notes, p.3
0January 14, 2008 by miki
12/30
My cousin and I are headed towards some wilderness to gawk at trees and animals, but the bulk of what constitutes life for the people in this part of the country appears as urban in intention as any American big city I’ve ever lived in. It had been about two years since Chuong ventured around this area, and even he can’t recognize any of it now with all the new concrete divides and street lights at the intersections. For me, it feels a little ridiculous realizing how all the preconceptions of Vietnam I’ve nurtured are ages behind this modern day version.
While I make these observations, I often feel so self-conscious carrying such a big clunky camera with me. Seems whenever I’m with my aunt and whip the machine out, she has to explain to the person whose fruit I’m photographing that “it’s her first time here. Everything is strange to her,” as if I couldn’t be any more out of my element.
I know she doesn’t intend this just for me. Plus, I’m not the one to stick around after two weeks and hear whatever comments these people have to say about the odd little Việt Kiều “from Japan” later on. Still, it’s hard to figure out what’s natural to do sometimes in an unnatural situation, and harder still when a spotlight’s thrown on the fact.
***
In the parts of the city where everything’s been done up to look all ritzy and Las Vegas spectacular, I can see huge wedding parties taking place with loud music and loud displays and crowds of people pouring out of the banquet halls, taking pictures with the bride and groom, or trying to grab a taxi because dinner has ended and they need to beat the rush home. Everyday it seems I pass at least three nice cars decorated up with flowers all ready to pick up the bride and whisk her to an alter somewhere. My cousin tells me that lots of people wait until the end of the year just before Tết to get married. Over the few days, these receptions and cars become so commonplace of a sight, I begin to wonder if it isn’t a little too easy to find a spouse out here. I end my curiosity immediately after that thought.
***
The ending of the 31st feels much more matter of fact this year. I go with Chúc to a News Years concert to watch a full line-up of famous Vietnamese singers perform, but by 10PM, we’re back at home and everyone’s retired to their separate spaces, and all I hear is the soft murmurs from Chuong and Chúc’s TV set in their room. Even the neighborhood is remarkably quiet for once. I lay down on my mattress and, for the first time in ages, close my eyes and let of the rest of world count down for me while I nod off.
1/1 – 1/3
With the coming and passing of the January 1st New Years, my aunt and uncle seemed thrilled to start educating me about preparing for Tết. I notice that my relatives continue to ask me the same kinds of questions I get asked in
Here, because of the way the house is built where the roof of the central part of the house is disconnected from the roof of the spare room, sunlight can stream in and I’m somewhere between being indoors and outdoors. The cat also gets easy access.
I write down my notes while she leaps down from above and rubs up against me, giving me a little undeserved credit for the pampering she receives hanging around this place, until she finally stretches out to take a nice nap.
At night, my cousins find a little free time and take me to some of the nicer cafes in the city. A few of the districts have pretty fancy looking stores, all touting international brand names. The young people I see biking and walking around dress up like Forever 21 just exploded onto the entire population. Man, so that’s where that aesthetic comes from…
***
I ask my uncle about the place where my mother used to work when she was a case worker for delinquent children and their families, so I might be able to photograph what the spot looks like nowadays and send a picture home to her. My uncle happily offers to take me, warning that it’ll be another one hour motor scooter drive. I’m perfectly fine with that. However, after some thinking out loud, he finally decides that it wouldn’t be worth the trip because everything has actually been demolished and reconstructed after ’75 and giải phóng. My mother’s child service program, in particular, was sponsored by the
My romanticized notions of connecting the present to the past and linking myself to my mother falls flat with a gorgeous thud. There’s little room for poetry in politics, I guess.
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