I have no memory of the war. Yet, its long lasting effect once dwelled in me, subconsciously; years after the war had ended.
Tucked away somewhere inside my head and/or buried deep down at the far corner of my heart. . . As I grow older, I found myself revisiting it every so often seeking for an understanding, to touch it and to make peace with it.
I carried no grudge then. And that I don’t look back in anger now. There is only love, a love for one self, for my orphanage cousins, for my parents, for my grandparents, for the lost souls and the living of unsettled souls.
* * *
The Atmosphere of Tet
Hương Vị của Tết
Like many other Vietnamese families at the time, our family also tried to flee the country for neighboring countries’ refugee camps in search for resettlement in the United States, a place where many hold out hope to escape poverty, to seek freedom and opportunity for a better future.
Instead of taking the sea route, my parents chose to travel by land. And unlike the timely few, we got caught in Cambodia before making a border crossing into Thailand.
After being accused and labeled as traitors, we were then transported back to Vietnamese Correctional Center, the Chi Hoa Prison (Khám Chí Hòa), where I was kept together with my mother while my father was kept separately at the men quarter, away from us.
My memories of the place are scattered and vague. All I can remember were that it was an open yet dark space. People sleep on concrete floor. There were many ladies who loved me very much. They always gave me food, no matter how little they can share around; usually a roll of my favorite summer fresh Vietnamese spring roll (gỏi cuốn) dipping in black bean sauce (tương) sprinkled with peanut bits or a bowl of white rice congee (cháo) for a midnight snack.
Thus, at the tender age of three, I unknowingly enjoyed my stay at an unfamiliar place when the Lunar New Year (Vietnamese Tet) days were fast approaching.
Upon hearing the familiar seasonal sounding of the gong, clanging of the cymbals and beating of the drum, I innocently asked my mother to take me outside to watch a local troupe’s performance of the New Year’s Lion Dance (múa lân) - just to learn that, from inside, what was out there seemed out of reach. It was an understanding beyond my time.
Tet (Tết Nguyên Đán) or Vietnamese New Year is by far my most favorite celebrated festival of the year. After 18 years living here in the States, I greatly miss the atmosphere of such important celebration. A feeling, which I believe, is largely shared by all Vietnamese American.
It’s a sacred moment waiting upon the arrival of Giao Thua (New Year’s Eve) at the ancestral altar. At the crackling sound of firecrackers, past year comes to an end and Tet officially arrives.
The smell of smoke and burnt powder from exploded firecrackers is something that cannot be missed; pleasantly or unpleasantly, it’s a part of Tet. Yet, no one can deny the blissful feeling upon seeing those red scraps of firecrackers paper carpeted front yard on the morning of the New Year’s Day.
Tet is a time for family gatherings and remembrance. It is also a time to let go of past year’s sadness and usher in the New Year’s bliss.
As time goes by, the past cannot be held back. Letting go does not mean to allow it to be forgotten as it is a part of lives. Looking forward to the New Year in reconciliation, happiness is something that is learned through suffering.
* * *
A Sense of Belonging
Về Đâu
My family home is just a few blocks away from the Saigon River (Sông Sài Gòn), Bach Dang harbor (cảng Bạch Đằng).
When the war came to a close in the spring of 1975, my mother witnessed many Vietnamese people passing by the street in front of our family home as they were flocking toward the Saigon River by different means of transportation.
She turned to ask my grandfather on what the family should do? My grandfather said in reply that there are other people who are to stay behind; (they) who could manage, so can we.
And, yes, we did manage to go about our daily lives in post war, but not without a scar.
As young as I can remember, there are always my cousins and I. To them, I’m their youngest sibling. To me, they are my elder brothers and sister. My cousins have me and I have my cousins. Together, we are sheltered by the greater love of our grandparents, aunts and families.
It was not exactly what dream is made of since we (my cousins and I) were just ordinary young kids back then. Little we knew at the time that there was a boat carrying two hundred plus people set out to sea from Rach Gia on a fateful day. Among those people were our grandparents all, but two of their children. Only later on, we learned about the Vietnamese boat people and the fate of those who didn’t make it.
My cousin siblings came to realize who they are. It is far more than the fact that they were left orphans as their father was missing at sea and mother left them in the care of their grandparents.
Now, all grew up and have a family of their own. Whether or not they speak openly about it with their spouses, in-laws and/or grown children, they should find love, support and comfort in those people to heal the wound.
In reflection, it’s not that their mother loves them any less in regard to her abandonment of them. But, in the moment of despair upon hearing the dishearten news of her husband’s unknown whereabouts; she gave them up and believed that it is for their better chances of survival without realizing the physical and psychological burden she left behind; and ultimately, carried along with her.
Would one be ashamed or shameful in seeing one’s mother living homelessly on the street side by the Saigon Hospital (Bệnh viện Sài Gòn), doing palm reading oracles to passerby, and possibly running in to drugs? Or, worst yet, being forced to sell fun to men and gotten impregnated. And finally, getting rounded-up and driven away by policemen after being considered as a problematic social object?
In the end, who is the sufferer and who are being suffered? Thus, seeking for human perfection is not the goal. The goal is to understand, accept and correct the imperfection. Likewise, blaming the surrounding circumstances is not the way. The way is to not let the surrounding circumstances to get the better of one. And that, there is only true love and understanding will rise above all things.
As years passed, there is still no framed picture of my uncle being placed on the altar in memoriam. Once recently, advertisements get aired and posted on our home country’s local TV stations and newspapers respectively in seeking for my aunt-in-law.
Though their “death” was never mentioned, it is coming to terms…
Let the healing process starting from here. So, no more tears to shed in silence and that the living souls are unsettling no more.
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