Tag: Vietnam

Love sees differently

It’s half past five AM. Outside the Women Association of Ho Chi Minh City, I heard music. Not hip hop, not trance. Jut Gold music “Gui Gio Cho May Ngan Bay”, blasted from a boom box . It’s dark, but the sidewalk hosted a group of women practicing Tai-Chi.  The music was about acceptance, about one wing drops after another. But here they stood, with graceful moves and fateful lives.

Their counterparts meanwhile distribute magazines, newspapers, meat, seafood etc.. for the city of 10 million. I struggled to find room on the sidewalk for the run, before hordes of scooters claiming their right of way.

Common city dwellers don’t seem to be able to afford living space. NUSKIN and new Life Insurance, big-box Fast Food and sugar-drink companies such as Coca Cola drove up commercial real estate prices.

As a result, the face of the city has changed, over the last six months (faster than in the US).

One can spot the need for women gyms, for skin care and cosmetic products.

But then, love sees it differently. Here were mothers of revolution . Of future leaders.

and of past glory. Still out there before dawn. Still guarding the age of romanticism (w/out make-ups or cosmetic surgery).

Still staying fit for the fight. Vietnam is synonymous with war. War against Chinese invaders, French colonialists,  American reluctant Imperialists, Cambodian “cap-duon” and now, in full circle, back to the Islands against the Chinese  industrialists.

Still “Gui Gio Cho May Ngan Bay”, still with that cigarette-hoarse voice of Khanh Ly, the exile folk singer, muse of Trinh Cong Son (and Trinh Nam Son will be here for just one night) known as Vietnamese Bob Dylan.

Love sees it differently. The same song could be used to soothe the soul, comfort the afflicted, or to motivate the team . At any age, at any time.

I blogged about the resilience of the Vietnamese women (Mom’s Ao Dai).

Now I realized I did not know what I was talking about. I barely scratched the surface .

The Diary of Dang Thuy Tram spoke of a woman doctor who walked the Ho Chi Minh Trail, just to be near the war front where her lover had gone before. It spoke of the diary with “fire”. To others, war was hell. Love sees it differently (she died a martyr’s death, never to be reunited with her lover).

The irony did not escape me that, in contrast to Western sense of appropriateness,

here women could be warriors, housewives and heads of  firms, with no conflict.

Their ability to synthesize and compromise says a lot about how this society manage to gloss over enormous challenge.(see After Sorrow).

A city of 10 million or 1 million, it doesn’t matter.  What matter was how those women have taken over the education in public, and the management of the household in private. It’s they who make it happen. Just show up and see at 5 AM, the music and movement. Then you will see the tip of the iceberg. Often we don’t see those undercurrents. But love sees it differently. It got you up early and forced you to notice. I noticed. I learned.

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?).

Moon Cake

You can’t possibly finish one all by yourself.

In fact, when I was a kid, I remembered it got cut up not into four but eight pieces, like we would with a Costco pizza.

Slices of sweet moon cake, in all varieties.

Big confectionary  revenue every year in China and Vietnam.

Although it’s a Children Festival,  adults are in for those cakes as well. Later, it evolves into an occasion for gifting, and acceptable bribing.

Sweeten the deal.

It’s almost as if  business and adults  have hi-jacked what few festivals  children got left for themselves.

Let’s face it. In the West, we got Halloween. Then college students hi-jacked it with frat’s costume parties. Even at work. So Halloween spreads to other unintended age groups.

In the Far East, we see similar phenomenon: the commercialization and co-opting of  traditional events by the Retai industry.

As long as you can “create” a “first” event. Next year, it will become the Second X event, then Third…

Some events no longer reflect their original raison d’etre. Hence, a need for self-created tradition  (South by Southwest, TED). Somehow, cultural legacies are associated with “uncoolness”.

Malcom Gladwell recalls his Jamaican aunt (light-skinned) disown her dark-skinned daughter when she met a light-skinned man. In Outliers, he makes a case for cultural legacy,  which, after extensive analysis, proves to be the bedrock of  immigrant success. Personally I also found American cultural tapestry as strength (German Beer Fest, Irish pipers, Little Italy etc …helps induct me to early American immigrants) and not weakness. Case in point. I often run into bi-racial couples who took their half-breed children to these festivals. The “foreign” spouse indeed finds those cultural events fascinating. Perhaps he/she hopes to find some clues into the make-up of his or her spouse, or to simply please him/her culturally.

And it’s only fair. Because to marry into a dominant culture, one has to sacrifice and let go things that are deemed “strange” e.g. instant noodles, chopsticks (in California, sushi and Pho restaurants are actually operated by Korean business people, rather than Japanese or Vietnamese).

So this Blue Moon, full moon and Moon Fest. Go out and join the “strange” people. They have their reason behind the season. Find out the fairy tale, their  pre-Neil-Armstrong perception of the Moon. It goes well with Slow Rock. Makes for a perfect slow dance, while the children are occupied with their own lanterns. The commercial world does go ahead of us . But then, maybe they know us more than we do ourselves. After this weekend, watch for the Halloween pumpkin stand. Coming around the corner, literally.

Monsoon and Moonfest

Overhearing some people talking about rain in Dalat, Vietnam‘s mountainous area, I thought back to a time and a place where innocence was shred like old skin. You see, growing up in Vietnam even in the midst of the war, was still something to be cherished. You might have neighbor’s funeral with flag draped over coffin, but you could also have free reign during Moon Festival. Lanterns and lighting, of all kinds.

Monsoon rain during the day and dry crisp air at night, formed a clear line of sight to chi Hang (Moon Lady). I imagined seeing the Moon man hanging on to the magic tree (per fairy tale). Later on, when Neil Armstrong  (who has just died) stepped foot on it, as Curiosity Rover now roaming Mars, science was waging war on our hand-me-down heritage. Fable or fact? Fiction or non-fiction?

If you were to grow up during my time, you couldn’t have helped questioning everything: kids on the opposite side of the world were doing the same thing, asking if the “outsourced” war thousands miles away were worth the sacrifice. Meanwhile, computer geeks just coded their nights away in A/C- humming labs. If we can zoom the camera out , we will see dry and hot day in California and Seattle (where Bill Gates was taking a bus for computer timeshare) and the post-rainy Moon Festival night when I was skipping with lantern in hand. Got to have those cakes and candles.

Sweet tooth and sweet innocence. A whole festival dedicated to our young age group. Who said in Asia, only older people are respected. We (kids) ruled!

Then that innocence was shattered as reports about the unwinnable war got out with CBS dailies. Cronkite walked the ground of the US embassy and delivered a one-two punch in bullet-proof vest and helmet: it’s a stalemate.

Johnson knew then he wouldn’t have a  chance to convince the public the other way, after all, “that’s the way it is”.

Truth and fiction, fairy tale vs glass-encased moon rock.

In full view, we knew something was going on, but “what it is, ain’t exactly clear”.

So I grew up hurriedly, burned my  Moon Fest candles quickly and swallowed that sweet cake in one bite.

Fast forward to this day, again, hot in California, and rainy in Dalat, I smile to myself: it sure has been a wonderful childhood amidst of war. The intense fighting only made coming of age all the more precious.

Blood was shed to protect our playground.

I now realize why I keep coming back for more . I wish for other kids to feel what I felt: an appreciation for life, albeit amidst danger. Despite having threats from all sides, one could still do some self-validating, self-legitimizing and story-telling (to generation next). Now, that’s pre-computer-age coding and culture making. That’s buying time in a society on the verge of collapse. Now, we see children with I-pads in hands, but disrespectful and unappreciative. The age of Entitlement is overtaking the age of Enlightenment. And no one seems to “cry, my beloved country”. The Monsoon suddenly brought back sweet memories of  MoonFest. Monsoon continues still, year after year, but not my MoonFest,  which exists only in faint but never faded memory.

Be sure to bring some flowers

That voice which slows toward the end of the song as the chord changes:
“If you’re going to San Francisco…” accompanied by the 60’s signature tambourine, has died. But his one-hit wonder stays, perhaps more famous than the city itself.

It’s a state of mine. A period in history, with in-depth expose by Tom Hayden and Tom Brokaw. A new explanation and “a vibration” (today, we got “going viral” ). People in motion.  Keep moving. Keep evolving. Keep changing at the grass root level.

No one wanted to be “institutionalized” (One flew over the cuckoo’s nest). Individualism championed by groups and movement, ironically. Out of the box, out of the can.
We got Papillon, the Great Escape (both played by Steve McQueen, a San Francisco’s familiar face).  We got the ethos (youth), the prop (flower), the non-verbal greeting (peace symbol), the hair, the costume (Indian fashion) and an anthem.

I first heard the song right before Tet 68. School was closed due to the uprising throughout South Vietnam. With a lot of time in my hand, I practiced the guitar. San Francisco over House of the Rising Sun, Goodbye Yellow Brick Road over both.  The girls (older than I) were with flowers on their hair.

Later, when I had a chance to revisit Vietnam, I looked up an old classmate who had been paralyzed, When I played the guitar and sang for him, who lied motionless in bed,  he requested San Francisco (people in motion).

My friend was one of the “gentle people” I have met in my life. He is into poetry, music by Trinh Con Son (Vietnamese Bob Dylan). And he got paralyzed for rescuing some kids who were standing under a fallen iron gate.

People in motion, people in motion. But my friend has stayed immobile.

And the singer of that signature song has died.

Somehow, I don’t think it would end here. I know the spirit lives on, in San Francisco. People are passionate about the city, its livability, environment and ethos.  Legislation there is fierce and uncompromising when it comes to sustainability. After all, we want to see flowers grow there, along with civil liberty and civil rights.

Even so, be sure to bring (and wear) some flowers when you go there.

The Bay areas get nice weather, gentle people and lots of hills. I even ran a Bay-to-Bridge race once, just to take in the scene. And the Chinese New Year Parade there is the event not to be missed. That era, those street corners and the people once flocked there to search (for a new explanation) and share (laying foundation for today’s internet peering, open source, wikipedia and interoperability) under one huge umbrella: McKenzie’s San Francisco.

Heck, I was just trying to get to Middle School in Vietnam. And I just stopped short of wearing some flowers in my hair. Instead, we settled for those flower stickers, along with the peace symbol, despite living at the height of the war. RIP Scotty.

Algorithmic social

People who connect with so and so, tend to be interested in so and so….

Once you clicked down that path, you entered a maze that leads you further down the path of algorithmic and formulaic social links. No backing out, no return.

So, my machine-led social graph has taken on new twists and turns as I went back and forth between Vietnam and the US. During the downturn, I have followed the advice “Go East, Old Man”. So most of my Linkedin connections turned out to be friends of friends and associates in Vietnam. Now, back to the US, I hardly get any algorithmic recommendations for “white folks”.

Should I stay with machine-recommended linkage? Ignore it altogether? Go out and hustle for new connections in the US?

It’s a perfect storm: new apps, new austerity and new attitude (cash only).

All happened within the span of 4 years.

I  value friendships made during the downturn.

For everyone realizes we need one another more than ever.

A bit of self-advertisement, not self-aggrandizement.

Just nudging, swaying. Just in case. For the next job.

Friends in both high and low places. Need them both. The former to lift us up, the later for mutual support and empathy.

In the Strong and the Weak, Paul Tournier talks about how we need both (just look at Japan‘s aging population).

Virtual friendship is even more delicate than platonic. It’s out there, in the ozone (like pics sent from the Curiosity Rover in Mars), unreachable, but real nevertheless.

How impactful can it be? To what extent can we help one another online? What are the measures of a man/woman? Glowing recommendations? List of degrees and accomplishments? Or just his/her smile, transparency and potential?

Perhaps all of the above. For we start relying on machine-matched relationships. We are developing relational skills that have never existed nor been taught in school. Welcome to 21st-century network effect. Now go, shake hands (virtually) and introduce yourself.

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.

Nature as reminder

Scientists just found out that Earth is much older than previously thought. It certainly has a way to maintain itself.  Remember Tsunami and Fukushima? or the Louisiana oil spill and Katrina? At the time, we thought we couldn’t bear the grunt, but one by one, they are now behind us.

Same thing with this summer ‘s drought and consumer sentiment dip.

Yet, it is known that many companies are hoarding cash e.g. Apple .

In NYC, Chinese got in line to buy a few phones, just to hand-carry them back to Main Land.

Those phones were made by FoxConn, Taiwanese who contracted out to Main Land to begin with.

When users need tech support or help from customer service, the calls got routed to India or Philippines. To be cool and hip, one buys clothes that go with the phone.

Again, those clothes are now Made in Vietnam.

There are signs every where to remind us of a wider world out there unlike the man who ” while life goes on around him everywhere he’s playing solitaire” courtesy the Carpenter’s Solitaire.

When we say our bedtime prayer, people in the Far East are off to action. It’s like the story of a hare and a turtle. In a race.

When do we turn around to learn from others, from nature and its permanence?

The best gift we can offer the world and others is being ourselves. By being authentic, we allow them to be themselves as well. Break the ice. Break the silence. Break the barriers.

We are not marketers who try to segment our customer base.

We are people who need people (who make our I phones and our Nike shoes).

Remember, tonight, when we go to sleep, others in the Far East are getting up to punch in, at factories and farms (server) to maintain our data base or make our footwear. Be mindful and thankful that nature and evolution are both working in our favors. BTW, they are talking about I-phone 5 already. It’s a dry summer here, but it rains elsewhere in the world. The machine is off here, but they are humming 24/7 around the world. It’s a different world now but nature stands to bear witness to those changes, as always.

Start from the start

Science has just made a great leap.

Congratulations. They have discovered the equivalent of DNA of the universe. Named it Higgs, after the scientist.

This lifts the burden off our shoulders: we are not faceless random masses.

If there are DNA’s, there are designs and destination (you might not like it if it’s not to your preferences).

But at least, not random. There is trajectory of time, of predictability and hopefully, rationality.

Things make sense.

Causes and consequences albeit with doubt in between (why Evil seems to have its field day, for instance).

Then, unintended consequences: divorce fall-out, disruption of technology ….

Kids suffer.

Vicious cycle . In Vietnam, the saying goes “cha an man, con khat nuoc” (the Dad sowed, but the children reap).

Before this discovery, we all intuitively sensed that there were order in the universe. Just couldn’t prove it.

But we hum along when hearing “Rhythm of the rain.”

Even the heat waves.

Then the cycle of war (Disputes in the China Sea… rumbles in the MidEast)

There are seasons in the sun. Time to fight, time to make peace.

Underneath it all, lies the DNA, and the Higgs.

Fundamental of fundamentals.

Healing and destruction.

And someday, completion, at least, for us, one by one.

At some point, each of us must stop and ponder: what is life.

Multiple flavors. Wrapped up in one package from the start: our moment of birth. No expectation, no preconception, no reflection. All future. Good start  right from the start.

Random disasters

I have randomly collected disasters: monk burning, war evacuation, nuclear melt-down, boat people exodus, LA riot and earthquake, 9/11, Katrina relief and lately, my Penn State.

Living in disaster zones.

Affected by but not addicted to them.

So I cherish a quiet Sunday morning…until the Euro soccer game starts.

There will only be one winning team.

We will see tears of joy and tears of sorrow.

Of grown men’s faces.

The Italian men perhaps will cry either way. You can count on it.

Months of living in economic disaster zones. Tears of catharsis.

Half way through 2012. Half way through economic recovery I hope.

Half way through living the process called life.

Life on disaster zones. Maybe Branson and cohorts were right after all.

The only real vacation is to escape into orbit, for however long.

Space tourism.

Away from it all, gravity included.

One action begets an opposite and equal response.

Go figure.

Are we called to sit still and be monkish?

I saw the monk do just that, in the middle of a busy intersection.

Until gasoline was poured on him .

Then, in the light of day, flame and fuel just exploded, burning hot.

People postured and prayed  Buddhist chants. There were noise but there was also silence. Awe and willful defiance. Collective statement but individual suffering.

Live together and die alone. No randomness there, because history flows only one-way: from chaos to control and vice versa.

For me, I don’t go collecting disasters. Enough to last a lifetime.

Let the game begin, on screen. It’s safer that way, for me, at least.

The players in the field, however, will face random collision and pain.

Part of the game. Part of life. Part of the price one pays to be best in class.

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