We've got a few days left until our much-anticipated return to America. Anticipate is a funny word, now that I think about it - what's the connotation? In this case, it fits perfectly because I've never felt so ambiguous about going home. I'm already thinking about where I'm gonna stay next year (District 1) and which countries I'm going to visit before and after Vietnam (Indonesia and the Philippines... maybe China for a little bit). It's hard thinking about traffic that doesn't mirror a whirlwind, or food that doesn't come in pre-sliced portions. Hmm... maybe I should get a massage. In a week, I won't be having those thoughts, and it's tough. But for the time being, while I've still got sand left in this hourglass, I'm gonna get down a few more thoughts, and you're gonna read 'em.
One of my favorite sights is that of parents playing with their kids. It's one of those rare phenomena you can't read about in a Polisci textbook or hear about on the news. It's a beautiful sight. A few weeks ago, I saw a father playing badminton with 2 of his kids around 3 PM on a workday. It warmed my heart and made me yearn for my forthcoming reunion with my dad. One of the many evocations I've experienced while being here. This morning, I saw a mom sitting on a bench at the park outside Diamond, playing with him and smiling as she said something deeply encouraging. What it was, who knows? But it made me remember all the times my mom took me into her grasp and said something deeply encouraging at just the right moment, knowing precisely how to improve her son's disposition. Beacons of light abound.
Thanh and I wondered over to District 7, an enclave within a city known for its ethereal beauty. An enclave of colonialist elegance, marked by modern speculative growth. Apartments abound as sprawl ensues, crawling into each parcel of land and reinforcing a consumer culture built by capitalization. This is where the masters of the universe live. It's literally a land unto itself, isolated from the hustle and bustle of Saigon and devoid of any remnants of its Communist past. It's Beverly Hills in Vietnam. I can't say it's disgusting because it isn't, and if I've learned one thing about businessmen, it's that they are making the lives of average Vietnamese better, so why resent them? Why resent them for living lives of luxury? They're comped by a government that values their presence, so why not take advantage of it?
I'm gonna miss learning outside the classroom. They say everything you learn in college is on the street, but it's only during this trip that I've felt that to be true. I go outside and use phrases I picked up that morning, negotiating with bartenders, hailing taxis, and ordering lunch. Granted, I'm nowhere near the level I'd like to be, but I'm moving in that direction. When I wrote my application essay to get into this program, I saw the word immersion and tried to use it as often as possible, figuring it's something I'd automatically like. After all, who wouldn't want to be immersed? But when I arrived in Vietnam and actually found myself "immersed", I started to wonder what I was doing at all. Immersion sounds a lot better when you're applying to a program, I said to myself. Because now I'm stuck in a place where people speak in monosyllabic nothingness about concepts I can't understand nor do I want to. But 2 months later, here I am, lamenting the fact that I won't be exposed to all this in a few days. It's hard to imagine learning Vietnamese in circumstances any different than these; I'm literally in the perfect environment. I love going outside and talking to strangers, and that's something I just can't do in America. I love when I say something to someone and they start laughing and repeat it to all their friends standing around, only to look back at me, repeat it, and say "Gioi qua!" I'll be back next year, and the year after, and as long as people continue to believe in what I'm doing as see me as being worthy of their sponsorship. I'll be here, and I'll be immersed.
Wednesday, August 8, 2007
Cardboard Erasers
This is one of the posts that shouldn't be written - it should be slept off into the infinite, what Plato called the Realm of Becoming, unknown to mere mortals, only enjoyed by spirits above. But something impels me to stand here, without sitting, at 2:27 AM, before a day of research and language study, and write these words to you. This morning, I bought breakfast from my everyday vendor. I was moving so fast, trying in mangled Vietnamese to understand why she didn't have eggs and tell her that it was alright - I still wanted cheese. Amid my furious vortex of thought and panic, I stopped without trying to, just stopped right there. I realized that I had slowed myself down. Maybe that's more of what I need, slowing myself down. Life comes at'cha fast, doesn't it? Moments like that move slowly.
And what's with the title? I don't know. I stood here for a little while trying to come up with something better, but I kept coming back to "Cardboard Erasers." Now that I stand with an aerial view of my keyboard, I see my hands pouncing on keys like airplans pursuing their targets. Repositioning as the mothership doles out orders, directing each on its way towards home.
And what's with the title? I don't know. I stood here for a little while trying to come up with something better, but I kept coming back to "Cardboard Erasers." Now that I stand with an aerial view of my keyboard, I see my hands pouncing on keys like airplans pursuing their targets. Repositioning as the mothership doles out orders, directing each on its way towards home.
Saturday, August 4, 2007
Two Thoughts in the Dark
I've got another, longer blog entry in the works, but for the time being, I wanted to get a few thoughts down on paper. Before I do, however, allow me to share a funny anecdote from yesterday's fieldtrip to Saigon Square, HCM City's second largest collection of pseudo-authentic consumer goods. Backstory: once-a-week, we take a field trip to a restaurant or market to practice Vietnamese with the locals. This time, since I needed to buy a few DVDs anyway, my teacher agreed to take me to Saigon Square.
Setting: Burberry Shirt Stand #1,832.
Characters: Matt (Me), Saleswoman 1 (at said stand), and Saleswoman 2 (at an adjacent stand).
Time: Approx. 10:10 AM
Me: "Xin loi, chao em. Cai nay bao nhieu tien?"
Saleswoman 1: "Cai nay la 113,000."
Me: (Action: I tug on the shirt a little bit to test its quality - Dave taught me that one.)
Saleswoman 2: (To Saleswoman 1) "Anh lam gi?"
Me: (Action: I turn around and look right at her.)
Me: "Anh hieu."
I love speaking Vietnamese. Every evening, I try to convince Evan, Florence, Tina, and Jen to do it, and more often than not, they're willing to indulge me. In an attempt to cultivate a "disheveled semi-intellectual" look, I've been growing my beard and wearing long-sleeve shirts and an off-balance hat. Sam asked why I hadn't shaved, to which I replied: "Vi Matt muon de xem ba muoi tuoi" (loosely: because I want to look like I'm 30).
Alright, so here are the observations, and yes, both came to me while I was riding around on the back of a xe om.
1. It's common practice in Vietnam to share wealth with one's family, a concept Westerners sometimes find uncomfortable. For instance, in a movie we watched called Daughter from Da Nang, an American woman reunites with her Vietnamese mother after 30 years of estrangement. Throughout the documentary, our hero conveys her disappointment: she expected to find a woman who was at once deeply apologetic and passionately loving. Instead, she met someone seeingly hoping to capitalize on her American daughter's perceived richness. This typifies the kind of cultural gap Americans share with Vietnamese. As I was thinking about it, I realized that if there were ever a cultural predisposition one could classify as being conducive to socialism, this is it. However, as a representative from 3M told me last week, financial disparity is becoming more and more acceptable. We're witnessing a clash between cultural norms and neoclassical economics. Which will prevail?
2. Although I understand why they feel the way they do, I wish corporate magnates could stifle their enthusiasm for authoritarianism. Some take it so far as to call it a blessing. Go talk to the woman outside Diamond whose hotplate gets lifted periodically by men in uniform and therefore has to spend another 30% of her income on a new one just to salvage the remaining 70. Go talk to the blogger who sits in his room worried that if he writes more, he'll never be able to come back and continue his research. Incentives.
Anyway, that's it for now. I think I'm gonna write some more Vietnamese, then play pool at Carmen with Thanh. I'm really feeling it these days - maybe it's the Aramith pro-speed tournament balls, or the Simonis 860 cloth. Who knows? I just feel like I'm thinking more clearly.
Setting: Burberry Shirt Stand #1,832.
Characters: Matt (Me), Saleswoman 1 (at said stand), and Saleswoman 2 (at an adjacent stand).
Time: Approx. 10:10 AM
Me: "Xin loi, chao em. Cai nay bao nhieu tien?"
Saleswoman 1: "Cai nay la 113,000."
Me: (Action: I tug on the shirt a little bit to test its quality - Dave taught me that one.)
Saleswoman 2: (To Saleswoman 1) "Anh lam gi?"
Me: (Action: I turn around and look right at her.)
Me: "Anh hieu."
I love speaking Vietnamese. Every evening, I try to convince Evan, Florence, Tina, and Jen to do it, and more often than not, they're willing to indulge me. In an attempt to cultivate a "disheveled semi-intellectual" look, I've been growing my beard and wearing long-sleeve shirts and an off-balance hat. Sam asked why I hadn't shaved, to which I replied: "Vi Matt muon de xem ba muoi tuoi" (loosely: because I want to look like I'm 30).
Alright, so here are the observations, and yes, both came to me while I was riding around on the back of a xe om.
1. It's common practice in Vietnam to share wealth with one's family, a concept Westerners sometimes find uncomfortable. For instance, in a movie we watched called Daughter from Da Nang, an American woman reunites with her Vietnamese mother after 30 years of estrangement. Throughout the documentary, our hero conveys her disappointment: she expected to find a woman who was at once deeply apologetic and passionately loving. Instead, she met someone seeingly hoping to capitalize on her American daughter's perceived richness. This typifies the kind of cultural gap Americans share with Vietnamese. As I was thinking about it, I realized that if there were ever a cultural predisposition one could classify as being conducive to socialism, this is it. However, as a representative from 3M told me last week, financial disparity is becoming more and more acceptable. We're witnessing a clash between cultural norms and neoclassical economics. Which will prevail?
2. Although I understand why they feel the way they do, I wish corporate magnates could stifle their enthusiasm for authoritarianism. Some take it so far as to call it a blessing. Go talk to the woman outside Diamond whose hotplate gets lifted periodically by men in uniform and therefore has to spend another 30% of her income on a new one just to salvage the remaining 70. Go talk to the blogger who sits in his room worried that if he writes more, he'll never be able to come back and continue his research. Incentives.
Anyway, that's it for now. I think I'm gonna write some more Vietnamese, then play pool at Carmen with Thanh. I'm really feeling it these days - maybe it's the Aramith pro-speed tournament balls, or the Simonis 860 cloth. Who knows? I just feel like I'm thinking more clearly.
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