Previously posted on August 8th, 2005
“Get off him bitch! He’s mine!” the vendor lady screamed while attempting to sell me souvenirs. Apparently, the other women were so ecstatic to see a disoriented tourist that they surrounded me and shoved random items, like postcards and Pringles potato chips, into my face in hopes that something would be purchased. I broke through the feeble ring they formed and made a mad dash towards the tour bus. Gladly, the bus driver closed the door with quickness. I sat down thinking the worst was over with, but there they were again banging the windows of both sides of the bus. “We know you have money!”My mom wasn’t kidding when she said Vietnamese people could be incredibly persistent.
That was just one reason I was nervous about making a trip to Vietnam for the first time. People were always telling me horror stories after coming back from vacation in the homeland. The stories were about bribery, bargaining, arranged marriages, and restroom adventures. Some advice for everyone: bring toilet paper with you because you just might need it.
Yet, none of these things really bothered me that much. What made me truly anxious and uneasy was the thought that I wouldn’t fit in, that I couldn’t speak the language well enough, that I wouldn’t be accepted… that I wasn’t Vietnamese. Call it an identity crisis or whatever you want. It sounds so high school, like a freshman trying to figure out what kids to hang out with. It wasn’t like I was crying in the corner over it or throwing tantrums in order to get out of going. When the subject of visiting Vietnam came up though, my stomach would turn a couple times, and I didn’t even know why.
At least it wasn’t until I was watching a special on the Travel channel a year or two ago that I realized the answer. The show was about Vietnam and how it had changed since the 1970s. It was a typical documentary on how the war had torn up the countryside and how tourism was picking up. What got me was that the person explaining everything was American. How is an American going to tell me all about my culture?
Sadly, I couldn’t claim to know much about anything though. Culture, history, lifestyle… nothing could challenge the knowledge this American had. Damn! I had no right to be mad. Instead, the identity crisis started.
It also didn’t help when I opened the front door one day and found two American Jehovah’s Witnesses preaching to me in Vietnamese that was as good as, if not better, than my parent’s. I felt pretty lame.
It’s kind of like living in Zimbabwe with parents who are American. You don’t know about road rage. You don’t know about happy hour. You don’t know about Alief! Are you American?
So I went to Vietnam, a little excited, somewhat curious, and fearing the worst.
If you bothered to read this far, you’re probably wondering, “Well, what did you actually do over there?” And I’m going to say, “A lot,” mostly because it was a lot and I’m not about to write it all up. Besides, the stories are much better in person, and they involve epic journeys through imperial palaces and the whole works.
In the end, I dropped the whole identity crisis issue. There were times when I was disgusted with aspects of Vietnamese life (the need to pay off people for anything to happen), but at other times, I couldn’t help but smile. I’m not an expert now by any means, but it was eye-opening to meet family I never knew existed and to find out where my parents grew up. I became more proud of them knowing they left such a beautiful country behind only to start up a new life elsewhere for my sake.
I’m ok with being a Vietnamese American. I mean, ESPN Asia was great and all, but no thanks.
