Another day in Vietnam…

I’m home, I’m actually surrounded by the language, the people I’m familiar with, and where I grew up with. The reverse culture shock is not that severe, but I still feel different. I had so many feelings going back home and all the days ahead. I don’t really know where to go, what to do, and what will happen. They said what will be will be, but this uncertainty keeps giving me anxiety on a daily basis. 

When I came back, grandma was gone. What I could see was only the altar with her obituary photo which was carefully photoshopped to a template with a generic close up in ao dai with an emerald charm. I knew she passed away a long time ago, but still, it feels sad to know that the person is no longer on this earth, but only in our hearts, our minds, our memories. I remember very vaguely the time when I visited her, and I could sense the buzzing sound of the radio mixing with the voice of the broadcaster. There my grandma lied down sideways, resting her head on the palm, just like the lying Buddha statue you would often see in any Vietnamese pagoda. She would often speak in a heavy Hue accent but it was much harder to listen to because her front teeth fell off due to old age. She kept telling me “When will you show me a bride?”, as always, it's the worry of parents, or grandparents when they see their grown-up children in different stages of life. If you were a toddler, they would worry because you look too thin, and getting fatter would be an ideal body shape. When you become a teenager, they worry more about your academics, and want you to succeed, and when you start working, they will guide you towards marriage. 

I truly understand why and how they all did the same thing. They were all victims of trauma, victims of war, victims of politics. At the time when they had to run for their lives, dodging bombs, hiding from gunshots, assaults, who would get the time to learn about parenting? At the time when you can only earn limited food stamps and starvation, who would have the time to prepare for university? On days of starvation and emptiness and ransacking when we would never understand, they would do anything to keep things with them. Every small box, every container, every piece of paper became so valuable to do everything with it. small receipts, used tickets, envelopes became sticky notes; nylon bags became food containers, tupperware or whatever people want to call these days (small holes don't matter, microplastics don't matter if we are starving to death);  cardboard boxes became clipboards and drawing pads. Every drop of oil was so important for the lamp back in the days. The trauma was so heavily damaged to the entire generation that they have become deeply rooted to all the parents and grandparents. I complain and feel annoyed at how mom never throws things away, and all the rooms are filled with objects, items, packages instead of a living space, but I really understand how devastating it was back then to have nothing in your house, and what's the point of having space without having any groceries or items that keep you surviving? Every time I tried to throw things away, mom would become super angry and yell at us. I guess she found comfort and solace in the big disorganization and messy rooms with all the stuff everywhere because this is safety, this is fulfilling, this is the sense of having enough to cater for a family of ten.

I can't really change anything, and I will have to live with that. It might be quite annoying for me, but I understand what it's like to live like that. I will return to the US (for the last time) next Sunday. Can't wait to finish my studies and reach my graduation.

I think I should reach the end of my entry here. It was a heavy feeling for me, and I’m glad that the blog serves as my personal diary. At least when I die, my carbon footprint is not entirely gone.