“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 5th 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.)
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