Right Hand Drawn by Miki Huynh

Going to Viet Nam for Christmas. Tickets are booked. Main thought that follows: I need to get a VISA fast.

Other feelings: I dunno. It’s kinda trippy. Didn’t think I’d commit to making the trip so early during my Japanese career. Just started talking with my friend Joanna one day about holidays and families and my traditional route to snowless California every winter season. This year I had 2 weeks, but no plans, and no immediate desire for another 17 hour timezone shift. So, out came the idea. Yeah, go visit the family in Viet Nam. It’ll certainly be warmer. Sure, hell, do it. Fine. Done. Uh, how much was that again?

I’m flying on my own on this trip, but I won’t be alone. I’ll meet up with an uncle and aunt when I arrive. As a bonus, pal Kim will be there for part of the time with her family, too.

Overthinker that I am, I’m a little anxious.

I understand the country as my motherland, but not my home. I don’t feel some deep-rooted connection because I’ve never experienced growing up there. I didn’t have to flee from the Communists by boat, or rebuild a life in a country where I barely spoke the language like my mother did. I know to respect and celebrate or get riled at injustices within Viet Nam’s borders, but that’s about the extent of my honest feelings. Most Vietnamese kids have been ushered back to the country via family vacations, a few people like practically every year. It’s easier for them to feel close to home. My own folks possess no desire to revisit, and as horrifying as purists of Viet pedigree might find that idea, I think my parents have their valid reasons. Even if their decision ended up influencing how I feel about the journey now, it’s not something to blame.

Besides, it always made sense that, as a person with a specific heritage, it becomes more your responsibility to open up to other people’s cultures, not just cling to your own as the end-all to your existence. Why fucking settle for a limited perspective? Especially when you’re practically spoon fed multiculturalism in the states.

At the same time, I find myself having to stick up for my cultural identity in a place where so many Japanophiles and natives who look like me easily ignore its significance.

So possible “connection” to come? The brain could probably swing that way. And I don’t say this to sound flippant, as much as I’m not trying to be too serious about the matter. That’s not the point.

Just glad I can say, for once, it will happen.

Things currently on my mind, and don’t ask why:

I love the smell of scalded milk. An obvious remark given the entire layout and title of this blog, but to be honest I’d never had any overwhelming love of milky/creamy things until the last few years (though it’s still not the reason for this blog’s name). Either way, I might feel obligated to amend the subtitle above as my gaseous-response-to-lactose has altogether disappeared now that I drink milk with school lunch all the time. It’s like finally getting a superpower back. Haha! There’s no stopping this Asian now! If only alcohol were as easy… I’ve also been nursing a bit of a cold during these past busy weeks, so one of the comfort beverages I’ve turned to is good ol’ hot milk & honey. Mmm. I heat up the milk in a saucepan then pour it into my mug, and the transfer creates a delightful sizzle in the pan and a warm release of aroma. It almost replaces whiffs of brewing coffee as a top favorite.

I also love the taste of pumpkin soup. An obvious choice given the time of year when pumpkin is pretty much the flavor in everything. More correctly, pumpkin spice ends up in every consumable product imaginable. Last year it was pumpkin spice coffee, pumpkin spice beer, pumpkin spice in pumpkin ice cream, pumpkin spice muffin (when it wasn’t banana), pumpkin spice in pumpkin pie… mmmmm, pie… I probably ate a couple shakers’ worth now that I think about it, just because I couldn’t resist sprinkling a good amount in my morning brew at the coffee additive counter anytime I found the stuff left out. Somewhere around December I finally became pumpkin-spiced out. This year has been a lot of drawing and talking about pumpkins (or at least the Japanese variety, kobacha),

[linked from this website]

though no eating. こ ばちゃのスパイス … chop, chop, chop goes the language butcher!… hasn’t been sprinkled or mentioned even once. However, I finally bought a jack o’ half at the grocery store and made a soup for additional autumnal comfort. Just your usual squash soup, but all the sentimental seasonal thoughts came rushing back in one steamy bowl. Ahh.

That was it. Back to class prep and Japanese homework.