12/30

Vietnam ain’t exactly what my mom said it’d be anymore. Just outside the Saigon city limits out in the open dirt roads, where the crowds clear out except for the dirt-covered citizens selling things in baskets a bit too close to the cars, as Chuong and I buzz along on his motor scooter, we can see all manner of tall buildings under construction behind big signs promising a future full of skyscrapers and supermarkets – a future of commerce and high-end residences. These sights are nothing short of abrupt, though the food vendors with their basket don’t seem to notice anything from across the street.

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.

I guess the countrywide renovation isn’t entirely clear from the vantage point of our family’s quận. Though many brand new second and third floors can be spotted growing out from older buildings throughout Saigon, seeing the peddlers equally spread throughout the streets earning just enough to last from day to day, it doesn’t feel like grand changes lay in the future for everyone. I welcome this contradiction when walking through the local market and sitting LOW to the ground to enjoy a bowl of noodles at the soup stand, but as my aunt tells me, “people smile on in the outside, but inside they are not that happy.” How could you blame people really? It’s quaint and all for me to witness and photograph these scenes where things feel closer to the life I imagined my parents lived, but more than a little disparity exists between the country’s “growing” economy and most people’s static living conditions. As proves true in any big city, gentrification is never intended for locals.

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 Japan: “Can you eat this?” “Have you ever seen this before?” “Can you understand what he/she just said?” I suppose if owning up to not knowing a few of those things really gives me something to learn, it’s okay to be bombarded. Can’t complain about the variety of food they keep feeding me.

The rooftop cat joins me in the afternoon when not much is happening except for the baby wailing. I’ve established my favorite spot for note taking, which is right in front of the door to my room where I can lean my back against a wall and dangle my legs on the stairs.

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 US government, so there’s no chance that any remnant of that building remains. Photos I’d take to send home would bear no resemblance to what she remembered.

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.