Happy Anniversary, Fulbright Decision!

Exactly a year ago today, I was told that I had 26 hours to decide whether or not I was going to pack up my life to live and work for a year in Vietnam. Twenty six hours and no later.

The moment stood out to me so much because when I received the phone call, I was on the CalTrain to San Francisco, getting ready for my first big performance in front of an audience of over 1,000 people at the San Francisco Castro Theatre. (Shoutout to NAPAWF APAVM womyn!) I also remembered that moment so clearly because that was the moment that my career path had split into two – same goal, but different journeys. One path had already been clear: I was to interview for a small school that was more aligned with my vision of community education, and to continue pushing myself in my personal goals. I had achieved my fastest half-marathon and full-marathon times that school year, developed meaningful relationships with the people around me, and felt I had achieved self-love for the first time in my life.

Now another path appeared: I was to return to my parents’ – my homeland to challenge myself and grow mentally and emotionally; I was given the opportunity improve my skills in teaching English Language Learners, to learn about Vietnamese culture, and to build relationships with the family that I never got to know beyond one-week vacations to Vietnam.

I knew both roads were related to education and would eventually lead me back to the same career goal, but both alluded to different year-long journeys. Thanks to my dad’s cautious upbringing, I had never chosen a risky path growing up. I also always had a supportive community each time I moved someplace new. If I chose Fulbright Vietnam, I would have had to start a new community, despite the fact that my family was going to be somewhere in the country. (I hadn’t known I would be placed in Hue, yet.) If I stuck to the path I had already planned for myself, I would become more deeply rooted in my school district’s community, and further build the personal relationships that fed my soul the love it needed each and every day.

But after talking to my housemate Andre, I knew what I really wanted. But I still had to sleep on it. I performed my heart out that night, the thumping of my chest amplified by the combination of stage-high and the decision looming over the evening. After the adrenaline died out and fatigue crept in, I let my mind rest on the decision, and called the advisor. “Yes, I’d love to take the position.”

After I ended the call, tears welled up in my eyes. I would have to leave everything and everyone who made me who I was for at least 10 months. I took a risk for the better good of my future, hoping that I would come back a more resolved and informed person, as well as more culturally competent with added tools to better communication with families from immigrant backgrounds. I knew the realization of the benefits would soon outweigh the sadness, and that America would see a better me by the end of my term.

Almost 10 months later, I not only achieved that I set out to do, but I achieved more than I could have ever imagined. I’ve fostered learning that had Vietnamese students defy the stereotype that they couldn’t express themselves creatively or critically in English. I’ve learned how to use Vietnamese in the classroom to enhance English language learning. I’ve provided balanced viewpoints about American culture in lectures and have provided opportunities for students to learn by drawing comparisons between what they know of Vietnamese culture and what they learn in class. I’ve engaged students in critical discussions about American government and policy-making while having them role-play the process within the different branches. I’ve learned from first-time-teaching mistakes and adjusted instruction accordingly. I’ve implemented a feedback system that allows me to check in on students’ understanding and investment at the end of each lesson. I have met my professional goals, and I have also established and met new goals I made along the way.

Almost 10 months later, I’ve also established two homes: Vietnam and America. In Vietnam, I’ve made good friends in each region I’ve lived in, especially Hue. I’ve developed meaningful relationships with relatives, friends – Vietnamese and ex-pats alike – and students. I’ve hung out with the same family members who witnessed my parents’ growth and saw myself in their stories. I’ve become part of another family, as I notice when I accidentally call Di Ngoc “mom” and intentionally call Khoai, Su, and No my brother and sisters. I’ve fed my need to run by training and beasting  through a half-marathon in Phu Quoc with friends in the hot hot heat.

As for my connections in America, I’ve strengthened bonds with close friends I saw often at home, as well as reconnected with friends I rarely saw but still held close to my heart. I’ve utilized video chatting way more than I ever would. I’ve grown to understand each of my family members through communicating with them and the people grew up loving them, as well as our context in terms of where we’re rooted and where we resettled.

In one week, my work in Hue will end, and I will be on my way to waving “hen gap lai” to friends and family all along the country. I will have to leave everything and everyone who made me who I am within the past 10 months, but at the very least, I know I will be leaving as a better version of myself, and I owe it all to the people who have supported me throughout my time here, as well as the people who have helped me along the way.

Com Chay: Food for Thought and Soul

“You will never truly understand because you weren’t born here.”

The preceding quote sounds like something that would have turned me off from a conversation if told to me a couple months back. But it instead led to a deeper conversation about the war, the resettlement, where I am today, and where I’ll be in the future.

It began with an appetite that craved Hue vegan food. Steven and Jenelle usually rave about the new 40-cent vegan rice-dish restaurant by our school, so I set out to stop by after the usual student rush-hour (after 1PM, which is considered a late lunch by Hue standards).

I arrived at an empty restaurant and was welcomed with two fans that the manager turned on as I came in. I ordered in broken Vietnamese, flustered from the heat and the oil from my bike chain that smeared across my fingers, and headed straight to the sink to wash my hands. Given that the manager had not yet made my acquaintance, he sat across from me and spoke in Viet-lish (English mixed with Vietnamese) about a girl from Holland who now teaches in Vietnam. He seemed to have so much admiration for her, to the point that it seemed that no one could hold a flame to this person who made such a strong impression on this local Hue man. Great, I thought, another foreigner who gets more love that Vietnamese-Americans.

Once he noticed that I responded and asked questions in a variety of Vietnamese sentences, he went on to speak in fluent Vietnamese about the differences in Vietnamese and American culture. But unlike the usual over-generalizations (i.e. Americans never eat rice and eat only hamburgers; Americans don’t value commitment and marriage), he seemed to have a more balanced perspective. He asked if I was shocked about the fact that womyn liked to hold hands with each other, and that it was strange for a man and a womyn to hold hands. I told him that it wasn’t a familiar sight, but I understood that was normal in Vietnamese culture. Any question he asked, I tried to balance the conversation about culture using “it depends,” or “some people may be, yes.”

At this point, I was getting a bit antsy because 1) I had run low on bigger vocabulary, 2) my patience to use context clues was worn down by the heat, and 3) I tend to dislike unscheduled, long conversations when I have incomplete lesson plans hanging over my head. Then he mentioned it. The year 1975. I forgot how we came to the subject, but one minute, I had my 20,000 bill out, ready to get the check, then the next, I rolled it back into my palm as he retied his wad of change in a tan rubber band. “Where were you that year?” I asked him.

The gates opened. The conversation I had waited to have with a local beyond my relatives, but never did because I never got close enough to ask anyone about a topic I didn’t know how to mention. Similar to my approach, he remained very diplomatic, mentioning the many sides, yet overall stating that no matter who you were, you struggled – North, South, Central, refugee, uninterrupted citizen – every mother cried from a loss of a husband or child, and every one fought – either in war, or to stay alive.

He thanked me for my work in Vietnam, and then he said:

“You will never truly understand because you weren’t born here. You can ask your parents about Vietnam. And yet, even though your parents were born here, they are only able to understand from the portion of their lives that they lived here. You must seek the truth from the people who have been here since birth.”

And there it was. I was an outsider again. But this time, I was okay with it. I finally understood that 9+ months in this country couldn’t make up for the 25 years I lived outside of it. Being Vietnamese-American gave me a different set of problems that I can’t seek solutions within either country that has granted me this identity in isolation. All I could do is seek understanding in others, and only then, I can find answers for myself.

When asking me whether I’d like to raise a family in America or Vietnam, I told him that since I was born in America and was familiar with the lifestyle, I would have an easier time in America. He quickly noted that my parents probably thought that at one point as well before they left Vietnam, but instead dived right into America and found ways to adapt. (This is omitting, of course, my current trajectory involving choice rather than refuge.) Either way, he wanted me to understand that I was only an outsider for now. He said, 

“People are distant from you because they believe you’re only there to help them. They become closer when they believe you’re there because you love them.”

When he said that, I smiled. Indeed, this is the type of impression I hope I leave or have left with those I work with – from my previous 5^th grade students to my current university-level students. Before having that conversation, I believed that the next two weeks will busy busy busy as I do all I can to wrap up a month’s worth before my grant ends at the end of this month. Now, after this chance conversation, I believe that the next two weeks is the last of the quality time that I will have with five amazing groups of students who I have only had the opportunity to know since February. Instead of trying to instill that I am there to help them with functional language skills, I want to leave them with fun yet practical ways to engage in the English language and the idea that they can empower themselves to learn beyond my time in Hue. In the end, I don’t want to be known as their teacher who just happened to be Vietnamese American. I want to be the teacher who inspired them to learn because she planned and executed lessons with consideration of their needs as English as a Foreign Language learners. The one who came to Vietnam to teach because she wanted to learn more about her que huong through daily interactions with people and observance of the culture. The one who cared for her students and found ways to support or build relationships with them in and outside the classroom.

It may be a bit late in the semester to declare such goals, but at least I know I can press the refresh button this week and make it known that I expect better for and from myself.

(Thank you quan chay manager for clarifying my mindset.)

Getting in Touch with the Inner Fish

*Disclaimer: I understand the different ideologies that Vietnamese and overseas-Vietnamese have, and I want to clarify that the excerpt of my mother’s journey is told through my mother’s perspective from an earlier time period. Our current beliefs are not reflected in this piece, nor can I speak for any individuals or organizations I mention here.

When I was six years old, my mother started taking my sister and me to Carson Park to swim. The public swimming pool at this park offered lessons twice a week on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and my mom was determined to have us learn how to swim. I remember when I first registered, I had to be a certain age to join the “polliwog” group, which was designed for older beginners.

“She’s seven,” my mother said at the registration desk.

“Six and a half!” I argued for no particular reason other than the truth.

So six-and-a-half year old me was permitted into the polliwog group, and I continued learning and advancing groups until I reached the “fish” level, which was two levels away from the highest group. At this point, I was nine and started to lose faith in my ability as my vision weakened more and more. Without 20/20 vision underwater and above the surface, I didn’t want to continue my lessons. And that was that.

Only recently did I come to reflect on why my mother wanted Thao and I take up swimming. I remember every Tuesday and Thursday, she would be the only parent who sat outside of the gated pool to watch us learn how to swim. Other parents simply dropped off their kids and returned to pick them up 1.5 hours later. Whenever I beat the other kids in a kickboard or free-style race, I would run up to my mom with the biggest smile on my face, and her smile mirrored mine. But when I asked if she wanted to do Friday community swims with us, she simply shook her head and told us that she didn’t want to, but she said she would drive us to the pool if we wanted to go.

One day, when I was old enough to understand her journey in context of the war, my mother explained that she almost drowned when she tried to flee Viet Nam. Her and her older brothers were on their second attempt to escape the country, and they were told to meet a group of escapees by a pier. Suddenly, gunshots disturbed the quiet night and people panicked and scurried to safety, unaware of their direction and of the source of the gunshots. In the process, my mother lost her brothers (I would not serve their story justice if I write about their fate here) and found herself at the edge of the pier, staring into the black abyss of the sea. She had two choices: stay and die via torture or regime change, or jump and hope that she would be saved.

While both choices presented a high chance of death, especially since she didn’t know how to swim, she chose to jump. After she jumped, she told me she felt the water fill her lungs as she sank slowly to the bottom of the sea. She lost consciousness, but several moments later, she regained consciousness on a fisherman’s boat. She never questioned how she got there. All she could do was thank God for providing her with the chance to live.

The kind of boat my mom was pulled onto

Because of that experience, my mother was scared to enter large bodies of water, especially those of indeterminate depth. I remember how my mom would hang out on pool steps or on the shore of the beach as my sister and I daringly splashed around in the deep end or in rolling waves. She was too traumatized to try to swim.

This was only true until five years ago. Toward my latter years of college, I received a phone call from my mother and asked her if there was anything new. “I’m learning how to swim!” she exclaimed excitedly.

The silence on my end of the line indicated my shock. She continued, “I realized I shouldn’t let my fear take over my life, and I recently started taking lessons at the community pool close to my work. Oh honey, I’ve been such a quick learner, and everyone loves me there!”

At that moment, I was so proud of my mom. And I still am. Five years later, she still swims every other day and even gives secret lessons to people who play around in the water and don’t have enough money to pay the community pool. Over 30 years after her traumatic incident, she not only overcame her fear, but she became a source of empowerment.

With occasional access to pools or the beach, I find myself thinking about my mom as I relearn how to free-style or even simply breathe while swimming. I think about her watching me on the sidelines, waiting for me to come over to talk about my victorious event. I also think about her swimming alongside, or lapping me as I catch my breath on the wall. Most importantly, I think about the fear she overcame when she jumped off that pier, and when she decided to overcome her anxiety about swimming.

Thao, one of my sources of inspiration, after taking on an Olympic distance triathlon. Still lookin' good.

Along with my mother, I think about my best friend Robert, who updates me about his number of laps around the public pool and laughs with me about our choice of swimming widths rather than lengths. I think about my sister, Thao, who is not only a twice-a-month marathoner, but is also a triathlete who is training for her half-Ironman in July, taking place during the hottest month of the year and in the hottest area in Northern California. I also think about the high incidences of drowning across Vietnam, especially among young children in rural provinces, and I think about the people and programs that dedicate themselves to educating and empowering the community by teaching them about swimming safety. Through their inspiration, I have become more motivated to get in touch with the inner fish, not only to empower myself, but also in hopes of spreading the inspiration that others have granted me.

------

This post is dedicated the aforementioned individuals and programs, especially Hue Help’s swimming program. Please help educate young children on swimming safety by donating to their campaign.

Bilingual Education

Twelve years ago, the Bilingual Education Act was banned with the passage of No Child Left Behind, an educational policy that deemed it unfair to bilingual students that they given special treatment for their limited English skills. NCLB and different authorities in education across the States wanted to provide students the chance to equally participate in classrooms with their peers.

Three years ago, I was given the opportunity to teach N, a student who had just moved from Vietnam to the States and had minimal English language background. On the first day of my teaching career, I looked out into my class of 32 students who all had different learning needs, and glanced at N every now and then to see if she understood my explanation of class expectations. She looked at me with wide eyes, but she never wanted to displease me by showing anything other than obedience. As much as I did my best to cater to the majority of the class, I knew N deserved better. I knew she needed someone to teach her basic English skills, from the phonemes to phonetics, and I knew that I had to do more than what I was doing to ensure she was learning as much as she could everyday she came to school.

Thankfully, I had a Vietnamese colleague who taught 2nd grade, and she and I collaborated to ensure that N and her brother were able to learn English with her, while they would return to their main classrooms for other subjects. Mrs. C was able to teach the rest of her class in English and check in on N and her brother in Vietnamese, providing them more confidence to not only participate in her classroom, but also in their homeroom. I remember how the rest of the class would gasp in excitement and applaud N's work in class, and I especially remember the rare and shy smile that would emerge whenever she elicited such a reaction.

While I was less free and less skilled to engage in bilingual education when I taught in California, I have been provided the room (and lack of administrative oversight) to do so in my classes here in Hue. At the beginning of my grant, I was told by different teachers that it would be difficult to get the students to speak in English to each other, and that they would often speak in Vietnamese to one another. I initially found that frustrating, but once I realized that the students spoke to each other in Vietnamese to clarify meanings and directions, I became flexible and more intentional about the use of different languages in the classroom. For example, after introducing an activity, before expecting them to engage in it immediately, I will give them time to clarify things in Vietnamese before they begin. I also give them Vietnamese definitions for English words so they understand the full meaning rather than an English shade of meaning that they may not understand either.

Yesterday, I taught a lesson on the military-industrial complex -- an idea that took me a while to understand myself -- to my U.S. Government Administration class. Midway through the lesson, I realized that I was doing most of the talking, so I gave them some time to process and answer comprehension questions. When it came to analytical questions, I realized that they were too shy to discuss the answers in English, so I encouraged them to discuss in Vietnamese (90% I couldn't understand due to all the technical terms), but I asked them to report back in English. Once they were able to brainstorm and clarify different concepts with their partners in Vietnamese, they answered questions of their choice by writing and speaking in English, showing me that their seeming-inability to answer questions in the beginning was based only on the fact that they were not given the time to think in their primary language first.

While I am not a certified bilingual education teacher, I understand the importance of students being able to process information in their home language, especially in their home country. I know that there is no such thing as "lazy" or "dumb" students, because I understand that students may not be able to complete tasks due to lack of confidence, understanding, or even encouragement. Therefore, I have enjoyed and utilized the unstated freedoms I have in the classroom to cater to my students' needs as well as my ability to engage in my students' language (an upside of being "Viet-Kieu").

Sometimes, when I see the positive feedback in their journals (ex: "I feel happy that I understand today's lesson!") or see the smiles on my students' faces when they see my effort in catering to their language needs, I think about N and how much I wished I could have done the same for her. At the same time, I mentally shake my fist at the inflexibility of California public education, particularly at policy makers' misunderstanding of the diverse needs in a California classroom. However, as I am learning how to be a better educator from my students here, I am also taking notes on what I can do better for English language learning students at home. Public education as an entire entity may not be on its way to revolutionary change here or abroad, but I can always push myself to be a better educator by learning for and from my students.

My Third New Year: Songkran

I have had the opportunity to celebrate three different new years in Southeast Asia: Western New Year, Lunar New Year, and Songkran -- which is a new year celebration for folks from Cambodia, Laos, Thailand, and Burma held around April 13-15 (extended if those days fall on a weekend). Since most of my students left for military training (mandatory for second year university students), I decided to take a week-long break to travel to Thailand for Songkran and run errands/see family in Sai Gon, and my friend Dave also came along since he had a holiday break.

Initially, my main draw to Songkran was the fact that it would be a multiple-day long water fight, which would take place during the hottest days of the year. Given that my family wasn't able to afford (nor wanted to spare the money to buy) water guns for me and my sister, I spent most of my childhood yearning for the $29.99 SuperSoaker with the water-tank backpack on the back page of the Toys 'R Us weekend ad. I dreamed of the day that I would get the chance to hoist the end of a SuperSoaker on my shoulder and shoot sharp bursts of water at the boys who teased me for having four eyes and a gutter mouth (cruel ways to say I had glasses and braces). Or the day I would be able to engage in a friendly water fight without having my neighbor yell at me and my friends for ruining the street asphalt with water balloons. (I kid you not.) Honestly, I had not known much about Songkran or the events that would take place beyond what friends told me and YouTube videos showed me. I wanted to create my own impression of it from my travels.

Day 1: Engage
When we arrived to Bangkok, the capital of Thailand, we boarded the SkyTrain to get to my friend Huong's apartment, whom I had known from Berkeley and had graciously allowed us to stay at her place. After a few stops, I noticed young Thai folks board the train with what I assumed to be sunscreen smeared across their cheeks and cell-phones hung in protective-plastic covering around their necks. Some sat down with a big water gun in their lap, while stood in groups with their gun loosely held by their thigh. My excitement grew each time I saw a young person with a water gun come onto the train.

Once we got off the train, we jumped into a metered taxi to get to Huong's. When we came close, we saw a group of kids outside a nearby 7-11 (they're everywhere in Bangkok) with buckets of water and water guns. Considering we had luggage, I was immediately thankful for being in a covered car. Regardless, our taxi got doused with water.

Ruthless kiddos

After we dropped off our things, we headed to the nearest 7-11 for our food supply and to purchase water guns. (Words of advice: DON'T buy water guns from 7-11. You'll see why.) The employees also kindly filled our water guns, and we noted how in Western countries, you would never see that kind of generosity. Then we took a taxi into town, which wasn't too far away. However, traffic was blocked for days going toward Khao San, the backpacker's area, so we got out and made the rest of the journey on foot.

With our (what we found to be) weak water guns in hand, we soon became victims to wet-chalk-smearing and water-dousing from ice-water buckets and high-powered water blasters. We walked in a line to squeeze past our predators and prey and through vendors selling water-dousing and shooting devices, food and drinks. Every person we passed was sure to leave us with one or the other, and I let out a gleeful shriek every time I was attacked, which contrasted with the silent yet friendly attackers who ranged from 5-year-olds who barely met the height of my knee to sneaky food vendors who hid behind their hot, fried food (amazingly untouched by water) with a water gun resting by their ankles.

The end of the massive water zone, with a water truck for unlimited ammo

Close-up. Look at the young girl in the front of her dad's motorbike. Pure awesomeness.

Taking a break to look tough. We were shot soon afterward.

Now, here's where I started drawing connections between Songkran and the Zombie Apocalypse. Yes, reading "World War Z," "The Zombie Survival Guide," and the first 90 issues of "The Walking Dead" as well as watching the TV series has created this survivalist-type thinking, but I couldn't help but think about the similarities, and how the creators of these books and series were so on point with tapping into the human psyche. Here's a Venn Diagram I drew to compare the experiences:

Venn diagrams are useful for organizing thoughts other than ones you gather from your 2nd read, former students.

Anyway, I digress. These were some basic rules of Songkran water fighting that I learned by observation and trial-and-error:

This called out to me throughout the day.

• Friendly-fire is accepted and expected.
• Stay off the streets, for safety reasons and to avoid truck beds fulls of people with buckets and water blasters.
• Food vendors are essential to survival and general food consumption. They can shoot you, but don't shoot back if you want that delicious omelet with rice.

Don't be this guy.

• Some places have been informally established as bases. Don't be a dirt bag and shoot people from the base, causing people within to put their guard back up, potentially have their meal soaked, or even turn the base into a war zone.
• Once you make eye contact with your prey/predator, you must shoot, or else they will attack you first. Don't let that cute 8-year-old girl fool you. She's smiling innocently during this stare-off because she has a bucket of ice water behind her that she will dump all over you once you let your guard down.
• Shoot people below the face. The face is reserved for chalk.
• Chalk people gently on the face. Don't slap it on them -- that's very disrespectful.
• No need to engage in a chase with your attacker/attackee. Just shoot and move on.

Area around Khao San. Notice how blocked up the road on the left is.

After realizing that the water-fighting continues into the evening, we caught a cab home (again, not realizing how close we were to the apartment) and researched Songkran and Bangkok a bit more to see what we could make of our trip. We then mapped out our plan for the next day, which involved seeing how much we could avoid the backpacker's area and getting hit by water.

Day 2: Learn
Apparently, the extremity of the water fighting had been a development within the past couple years; fun and water-fighting hasn't always been the focus of Songkran. Thai New Year is usually celebrated by visiting the wats (temples) and bringing food to the monks. Water is usually doused gently over the shoulder of a Buddha statue or people as a sign of washing away the bad forces. Some people even purchase gold-stickers to re-touch worn-Buddha statues. We dedicated our second day to learning more about the culture and observing the holiday celebration.

A womyn washing and cleaning the Buddha statue

Folks praying for new year blessings

Wat Pho: home of the largest reclining Buddha in Bangkok

When I asked for a coffee shake at Wat Pho, I didn't imagine that my coffee would get shaken in this manner.

The delivery and quality was worth every Baht.

Tuk-tuks get the worst of it. Observing from inside a Thai dessert shop after eating delicious seafood phad-see-ew.

From the top of Wat Arun: the sunrise temple. (In case you're wondering how I managed to get chalked on a day of avoidance, a womyn dancing on the street intrigued us and sneakily gave us some new year's blessings. Songkran is everywhere.)

Rainclouds looming over the city, heading over Wat Arun. Looks like they'll be the main predators for Songkran tonight.

We had a nice day checking out the wats, learning about the holiday celebration through respectful observance, and practicing our Thai (with my Southeast Asian phrasebook in hand), but we were ready to escape tourist-filled, humid Bangkok to go to the local island of Koh Samet.

Day 3 - 4: Escape
Koh Samet is a three-hour bus ride and one-hour ferry ride south of Bangkok. In researching a destination to travel to, Dave and I agreed that we need to be around water and would enjoy a break from a touristy area, so this place seemed best -- and it was. On the way in, local kids threw buckets of ice-cold water at us, but once we got to the area we were staying in, we seemed to be in a place unknown to the rest of the world. There were more Thai folks than foreigners (which is what this beach was noted for), and they also seemed to want to spend their Songkran holiday in peace. The rain seemed to come only during early morning or late evening hours, and I was able to swim, walk around, and enjoy watching the clouds pass and the stars come out without the normal noise and air pollution. This was the last of my out-of-country travel under the Fulbright grant, and I was able to enjoy every bit of it.

Lunch at the top of a pier, overlooking Candlelight Beach

Evolution of Language (Learning)

When I first came to Hue, I came with a peculiar Vietnamese language background:

• Growing up, I only knew the appropriate words to address adults upon first meeting them and bidding them farewell.
• I attended Vietnamese Saturday school so I could play Playstation with my Vietnamese-American friend after class. I did learn that there are multiple forms of Vietnamese vowels, and I mastered lip-syncing "Que Huong" for a concert the whole school had to perform in.
• I took a Vietnamese class in Berkeley before I left for Singapore, knowing that during my time abroad, I would visit my relatives when I got the chance to. Thay Bac, our professor and awesome uncle figure, made that daily one-hour class the highlight of my day, as I sat in the floor of the crowded class and fearlessly read letters and words incorrectly, waiting for Thay Bac to smile at our foolishness and correct us with care.
• In Hanoi, we had a two-week crash course in Vietnamese. Since Quan, Trevor, and I already had a decent background in the language, we spent most of our time studying outside the main class. We used our various strengths to reading, writing and speaking to understand the lesson, and compared and contrasted it with what we understood of the Southern dialect. However, most of the words we learned were from the Northern region. 

Yet, by the time I came to Hue, all that background knowledge went out the window. "What language are you speaking?" I would sometimes hear from street vendors and jokingly from new friends. My excitement of utilizing prior knowledge eventually died out, and I became more intent on listening and reading rather than producing. In turn, people would mistake my listening and desire to absorb conversations as my inability to speak Vietnamese. 

I was warned by multiple folks in the North that I would not be able to understand the Hue accent... And they were right. The Hue accent reflects the old Imperial kingdom that consisted of songwriters and poets. (Hue was the capital of Vietnam before the French took over.) At one point in time, it was the language of royalty and artists. Now, to outsiders, it's the least comprehensible dialect of all famous cities in Vietnam.

However, I noticed a change after my last visit to Hanoi in February. The dialect I once found comfortable became too rough and quickly spoken. I was constantly asked to repeat my words, and I often struggled to change my accent right away. The city I had once loved and enjoyed with my Fulbright friends had become foreign to me, and once I came back to Hue, I felt at home again. The voices of local restaurant employees and banh bao bikes sang to me in crescendos and decrescendos, sharps and flats. When the language speaking went beyond my comprehension, at least a smile would be returned to show that it was all alright, "khong sao." The relief in returning to Hue made me realize that Hue had evolved into my home.

Nowadays, I've been pushing my language learning because I realized that learning about a culture also involves studying the language. I want to better understand people, and understanding the way they use (or don't use) the language increases that understanding, and I'm doing so by speaking Vietnamese consistently when hanging out with students, Hue friends (i.e. Thao (not my sister)), and my relatives (mostly Khoai). By continually asking questions instead of making broad assumptions, by repeating new Vietnamese vocabulary and using them in examples, by asking for correct English translations, I have become a teacher-student/student-teacher. I am, in my own way, achieving a mini-model of Freire's concept of true education, making the learning experience meaningful because I am providing opportunities for my students to be my teacher, and for me to be the student.

I didn't realize this until I came home to Da Nang yesterday afternoon to check in on my family. Before coming back to the house, Khoai and I sat at a cafe and talked about future goals, problems, and solutions. It was a conversation that lacked the usual bursts of laughter that came from confusions of learning each other's primary language. It was a conversation focused on me understanding matters within my mom's side of the family, only for the sake of knowing and putting everything I knew into context of the bigger picture. Within a matter of months, I had matured from one who didn't have the language skills to communicate basic opinions, to one who can now do so, but has much room left to improve communicating critical thoughts.

Crossroads

With about two months left until my grant ends, I often find myself brainstorming what I should do once I come back home. At first, the choice seemed easy: go back to the classroom. But now, I feel that there's more I need to do before I make that decision.

In my letter of intent to Fulbright, I made it clear that I wanted to become a teacher in Vietnam because 1) I wanted to learn more about my culture through interacting with students and community members, 2) I wanted to engage in learning and educating that went beyond standardized tests (which is a whole 'nother beast here), and 3) I wanted to take the English Language Learner resources I've used here and bring it back to the States. Linearly, it makes sense for me to come back to the classroom I once taught in. But I've experienced so much here that I feel I should look into different options before I settle back into where I once was.

Option 1: Working directly with a Vietnamese-American community. The past 6-7 months here have been spent learning about my parents' culture and their experiences in Vietnam. I still feel like an outsider, given that outside etiquette, titles, and knowledge of Vietnamese dishes, I didn't know much about Vietnamese culture. I just knew about Vietnamese-Americans who didn't live with other Vietnamese-Americans. (Does that make sense?) What I'm trying to say is, I want to know more about and assist Vietnamese communities that have resettled into the States because I wasn't a part of that culture growing up. Now that I know about the cultural adjustments that they have to make, I feel I could serve as a valuable asset and that I can also learn a lot more from them.

Option 2: Continue learning by working with a different immigrant/refugee community. Something I missed about working at a successful small school in Oakland was their emphasis on understanding their students' culture and heritage. Cultural diversity and different languages spoken in the household were seen as an assets rather than deficits. I was reminded of this when my friend sent me an article about a similar school in England. There are so many wonderful practices I need to learn from, and once I learn them, I would be able to benefit the community I once worked in.

Option 3: Working in a small school that prioritizes communication with family and community. My previous school was so bogged down with directions from the district on bringing up our students' test scores that we hardly got to reserve time to get to know our students and their families outside of disciplinary actions. I was one of the few teachers in the school who attempted to visit all students' families on my own initiative, and without administrative support and encouragement, it was difficult to continue doing things that I felt were necessary to build a community within the classroom. Therefore, I need to work in a school that makes family communication a priority and keeps the community in the loop with school events. I need to feel part of a united community that actively prioritizes our students and recognizes their needs outside test scores.

While I have been concerned having a job after the grant, I've taken the time since my last post to live in the moment. Here are some fun things that have happened:

• Friday before last, I participated in Fun Football (Soccer in the States) Friday with Thao, who works for Football For All: Vietnam, a Norwegian NGO that introduces football to schools to promote positive feedback among teachers and retention among students. (Nguyen-Nguyen situation.) A few minutes into the game, I got the ball and instinctively (I was probably scared to keep it for too long) kicked it to Thao, who then scored a goal for our team. Even though we didn't get much play after that, it was mini-victory for us as amateur footballers (okay, I don't even think I qualify as amateur) and as womyn. We still talk about it to this day.
• For the topic of political parties, I had my students debate on same-sex marriage given their political party stance. Due to fear of students being ostracized for their personal opinions, I made it clear that they had to argue their point based on their party's beliefs. When I looked at the Republican side, I noticed how pout-faced and disappointed a few students were about having to argue against same-sex marriage. "I can't fight my heart," one student stated. As sad as it was that they had to fight their own personal beliefs, I was happy to see how passionate they were about the topic.
• I went to Truoi Lake (in Phu Loc, an hour outside of Hue) this past Saturday with Dave, fellow Huester/Phu Quoc half-marathon training homie/karaoke king. At one point, Dave's bike broke down in front of a cafe close to our destination, and we were invited to drink tra da while the cafe owners called over the closest mechanic. The mechanic then let us borrow his bike to continue making our way to the lake and so he could have time to fix Dave's bike. (Hella Hue hospitality.) We then continued on our mini-trip. 

Love the water

In Vietnam, some folks like to take "sneak-attack" pictures of foreigners by sitting next to them and having a friend take a picture of them and the unsuspecting foreigner. In this case, the young man just held the camera in front of Dave and took the picture point-blank. I did the same to recreate the effect and capture Dave's slight discomfort.

Lovely girl we met on the ferry

Temple at the top of the stairs

View of Truoi Lake (makes the climb worth it)

Inside the temple

• This past Sunday, I had a lazy day that started with a bougie latte at the top of Imperial Hotel. It was recommended for its view, and from the top, you can see the difference between the different parts of the city, which is split by Huong River.

The Citadel side, where no building is allowed to be higher than the King's palace.

Citadel side

The more modern part of Hue on the other side of the river. I never noticed how wide Hung Vuong Street is.

• After coffee, I went to Thuan An Beach with Jenelle and Binh to enjoy the weather. (And by enjoy the weather, I mean sleep.) Eva and Lena, German volunteers who work with people with disabilities in Hue, also joined us later on. We ended the night with awesome seafood by the beach.

Beautiful people

Last picture of the day

While I am at a crossroads concerning what lies ahead in the future, new discoveries and Hue friends always give me new reasons to love this city, keeping me in the moment and reminding me that I still have much more to appreciate.