A forest
called Humanity.
I was born the youngest in the family and grew up during the long years of wars in VietNam from 1940 to 1965. My father was a well-known entrepreneur in North Viet Nam who specialized in public-works projects, that is to say, the construction of bridges, highways, and municipal buildings. But he also worked on tourist-resort projects and private residences. The Economic Depression in 1929 ruined him; one of his business partners, a French gentleman, committed suicide. We had to sell everything we owned at the time and moved to Hanoi to stay with my grandfather and with my dad's stepmother who was also my grandmother's sister. My three brothers, as well as most of my cousins were already there at Grandpa's, who actually raised them while my parents, uncles and aunts were away in different parts of the country.
My grandparents played an improtant role in my extended family.
My father, whose work often took him hundreds of miles away from the big
cities, could not provide us with the stability and continuity needed for a
good education. When we reached Junior
High, we were therefore sent to the Capital (Hanoi) to stay with Grandpa, so
that we could go to the best schools in the country. My uncle and my aunts did the same with their children, and
Grandpa's home became a fun and loving place where my cousins brothers and
sisters studied and played. There were
always more than a dozen of us there at the time, ranging from 12 to 16
year-olds. Meal times were Happy Hours,
as we all came home for lunch. Grandpa
never asked money from his children, though he was not a wealthy man, for he
was living on his pension and income from the rental of half of his estate,
which consisted of two stores in front and a huge two story-house where he, my
stepgrandmother, the grandchildren and 2 helpers lived.
We were all crowded in that house, but we never felt
cramped. We felt loved and taken care
of. My grandparents had their own
quarters, the helpers had theirs, and
we had part of the first floor, the garden and the second floor all to
ourselves. We felt free and happy. Our parents visited often, bringing us warm
love, food and presents.
It was in the late 30’s when my parents and I had to move in
with Grandpa for a while, before my father could find work again. My Mom was looking everywhere for a place
where we could move into with a reasonable rent. We finally settled for the
Southern part of Hanoi, my parents and the 5 of us, my 2 brothers, my 2 sisters
and me, my older brother had moved out to stay with his college class
mates. My grandparents, my aunts, and
practically all our friends and relatives came to help. They took care of me, sending me to school
and set up businesses for my Mom.
The War against the French from 1946 to 1954 was hard on us
again. My 3 brothers were killed in the
war against the French in 1947. My grandparents passed away, and we had to move South again, this time
further South, in a small resort town named Dalat, where my sister had gotten a
job with the Pasteur Institute. I got
married and had 2 children. I also went
back to school.
Looking back, it doesn't seem that I could have much to say about
the Vietnamese culture, since my upbringing was so disturbed by the chaos of
war and the constant relocation of my family.
I was even born outside of Viet Nam, in Laos. Though I have spent my
childhood in Hanoi and have attended High Schools and College in Saigon, I have
spent a large part of my adult life in the United States and gone through so
much ups and downs that I often wondered if any part of the culture heritage of Viet Nam would have
a chance to root and blossom anywhere in me.
That has kept me wondering for a long time. Does it matter how
long one has to stay in one’s homeland to have this warm and sweet feeling of
being connected? Does it matter how long one has to live with someone to feel
the special bonding and the beauty of togetherness that may last one’s whole
life? One day it just dawned on me that
what really matters was the intensity and truthfulness of the experiences at
the moment . Time has nothing to say about it. It was my grand parents who have
sustained the connection that I have had with my homeland and with the 14
generations of people and things around me when I was little. He was like the
hidden string that bound all the pearls together to make a chain of inseparable
pearls. I am simply one of the little new born pearl that is still hanging in
there. Either I realize it or not, I am
still part of that beautiful chain.
During my 30 plus years in the U.S, I have spent 3 years in
College, 4 in Graduate School. I
learned everything I could about the Western world and have become almost as
American as some of my native born American friends. I bloomed in the Land of Freedom and Democracy, but I always felt
I had something original and different to offer. In 1996, I went back to Hanoi to attend a school-reunion with all
my friends from Grade School, when I was 7-12 years old. In 1998 I went back there again, found all
my relatives in my hometown. By then
"I knew". I re-experienced again this time, with all awareness, the
strength of this fragile string that has sustained and bound us all together,
my grandparents, parents, friends and relatives, my brothers and sisters, my
cousins and theirs friends; I felt how
much they were still alive in me. The
support and the teachings I got from that Elementary School half a century ago
were still strong and alive in me, and still guiding me forward. I was amazed to discover the same feelings
in my classmates and teachers, now 65 to 80 years old.
It is as if we had all come from a very old tree, a big, solid
one, and no matter who we have become, and where we end up with, we still bear
the characteristics of that tree. My Grandpa, as one of the first leaves of
that tree, had already long ago fallen away from the tree, but he had
contributed to so many other lives beyond his own. My granddaughter, who is but a young bud on the branch, will
continue to give life to this tree.
They are in fact inseparable, maintained by a huge system of mutual
support and love connection. And all of
us are bound together by stories from an heroic past, our traditional customs
and sweet folklores, not to mention our glorious cuisine, and a language that
has been enriched through the centuries.
From that old tree, I discover
the forest where all the trees meet and live in harmony. They too, bear the
same characteristics and grow up under the same conditions, share light and
food through all seasons; They help and protect the young new ones. My grand
daughter Clara, who happens to be proudly half Vietnamese and half American,
will be one of these young trees who grow up in this beautiful forest called
Humanity. In finding my own identity as a Vietnamese Woman, I have found my
place in the world, among humans, for which I am immensely grateful.
Jan 08-1998
USA