In English class (again—we write so many interesting papers!), we recently finished reading The Things They Carried, by Tim O’Brien. While a novel and not a memoir, The Things They Carried is certainly a worthwhile read whether or not you are interested in the Vietnam War. O’Brien details his experiences as a young soldier in the war artfully and insightfully. I really enjoyed this book (O’Brien might be my new favorite author!), and I hope you will go out and read it.
Our assignment was to write about the things that we carry physically, emotionally, and otherwise. While I could write pages and pages on this, time is limited, and following is a slightly edited version of what I wrote:
On August 26th, I left for Vietnam. I carried two suitcases and a lime green backpack stuffed full. I carried clothes and shoes and shampoo and a pocket knife and sunscreen. I carried my sixteen-year-old pink walrus Mookie and Blankie and photos of my families and friends in the US. I carried homemade chocolate chip cookie bars for sustenance, and a box of pasta and miscellaneous gifts for my host family. My past sixteen years and my next four months of life in two suitcases and a lime-green backpack.
In the car on the way to the airport, I suddenly wondered, “What am I doing?!” Waving goodbye to my family as I passed through security, blinking the tears from my eyes, I wondered again, “Why am I doing this?!” From DC to LA, I carried anxiety and indecision. For five hours, I kept asking myself those questions. Then I got to LA and figured it out: I was going to Vietnam! And it was going to be awesome. An almost tangible sense of excitement buzzed in the air around me. I got quite impatient. Now I was carrying two suitcases, a lime green backpack, anxiety, excitement, and impatience. And when we finally arrived I found myself still carrying everything! Only when I met my new family could I put down my suitcases. And only now, months later, I have lost the anxiety and impatience (not the excitement though!).
So my load seems pretty light—just a lime green backpack. But how could I move here and not pick up anything new? I now carry four new pairs of shoes (they were a good deal!) and various gifts for my family and friends in the States. I carry new knowledge about Vietnam’s history and language, about writing and math, about economics and environmental science. I carry the same love of learning I have always carried, but it has grown stronger and rooted deeper. I carry the same morals and beliefs I left with, but with a new perspective. I carry the experience of living in a foreign developing country, of walking down a street knowing I am the only person in the vicinity who speaks English, of living with and loving a new family from a radically different culture. I carry an appreciation for this new culture as well as a deeper appreciation for my own. I carry a love for two countries.
I love the US for its democracy and checks and balances and people and ideas and free market. I love Vietnam for its people and their entrepreneurialism and for its beautiful mountains and for its potential. But right now it’s only potential, and I want to nurture it and watch it grow into something truly beautiful. I feel like my soul has split. Or rather multiplied. I love my home country no less, really more, and I have a newfound love for Vietnam and a desire to change it. To have two homes, thousands of miles apart, is tough love.
Friday, November 20, 2009
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
Mai Chau Reflection
In summary, we went on a school trip to Mai Chau for a weekend. Mai Chau is a small 'town' in the mountains North of Hanoi. We left on a Friday morning, and spent several days hiking around the area, staying in three different villages: Lac, Van, and So. We all felt proud of ourselves by the end, having "trekked" a total of almost 30 kilometers over the mountains! Mai Chau is gorgeous, where rice paddies cover the valleys and jungle forests cover the mountaintops and red dirt roads wind between the mountains. Highlights included: eating grasshoppers, hiking in the rain and turning red from the mud, giving up on shoes when they slipped off in the mud, sleeping in stilt houses, "mattresses" being hard cotton-stuffed bed rolls, a squat toilet flushed by hand, "showering" with buckets and water from a cold mountain stream, yoga with Happy (our 70-something year-old resident director's wife and college counselor), circus acts with Pascal (History teacher) and his daughter, shopping in Lac village, an intense girls versus boys soccer game (we won!), and a cultural performance by the Hmong minority people in Lac village. The following reflection (another English in-class writing assignment) regards this performance.
The notes of the not-quite-a-guitar filled the air and six women and three men in traditional costumes processed out and began to sing. I quietly slid up to the front and sat on the step to get a better view. The women’s faces, carefully painted with pale makeup and red lipstick, smiled dutifully. The men, awkward in their traditional costumes, stood staunchly by them. As they moved on to a dance of spring, the women pulled out lacy pink fans. They moved delicately, swaying gently to the music and always smiling. But they seemed to maintain an air of humility and even servitude as many of the dance moves included bowing and kneeling on the ground. I couldn’t help but get the impression that these women do not feel the same sense of empowerment that American women and even Vietnamese women living in cities enjoy. I know that I can do anything I want to with my life. But while the town of Mai Chau is actually quite well off compared to other villages nearby, it is still relatively isolated. These women probably knew their paths from the moment they were born in a rural village. They went to school for a while, helped around the house and farm, grew older, probably attending high school but not university, married and started a family of their own in the same village in which they were born and performed the same traditional songs and dances as their mothers and grandmothers. Perhaps they have opened shops and maybe risen a little from total poverty, but they certainly do not have the same opportunities I will and have already had. Surely they hope for more for their own children. They never stop smiling, but are they really happy?
*A note on women in Vietnam: here in Hanoi, women are clearly out in the working world and ride motorcycles to work every day like any man and seem to be very independent. In fact, the Vice President (or its equivalent position) of Vietnam is always a woman while the President (or equivalent position) is always a man. In America, we can barely manage a female candidate for the Vice Presidency. Nonetheless, I think women here have very different roles and opportunities in the countryside from in the city.
The notes of the not-quite-a-guitar filled the air and six women and three men in traditional costumes processed out and began to sing. I quietly slid up to the front and sat on the step to get a better view. The women’s faces, carefully painted with pale makeup and red lipstick, smiled dutifully. The men, awkward in their traditional costumes, stood staunchly by them. As they moved on to a dance of spring, the women pulled out lacy pink fans. They moved delicately, swaying gently to the music and always smiling. But they seemed to maintain an air of humility and even servitude as many of the dance moves included bowing and kneeling on the ground. I couldn’t help but get the impression that these women do not feel the same sense of empowerment that American women and even Vietnamese women living in cities enjoy. I know that I can do anything I want to with my life. But while the town of Mai Chau is actually quite well off compared to other villages nearby, it is still relatively isolated. These women probably knew their paths from the moment they were born in a rural village. They went to school for a while, helped around the house and farm, grew older, probably attending high school but not university, married and started a family of their own in the same village in which they were born and performed the same traditional songs and dances as their mothers and grandmothers. Perhaps they have opened shops and maybe risen a little from total poverty, but they certainly do not have the same opportunities I will and have already had. Surely they hope for more for their own children. They never stop smiling, but are they really happy?
*A note on women in Vietnam: here in Hanoi, women are clearly out in the working world and ride motorcycles to work every day like any man and seem to be very independent. In fact, the Vice President (or its equivalent position) of Vietnam is always a woman while the President (or equivalent position) is always a man. In America, we can barely manage a female candidate for the Vice Presidency. Nonetheless, I think women here have very different roles and opportunities in the countryside from in the city.
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