Motivator.

When they seek Money as an End in itself, they instinctively know they cannot take it with them in death.

Here in Vietnam, at funeral and wedding, money is involved. Fake money for the former, and real one for the latter (which helps pay for the banquet).

Obviously, there are some truth to it: Money opens doors, even the gate of  Hades.

Pierre settled for a quick divorce with the splitting of his estate (money).

People marry in the name of love, and divorce in the name of money.

The practice of dowry and divvying up from a will show the importance of money.

Money talks.

If I had been told Capitalism means money and money, I would have understood the concept and philosophy immediately. Instead, I was given a run-around. Sold on a dream and not drawn from a bank account. Apparently, they also instinctively know that in hiring and selling, you must first lay out all the intangible values, then slap them last with the bottom line. By then, all the other motivators (safety, status etc..) have been weighed in to spin the and price justify.

Apparently even the money handlers know deep down, money is only a motivator, albeit an important one. In all seriousness, people in Vietnam and China burn artificial 100-dollar bills, fake I-pads and I-phones for dead ancestors to use. It’s a small price to carry out filial duty.

Le Da – Tales of sorrow told by a Rock

My birth certificate shows my parents in their early 40’s.

No wonder my Dad’s taste for music was a bit off.

One of his favorites however stood the test of time: Le Da.

After all, it has something to do with the rock of ages.

It’s very sentimental (Rock solid yet soft when it comes to matter of the heart).

I gave it a try last night. Got a square 100 according to the karaoke machine.

My Dad must have sung through me.

The musical genes.

His generation experienced upheavals: revolution, uprootedness, and twice a refugee.

No wonder they were defined by and encoded their experience and emotion via music. A famous Vietnamese composer of my Dad’s time, Pham Duy, has just passed away.

Other singers (The Uptight) are making their way back to performing in Vietnam: new audience, new aspiration.

Something about a wandering soul seeking solace and wounded heart, soothing.

America has indeed been blessed with many talents from elsewhere.

The experience of America’s newest poet speaks well of this.

The American Century might be coming to an end, but in its place, the American Character barely blooms, blending best in class.

The style and confidence Viet Kieu singers (Vietnamese American) and filmmakers prove this point.

And before you know, you will find The Boat, The Book of Salt etc.. on Amazon book list.

It’s been since its inception that America embraces seekers and searchers.

It entertains doubts and encourages determination.

After all, it has elected not one term, but two terms, an American of exception.

Uniquely 21st century, he always has vacation in Hawaii, a half-way between East and West. There in the cliff, you will find some rocks, some tears and some tales of sorrow only rock could last long enough to tell.

My Dad would be passionate to join, if you give him the second mike. I wouldn’t bet on the score at the end though. Even me, I was just lucky last night.

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.

The things they still carry

The war novel with similar title was surprisingly good. I have known about it for a while, but couldn’t get myself to “carry” it home. Until now. Until it’s translated into Vietnamese.

It’s the opposite of reading Bao Ninh‘s The Sorrows of War in English.

Both novels had the same setting, same period, same conflict, same ending (went down with whatever they were carrying, on their bodies and on their minds).

Sorry winner and lucky loser.

All the while, the sound track for that same period was Proud Mary (you don’t have to worry, for people are happy to give).

In The Things They Carried, supplies were chopper-ed in (chocolate, cigarettes and C-rations). The military industrial complex was “happy to give”, from Hartford, from MN etc…

Rolling, rolling, rolling on the river.

I could barely get through the first few chapters, reading about the members of this fictitious company as they went down, with the things they carried (one of them even carried sleeping pills – for eternal rest).

We can now look back, with recognized names like J. Kerry, J. Fonda etc… at a  safe and rational distance, away from the heat of Kent State and Watergate and My Lai.

I have seen the things people here in VN carry, on their shoulders, on their scooters.

But inside, unless they sit down and tell me, the hidden things that they still carry are scary.

Those with vivid memories are dying one by one, on both sides of the Pacific.

We got scholarly volumes and doctrine (Powell) on the conflict.

And we eventually got Burger King and Dunkin here in VN. It’s like the tunnel is finally closed  with sign which says “Go away, leave the past alone”.

For here or to go?

It’s Future Land now. Happy Land. Disney Land. Dream Land. It has to be.

Yes. Young students carry a lot with them today: book bags, smart phones,  eye glasses, cigarettes, lighters, even IDs. No dog tags. No Zippos. No memories.

Just a bunch of “nic’s” and passwords. Everything is in the Cloud. On Facebook. On Drop Box and Mail Box.

To search for them. Easy. Just Google. In Vietnamese, or English. No translation needed. Sorrows of War or The Things They Carried. Instant access.

Perhaps that war, Vietnam that was, was the last  “hardware-driven” conflict.

No wonder, the things they carried, seemed awfully heavy and burdensome when viewed from a light-weight I-pad.

Unfinished business

Program lingers on linearly while project has its own bell-shaped form.

Beginning and ending.

Life is constituted of both programs and projects.

Child-rearing is not a project. Schooling them is (until they come back and take over the couch).

Warring is a project.  At least when we could get out and not sink deeper into the quagmire.

When I finished Assassin Gate, I felt a striking resemblance to what the US had encountered in Vietnam (not knowing who the enemy was – the Perfect Spy – as case in point).

People form interesting alliances in war.

For now, world attention has shifted else where e.g. Syria, Iran and Israel.

Should they be classified as programs or projects?

We would hope for the latter.

If we take a zoom-out view of  history, we will find that one man’s failure is another’s victory. Innovation came about in clusters, in Europe during the Industrial Revolution. Scientists competed to file patents and announced findings.

Medical and mechanical surprises ( Marie Curie and Marconi).

Which leads to our present dilemma: we are more aware of vaccine and virus, wireless and wire line technologies. Since those are money-making business, we  give them more street’s cred and credits over low ROI projects.

Our life style has evolved to the point where we express ourselves in terms of technology (I am low on bandwidth, I need to be reboot, I can’t copy you, I am unable to process what you have just said).

We keep tweaking and tuning. To stumble upon that optimal-efficiency point.

When we left our phone (hardware) at home, we feel “naked”.

Out of the blue, we got “Drop Box” (the equivalent of train-station locker).

So on and so forth. Keep id the problems, we got the solutions. As long as we can monetize it. If not, we drop it (Blue tooth).

It’s not too long ago that Facebook was an unknown “face”.

Then everyone knows Mark (as if he were our son-in-law). Not sure between him and Justin Bieber, who is more  popular.

I am sure of the difference: Mark , in the language of this blog, is a program, a work still in progress. Justin would be a project, whose stardom has hockey-stick beginning and definite ending. That’s how the world works. I know this. I have just finished listening to “I’ll Be There” and remember how we all loved Michael and the Jackson 5. Then I realise we all were babies in our families. What has happened? (Babies turned burden).

The flow of life floats away relationships. Then what yesterday’s program has become today’s project (papa turns patient).

First we use relationship language to address one another (uncle, brother). Then we use machine language (leaving me a message on my answering machine).

Finally, we call them “patient”, “pupil” “inmate”. Institutional language that dehumanizes people. Turning them from “program” to “project”. My friend, you will forever remain my life-long program. Unfinished business. Work in progress. Not just a Contact, or Data Point.

Reading People

I was approached by a guy wearing an FBI cap, asking me to buy lottery tickets.

It’s hot in Vietnam this time of the year. Almost everyone wears some sorts of caps with USA on them,  helmets with the Nike vectors or a hybrid version: helmets shaped like caps.

From top to toe, we send out signals and messages. Call it Non-Verbal language.

2/3 of our communication are not verbal (in Without You, there is a line “you always smile, but in your eyes, your sorrow shows, yes it shows”).

Yet few of us were schooled, trained or able to detect these hidden codes: I am cool. I don’t give a damn. I am somebody. I am everybody. I am nobody. Try me…..

Conversely, people receive unintended messages we did not know we  send.

I’ve got money. I don’ t respect you enough (clothing mismatched). I am carefree. I am careful. Don’t mess with me (tatoo and black T’s).

In the States, cars make statements. Here, it’s the scooters.

A guitar as backpack (musician) a rolled-up mat (yoga) a cone hat (urban migrant) a kid with balloon (mom has a night out and spends guilt money).

Every stripe and strand co-exist and negotiate limited space.

The upper crust has already left town to exclusive and elite resorts, leaving behind the “mass who live in quiet desperation” in the tourist district, where people lean against fake trees and work up a fake smile for photo ops.

If you stood and watched people, you are not sure between background and foreground, which one is more on display.

Wait until 4-G is here.

Then we will have completed our evolutionary cycle (self-expression with a cost).

When those sport cars came out, they were intended to say: I own this toy, reserved for me and my girlfriend (parents and entourage are not welcome).

So will it be with the I’s family of products (unless you share the listening device  with one significant other). The I-pod Shuffle was meant for one, jogger preferably.

Not the boombox that blasts out Christmas music for the whole neighborhood.

Yes, in our technological society, the clear message (which happens to be the medium, according to McLuhan) is that, I finally am. Arrived. Leave me alone. Leave your old world behind (communal and village-bound). I am OK, you are OK or not, it’s irrelevant. When the playing field is leveled (by us duck-sitting as advertising headcounts), they will upgrade to some other games which will require premium fees.

So we celebrate the upcoming New Year, with ” a will to try” so as not to be left out or behind.

My New Year resolution is to read people better, however subtle the intended messages might be. Often times, it’s mixed message. After all, the world is our non-verbal bookstore. Just  hope I don’t run into a real FBI agent, undercover as a lottery-ticket pusher.

Life as Unfinished Book

I brave heavy traffic to get to the book store on Nguyen Hue again.

Just to find out if Murukami’s 1Q84 part II in Vietnamese was available.

It hadn’t. Back and forth for nothing. But the two interwoven stories must have that crisscrossing point, a happy ending.

Can’t wait to find out.

And that was just a novel.  With its dream-like quality.

How about our own lives?

It’s Christmas in Vietnam. The lottery-ticket peddlers are still out pushing luck. The dumpster divers are still after a lucky find. Children are in school, workers at work just to improve their lots.

Nothing unusual, except for the concentration of tourists and picture takers at Saigon tourist quarter, where hotels put up Vegas-style Christmas display.

Noel, as it is called here, is a convergence of realities, now as it has always: manger and Magi, homeless and Honda.

People here don’t believe in magic. Just money.

Isn’t everywhere else?

Cash or credit?

The tree can be fake or real, but the cash has to be cold and hard cash.

Will your life and mine have a happy ending? or like the story of Christmas, it started with birth and ended with burial. The Resurrection sounds like it was added on to give the movement some momentum (Like the Mayan believers after Dec 21st).

For now, the story got another reading. Baby and bath water.

Don’t throw both out. Just believe. Finish the first part of the book.

Just like your lives and mine: beginning, middle and ending.

Can someone tell me what happens to Aomame and Tengo in 1Q84. Will they meet again and have a happy ending. I can’t wait to find out.

Stories of Suffering

Unlike America where suffering is well hidden behind locked doors, here in Vietnam, it is in your face: lottery ticket sellers.

They could be an under-age child, a blind man, or the worst case, a young man who dragged himself (both feet paralyzed) along an extremely crowded street peddling tickets.

Even the Cu Chi tunnel, once hot and carpet-bombed, now welcomes visitors to its hollow chamber of suffering.  Underground resistance come clean.

To be here, to see those sites, to feel the heat, the smell, the suffering which might be raw to us, but taken for granted by everyone, is to face reality.

No pain killers, no aspirin.

Just raw sewage and suffering.

And when it heats up, in the middle of the day, you will know what it was like to endure, to persevere and to fight for survival.

A generation of leaders in politics and media have come of age: TV anchors (now retired) ambassador-nominee (J Kerry), committee head ( J. McCain) all had walked this ground.  One word that sums up Vietnam: HOT. Hot war during the Cold War, hot because of the heat, and now, “hot” is used for Retail during Christmas.

First-time visitors to Vietnam, from America, would step off the Cruise Ship.

Checked in an A/C hotel and showed up for tours.

He/she might find out at nearby bookstores that Vietnamese readers browse all sorts of literature from Russia, France, Japan, Australia, Eastern Europe and occasionally US.

In short, military powers don’t equate with cultural influence.

By 2030, studies reveal that Asia blocks and other emerging nations will share the various seats at the table. The dialog and discussions will be diverse.

The best outcome of America’s experience in Vietnam goes beyond the Powell Doctrine. It’s to produce a generation of leaders whose mindset now look beyond the surface (glossy), to the  suffering.

Cu Chi Tunnel or other tunnels. They are there to invite searchers and researchers to face and learn about other people, their aspiration and operation.

I haven’t yet taken that tour, but everyday, suffering is in my face. I shared a table with a blind man this morning over coffee. He stepped off a ten-person passenger vehicle (xe lam), found his way to the usual spot and lit up.

Then he pulled out a pocket-size radio for background music. I listened to that song (about mid-night mass rendez-vous) and felt what he felt: when your world is reduced to darkness and only darkness, you “dig” your way out of it, via other senses (touching and hearing). He used his fingers to measure the level when pouring his tea, while enjoying his portable music.

This was just one story of suffering. There are many more. If one cares and dares to face them instead of hiding them behind institutional doors.

Tears for Connecticut

If this blog were written in ink, it would be blotted with tears.

The photo of a school parent on cell  phone crying says it all.

Tears over wireless. Tears over space. Heck, I am in Vietnam, and won’t be back after Christmas. But I feel the pinch, the lump in the throat (try to listen to Tears in Heaven, by Eric Clapton, while advancing the slides about Newtown memorial service).

Who is to be blamed? God? Gun? or (lack of ) Gut?

The First Lady has been hard at work to improve school lunch (healthier menu). She got some opposition there (how hard is it to add yogurt and sliced apple to the institutional menu? Just outsource to McDonald).

Now, the job is not to add fresh fruit to the school. It’s to take the guns out of it.

The upcoming battle in America is not from outside. It’s right there from within.

Hollywood has taken the path of least resistance (sex + violence =  high revenue).

Porn sites were even lazier (just upload and watch your own).

Moralists are definitely not listened to (Cultural Literacy recommends the public to read Chaucer etc…) since they are way out of touch with mainstream conversation.

That leaves the World Wild West unfiltered.

In Back to Blood, Tom Wolfe painted an America of the future, with setting in Miami (giant projected porn flick on sail boats).

Each President got a four-year term, or 8 years max. Policies and politics don’t take the long view. They can not.

Career officers, of course, just do their jobs (until it changes again).

Meanwhile, no single person, well-meaning or not, can affect the outcome of the country. It’s natural selection. It always has been since its founding.

Checks and bounces. On the other hand, it’s this and that. When in doubt, we debate. Once in a while, we listen to Ron Paul, at least, out of courtesy, since it was his last speech before Congress.

But then, we move on. Short-term amnesia. Until the next tragedy. Aurora seems so far away. Now, it’s Newtown, Connecticut. Then, who could pro-actively prevent Newton, Mass? Wipe those tears away. Then, stand up. (as of this edit, there was a similar tragedy averted in Central FL University).

Those gun laws were written in their times within the agrarian Frontier contexts. Take the meaning, reframe it in new context. Yes, there are timeless stuff (right to privacy, right to self-defense and freedom of expression; all the good stuff that makes America what it is, a magnet to the world’s braves), but then, would you, as an Iraqi refugee, an Egyptian businessman, a French chef and Australian educator, think twice about coming to America, risking everything, including the young lives of your children? It makes for poor image as world’s leader.