Xin Chào Magazine Issue 4 by Xin Chào Magazine

ISSUE 04 /// 2017

In this issue, each contributor explores their unique relationship with Vietnam. The map below shows the specific locations where our stories take place. At the bottom of each story, there will also be a marker indicating its location.

LÀO CAI

Hà Nội

NINH BÌNH

Đồng Hới Quảng Trị HUẾ Bà Nà hills

Tuy Hoà

Bảo Lộc Sài Gòn Bình Giã CẦN THƠ

WEB www.XinChaomagazine.com FACEBOOK /XinChaomag EMAIL Editor@XinChaoMagazine.com

cover Photo by john bill

greetings/Lời chào Bao Nguyen Sài Gòn Shower Johnson Nguyen The black pin Xuan-Nhi Cao between two worlds Huy Huynh interview: qui nguyen XC Staff My digital vietnam Trang Tran

That day on Bà Nà Hills Peter Hoang Dinh 5 sites to know vietnam Thu Tran purpose Joseph Pham Follow the Heart to Find Love Alex & Hoa Nguyen Tết foods Infographic

Lessons From Nail School Victoria Bui When I look Into the Mirror Teresa Bich Dang With Just a Backpack Vinh Nguyen vietnamese family tree Infographic Through the Storm Kevin Espirito & Beth Kreitl take action

with gratitude

XC Leadership Team

GREETINGS

n the last issue of Xin Chào, I shared a story that began with an experience I had while visiting Vietnam a few years ago. It was the first time I had truly felt connected to that country since immigrating to the United States in the mid 90s. That experience left me with a host of emotions that I’m still sorting out but the one coming clearly to my mind as I worked on the stories of this issue is the feeling of Wholeness. I believe that I existed long before I came into this world in this physical form and that much of who I am now has been alive for thousands of years. When I was born, I was given life not only by my biological parents but also by the ancient culture we call Vietnam. It’s evident from the squiggly marks on my name, from how I instinctively take off my shoes when entering a house, and from how easily images of rice fields and water buffalos stir my heart even though I have never spent a day in the countryside. Within all of these facets of myself are the memories and experiences of Vietnam. I live out its hopes and dreams. I practice its customs and traditions. I endure its pain and sorrow. But most of all, when I truly call out to that place, as I did on my last visit, I feel its unconditional love. There’s a chapter in Belonging by bell hooks in which the author describes how living in urban California, away from her native place of rural Kentucky, was akin to being in “mental exile,” a condition that she says can utterly transform one’s perception of home and damage one’s spirit. Healing that spirit means discovering herself and finding homeplace - seeing clearly that Kentucky was her fate. Two decades of being away from my native home (quê in Vietnamese) have also left me in need of healing. It’s as if I had

lost an important part of myself somewhere along the way and in many others I also sense the same longing to be whole again. As you will see through the stories within this issue, this feeling comes at different times for each person and the path home is always individually unique. For one author, it was through a death in the family. For another, it came one night via a Facebook message. One author found herself with even more questions and confusion after returning home. Unique as each may be, what these stories collectively show is that, whether our connection to Vietnam is faint or clear, that land has a significant impact on who we are. To understand Vietnam is to understand the Vietnamese in Vietnamese-American. I used to think that home is wherever you make it to be. While we can indeed create conditions of home anywhere, and some of us are fortunate enough to have many homes in our lives, there also exists an ancestral home where we come from. We don’t have to live there or even be born there, but it’s where we can always go to learn more about ourselves and feel more whole. The title of this issue is Quê Tôi, which means My Quê. It is not meant to assert that Vietnam is the native home of all VietnameseAmericans. But even if it isn’t, it certainly plays an important role. As we set to launch this issue during the Tết season, a time when many Vietnamese traditionally return to their native home to be with loved ones, the sense of (be)longing is even more pronounced. After spending so much intimate time with these stories, I, too, am starting to see that Vietnam is my fate. I hope that the stories here will bring you a little closer to home, wherever you may be. Xin chào, Bảo Nguyễn

Seattle

JOHNSON NGUYEN Johnson is a 1.5 generation immigrant and an engaged member of the Vietnamese community. He currently teaches at Hoa Mai Preschool and has worked with numerous community organizations in different capacities. Johnson hopes to continue his work in the education policy field in the future.

While the adults rushed to recover the clothes drying on rooftops, the children would strip down to their underwear and jump in the overflowing puddles.

his trip was going to be different. During my previous visits, I dreaded the unforgiving bi-polar weather: hot as hell or raining cats and dogs. My time was usually spent locked in the bedroom with the AC on at full power. I counted down the days until I could walk through the airport gates in Seattle and return to civilization and take a nice crisp breath. I was ashamed of the relief I wished to feel but I bit my tongue and buried the guilt in the deepest corner of my conscience. But this trip was going to be different. I was returning to Vietnam for the first time in 10 years and this time with my partner coming along. We planned an action-packed two weeks filled with the usual tourist traps in addition to spending time with my extended family. This trip was definitely going to be different. Then my partner contracted a nasty bug right when we arrived and was bedridden during our first few days. Yep. We both tried to keep a positive attitude but the days spent cooped up in our hotel room began to wear us down. I started having flashbacks to previous trips. On the third day, I went out into the neighboring area in search of breakfast for the two of us. Maybe it was the result of the cabin fever, but I inadvertently wandered a little too far. After paying the shop owner for the two bowls of phở gà, the chicken version of that quintessential Vietnamese beef noodle soup, I began the long walk back. As I made my way toward the hotel, it began to pour. The rain came down hard on my head and shoulders, but something compelled me to stop in my tracks instead of running for cover. Everything around me seemed to happen at half speed: the street

vendors hustling to get their wares indoors, the motorcyclists pulling over to put on their ponchos, and the people running toward the nearest cover. In an instant, I was transported back to my childhood and I relived one of my fondest memories growing up in Sài Gòn: taking showers in the rain, or tắm mưa. I remembered seeing dark clouds building up in the hours before and, very suddenly, relentless waves of rain gushed from the sky. While the adults rushed to recover the clothes drying on rooftops, the children would strip down to their underwear and jump in the overflowing puddles. Shop owners watched over their merchandise while pedestrians and bikers patiently waited for a lull in the downpour. Nobody seemed too bothered by these heavy showers, for rain in Vietnam would let up just as abruptly as it fell, allowing life to resume its march. Even after the memory had faded and I was brought back to the present, I stood motionless for a few minutes to breathe in the air, to smell the rain, and to feel the heavy raindrops hit my skin before continuing back to the hotel. They say phở gà cures many sicknesses and sure enough my partner soon recovered. The rest of the trip went as planned but that moment in the rain reminded me that the soul of my trip wasn’t in the attractions or the sightseeing. It was in my everyday interactions with the people around me. Whether it was my partner or the woman selling bánh mì on the corner of the street, I made an effort to really share the moment with them. Through these moments, I recalled my childhood and reconnected with my roots. It’s been merely weeks since I returned home and I am planning another trip the following year. I hope to visit for at least a month next time and, of course, it will have to be during the rainy season.

Sài Gòn

XUAN-NHI CAO Xuan-Nhi is a first grade teacher and the first college graduate in her family. She visits Vietnam as often as she can and gives back to the community by supportng families who are new to America and volunteers with various charity events.

in time. I grew ever restless with each mile we had to go before we reached my grandmother. With every minute we had to stop, even to eat, I felt guilty. I did not want to waste a second. The scenery wasn’t as captivating, the food bland, and everything felt different from my previous trips. I wasn’t there to enjoy, converse, connect with anyone except my grandmother.

“W

hat’s that black pin?” I heard someone ask as I sat staring out the restaurant window.

him--we aren’t exactly huggers. We were all risking our jobs to go on this monthlong journey with very little planning.

Several conversations were happening at once and I couldn’t figure out who was talking to who. What were they saying? What pin?

I never liked the idea of going back to Vietnam after a loved one has passed away, so I made sure to visit my grandmother a number of times while she was healthy. Still, I was in disbelief that this was that kind of visit.

My friend had to ask several times for me to realize she was referring to the pin on my shirt. It had become automatic putting on the pin as part of my daily morning routine. I had forgotten that it’s not the norm outside of Vietnam. “Oh, it’s a symbol we wear during the mourning period of a family member,” I replied quickly, looking back outside at the rain again. I didn’t really want to say more. A month before, our family received news that my grandmother had fallen very ill. Forty-eight hours later, we were at the airport awaiting our flight back to Vietnam. My dad had made an extra trip from Iowa to fly with me and my brother, who gave up what would have been his first trip to Hawaii. I was so happy when he told me that I jumped up and down and hugged

I boarded the plane with mixed feelings, somewhat joyful for a chance to visit Vietnam again but, of course, anxious and worried for it was likely that I would see my dear grandmother for the last time. I remembered every detail about her when I last saw her three years prior. She always sat by the door, asked about my plans for the day, and then later reminded me about them. “Con nhớ ra tiệm may lấy áo dài nghe. Họ nói hai giờ là may xong rồi đó*,” her voice echoed clearly in my head. I had always been so impressed by her memory, which was clearly better than mine. My feelings shifted to concern when we landed, uncertain if we would make it

We finally reached our home in Quảng Trị the following day and there she was, on the bed, motionless. She was not the grandmother I remembered. The one I remembered always moved around to get things and made sure I had eaten. I used to be somewhat annoyed at her repetitive questions, but now, I’d do anything for her to talk to me. She could even scold me if she wanted. I held her hand and tears raced down my cheeks; at 95, hers were still firm and rosy and beautiful. Twelve hours. That was all I had by her side before she took her last breath. The funeral lasted five days and was, surprisingly, filled with as much joy as there was grief. I found myself being content…for her. So many family members came, travelling from around the country to be there for her last days. Contrary to what I had anticipated, I smiled more than I cried. I smiled because I recognized that she lived a great life and left great impressions on those around her. She had four loving daughters who took great care of her, down to each meal. She raised a caring son who supported her during the last half of her life. On the fifth day, we took her to the burial site. The weather was fair, signaling that she was ready to go. She had her wish to have my dad by her side on her last day. I said goodbye in tears, but with a happy heart, knowing that it was really “until next time.”

*Remember to get your dress from the tailor shop. They said it will be finished at 2 pm

Quảng Trị

Huy Huynh Huy was born in Worcester, MA and is currently attending Saint Martinâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s University in Lacey, WA. He is pursuing his Biology degree and is passionate about helping others. In his free time, he loves to be active and enjoys hiking.

hen I first visited Vietnam in 2007, I arrived with more than just a lot of luggage. Packed alongside all the clothes and gifts was a deep worry of whether I was “Vietnamese” enough. Nervous and apprehensive, I convinced myself that I was content keeping myself distant from the experience. I did not want to go through this test even though I had been raised in a household where Vietnamese culture was fully present. I even spoke Vietnamese fluently, as it was my first language. The problem was more on the outside: I don’t look like a typical Vietnamese.

As a result of the constant interrogation into my identity, I also began to ask myself where I truly belonged.

Growing up, I was regularly confronted with questions like “What are you?” and “Where are you from?” At restaurants, people always looked in amazement and asked about my identity when I ordered using perfect Vietnamese. With a scripted, monotone response, I would explain that I am half-Vietnamese, a quarter Caucasian, and a quarter African-American. More often than not, I would also have to explain that both my parents are con lai, the Vietnamese term for those who are of mixed race. Since the Vietnam War, that term has been specifically used to designate Vietnamese children of American soldiers. As a result of the constant interrogation into my identity, I also began to ask myself where I truly belonged. The question has only gotten more complicated now that I am in college, learning about the Vietnam War and how most con lai were stigmatized and treated as outcasts in Vietnam. Coming to Vietnam was both exciting and terrifying. Exiting the airport, I was surprised at the number of family members who had come to welcome my family and me. Cameras flashed everywhere and our names were yelled out repeatedly as if we were celebrities walking the red carpet. They were happy to see me and hugged me like they had known me their entire lives. Initially, it was all very overwhelming and extremely uncomfortable but then I

Tuy Hoà

remembered that these strangers were my relatives. Still, I had mixed feelings. I was happy to see that I had so many family members in Vietnam but I, again, recognized that I did not resemble anyone there and felt that I was treated differently. Arriving in Tuy Hoà where my father’s side of the family derived, I was mesmerized at the beautiful country landscape, plants, rice and vegetable fields, livestock, and even the houses people lived in. When we walked through the village, everyone knew who we were, asking me if I was Lai’s son. My fear of how con lai were treated subsided as I witnessed how close the village people were with my father. Every day, crowds of people, sometimes 30 at a time, were at my grandmother’s house waiting for us. I recognized some from pictures my parents showed me back in the U.S. but many others I had never seen before. I was never quite sure who I was related to and how. We passed out gifts and lì xì (red envelopes) to everyone who visited, catching up on the years that separated us. I was surprised to find that I did not feel any way excluded. Rather, I felt accepted. My aunties and uncles fed me all sorts of delicious food, the kids taught me games that they played, and I even tended to the cattle. These interactions gave me such delight that I finally felt a sense of belonging, like I was truly Vietnamese. As I witnessed and experienced the lifestyle that my father grew up with--the bamboo beds, outhouses, and wooded patios--I gained new insight into who I am. Coming back to our lives in the U.S., I felt blessed to be of more than one culture. I am proud that I speak fluent Vietnamese. I am proud to embrace my Vietnamese culture. I am proud to tell others about my unique background. My trip to Vietnam was the catalyst for the recognition and strengthening of my identity. Now, when anyone asks, I hold my head high and proudly say that I am Vietnamese.

INTERVIEW

Qui Nguyen is a playwright, screenwriter, and a self-described geek. His work is known for its use of pop-culture, stage violence, puppetry, and multimedia and has been praised in the New York Times, Rolling Stones, and Variety. He received a 2016 Daytime Emmy Award for Outstanding Writing for his work on the PBS show Peg + Cat. His website is at www.quinguyen.com In this interview with Xin Chào, Qui shares his upbringing, his inspiration, and why he writes. His play Vietgone, a modern retelling of his parents’ love story, has received rave reviews across the country. A product that honors his family’s past and an attempt to dispel modern stereotypes, Vietgone is uniquely Vietnamese and unquestionably American.

XC STAFF

Photo by National Public Radio | NPR.org

What’s your immigrant story? Before they met at Camp Chaffe in Arkansas, my parents each had their own families. My mom had a fiancé and because she was working in the embassy, she got to evacuate early. Her English wasn’t great so she thought she was going on vacation. When they showed up at the bus, her fiancé was wearing his army uniform and he was told that he couldn’t go because he was an active soldier. They weren’t able to explain that he was actually no longer active. My grandmother ended up getting on the bus with my mom. My father was a South Vietnam Air Force pilot. After Sài Gòn fell, everyone was escaping and the Americans had taken all the cargo planes, filled it up with people, and flew off. My father took a gunship and also filled it up with people and flew to the U.S.S. Midway. He also lost his wife and kids in the process of trying to escape. My dad actually wanted to go back to Vietnam. There was a period of time when, if you wanted, you could go to Guam and the Vietnamese government would let you go back home. Through the process of trying to go back, he met my grandmother. My grandmother

introduced him to my mom and my dad was like, “Hold up, she’s cute. I want to keep talking to her.” Is Vietgone an homage to them? A retelling of their story? It’s a retelling of how they met and the romantic trappings of that. Often the immigrant story in America is told in the context that people are chasing better opportunities but there are also people here because their homes were taken away from them. My parents met as refugees and, through trying to get over the shock and suffering of losing people, they found that they really cared for and loved each other. How have your parents responded to your career? It’s one of those things that have evolved throughout my career. They used to always offer support if I wanted to go back to school and do something more practical. But once they see that I’m doing well and made a career out of it, they’re super proud. For a long time, I thought they’d never understand me. I remember the moment we stopped fighting about it. I said something like, “If I die tomorrow and never became a success as a writer, as long as I still tried, I will die happy. If I had given it up and done something else and never tell good stories, then I wouldn’t die happy.” For some reason, me telling them that what makes me happy is the journey of trying to do something regardless of making it got them to understand and we never talked about it again and their narrative changed. Who do you write for? Vietgone is told in a very moderncontemporary American way. As a kid I watched documentaries and movies about Vietnam and it’s always from the White perspective and the Vietnamese characters were always being shot at or being saved. We were always an instrument to further the White protagonist’s story. It made me feel alien and super foreign and I hated anything related to Vietnam because of that.

So I wrote this making sure that the Vietnamese characters are the main characters. They speak clearly while the Americans speak in gibberish and catchphrases. It was a way to get the audience to relate to the Vietnamese characters more than the White characters. How did you get into screenwriting? I’ve always wanted to be a storyteller. Even as a kid I was attracted to it. But as most first-born kids, I was encouraged to be in the sciences and engineering. When I got to college though, I hung out with all the hippie kids and I just wanted to write and be poor. Luckily, both my brothers are really practical and my parents were like, “Well at least your brothers will do well, and if you fail as a writer, you can always borrow money from them.”

I’ve always wanted to be a storyteller. Even as a kid I was attracted to it. But as most first-born kids, I was encouraged to be in the sciences and engineering.

I actually wanted to be an actor but I realized that there were no good Asian parts. Whether conscious or not, it was hard for people to see me in any role because of my skin color. So I started writing my own things to address that and my plays tend to have leads be female, people of color, or LBGTQ. Who did you look up to? Like so many Asian American kids, I looked up to Bruce Lee. He transcended race. He is an icon like Mickey Mouse and Spiderman. When I sit down to write anything, I try to create something as big as Bruce Lee. Something that was really important to me in Vietgone is that the Asian American male lead is a strong, sexually driven, and powerful character because I never saw that [except Bruce Lee].

What’s your connection to Vietnam? I’m definitely an American kid. I grew up by that music and culture. But I’m very much influenced by my parents and I write about them and Vietnam quite a bit. I can’t speak Vietnamese and I haven’t been to Vietnam so there’s still a distance to it but without a doubt my interest has grown because I have children that are half Jewish and half Vietnamese. There are a lot of positive images and stories to feed their White Jewish side. The other half that’s Vietnamese, there’s a huge lack of that. I need to know these stories so I could tell them and if the stories aren’t out there I’ll write them so they could feel proud and be balanced in their dual identities. Where do you go from here? Vietgone is only the first of a 5-part series. It’s a story of my family and what they went through but I also think it’s part of the American narrative. Vietnamese make up part of the American fabric and that square of the quilt is often not looked at. I’m trying to show more depth to it. Like any Asian parents, mine were like, “Why write about me? I’m not special. There are thousands of stories just like ours.” And I tell them, “I know. But you guys are my parents.” What do you hope your work accomplishes? I just hope that people dig my stories the same way they might with Quentin Tarantino or Josh Whedon. Hopefully, my stories allow the audience to have different perspectives about Asian Americans. One that comes to mind is one from a Vietnamese kid who wrote me after seeing Vietgone. He said being Asian American, it feels like the world looks down on him, but when he saw Vietgone he felt strong for the first time. I started tearing up. It’s been really cool and interesting to have that connection with my audience.

Photo by seattle repertory theater | seattlerep.org

TRANG TRAN Trang is a junior at Gonzaga University double-majoring in Sociology and English with a writing concentration and minoring in Business. She hopes to become a lawyer one day to help others and to be financially stable so she can take her family to Vietnam. Trang’s dream is to reunite her mom and an aunt who have not seen each other since they were 19.

he ring of Messenger chimed on my laptop. I quickly minimized my accounting homework, looking for any reason to stop the torture. Clicking on my Facebook window, I saw a message from my cousin in Vietnam.

This was not the first time that she messaged me, but it was the first to happen while I was away from the comfort of home. At home, I could have my mom, my dad, or my uncle assist me. You see, I’m almost completely illiterate in Vietnamese and this kind of communication was far outside my skillset. Since it was late at night (morning in Vietnam), I couldn’t call anyone to help me respond. But I also couldn’t just ignore the message because she knew that I had read it! Whoever thought that function was a good idea? Naturally, I went to Google and copied and pasted my cousin’s message into the translator. When I saw what Google Translate claimed my cousin said, I began to sweat profusely. It was obviously not right; why would she write to me about medical students?

at stake if anything went wrong. I didn’t want my cousin to think that I was incompetent and that my parents didn’t raise their children well. I didn’t want to give off a bad impression of our family here.

I then took each word and translated them individually to try to decipher what my cousin, Trang, was saying. Some of the translations were wrong, but I understood that “các em” meant “everybody” and “khỏe hết chứ” was asking if we were doing well. Now that I had a general sense of what she was saying, the second obstacle was the response. This was extremely important for me because I had never been to Vietnam and, until very recently, our only method of communication with our family in Vietnam was via phone calls. Those were very limited as well so typically my mom and her siblings talked the majority of the time. If I ever talked to anyone, it would be reduced to a simple hello. Vietnam, to me, had always been a mystery that I yearned to connect with, a crucial piece to my puzzle that I feared was forever lost. Things changed when all of us in the States pooled enough money to buy our family in Vietnam an iPad. They made Facebook accounts and we found each other. When my mom and her sister were able to Facetime after not seeing each other for thirty years, they couldn’t believe all of the time they had lost. The fact that we were on the other side of the planet didn’t seem as evident anymore when they were face-to-face like old times. I stalked my Vietnam family endlessly, trying to curate an exact image of my relatives. One person stood out in particular, Trang, the one who had messaged me. She and I had the same name after all. I was able to see that she enjoyed cooking and that she recently got married. I was able to see the home where my mom grew up. I was able to complete an image that I did not fathom being able to see anytime soon. Although we liked each other’s pictures and posts, talking to each other was a completely different endeavor. Speaking Vietnamese for me was already a challenge, especially since my five-year-old cousin spoke better Vietnamese than me. There was so much

So, without the protection of my family, I went back to Google Translate and slowly tried to sound out the words I knew well enough to give an understandable response. Slowly but surely, we had a conversation. We connected.

Our conversation was far from perfect. Even though my words didn’t have the correct accents or followed correct grammar, even though I apologized several times during our conversation and had to ask her several times to explain what she meant, my insecurities didn’t matter because we were finally communicating, which is a great deal more than I had ever accomplished. I have always thought that to meet the rest of my family in Vietnam, I would have to wait until we saved enough money to go back. I know it probably won’t be until my parents retire that they would be willing to return to the land they left so long ago. But until then, I can show my mom how her sister is doing, how much her nieces and nephews have grown, and make up for lost time through Facebook. I can learn about the puzzle pieces that I thought I would never find, and reconnect with a culture that I never fully connected with in the first place. It’s more than I could ever ask for.

PETER HOANG DINH Peter is from Seattle, WA. He studied at the University of Washington and proceeded to work in the family’s real estate business, which he took over in 2003 when his father retired. In his free time, Peter loves golfing, playing volleyball, and traveling with his wife and two daughters. He is grateful for receiving daily support from amazing family and friends.

t was January 2016 and tickets to Vietnam were on sale. My wife and I discussed quickly and decided to take our two young daughters to Vietnam during their Spring break for their first adventure in our native country. That same night, I phoned my parents and asked if they would like to join.My father gave a quick and resounding yes! Just like that, the trip back to Vietnam was in motion. Months of planning and anticipation later, we arrived in Đà Nẵng. I had been gleefully waiting to experience the day-to-day life of Vietnam with both my parents, children, and wife.

The flight from Hồ Chí Minh City to Đà Nẵng was not what I had expected; the passengers were almost entirely tourists! Since our last visit 14 years prior, it seems Đà Nẵng had transformed into a tourist destination. Still, the atmosphere was festive, the locals were friendly, and the weather was mild with a slight salty breeze from the ocean. Beaches were busy with kids and their parents and restaurants lined the shore offering delicious local seafood dishes. I was eager to introduce my daughters to Vietnam and start the sight-seeing. However, the next day, my father complained of fatigue and we had to forego our plan of visiting Huế. He mustered up his strength the following day and accompanied us to visit Bà Nà Hills, a majestic area once used by the French as a vineyard. The local caves were ideal as natural wine cellars. Left untouched for decades, a local real estate developer hired international architects to construct the longest cable car in the world, a theme park on top of the mountain, and a German-themed castle that sits atop the mountain. My family enjoyed a nice lunch above the clouds and took a tour of the mountain. As the day came to a close, I realized my dad was very weak and I held his hand to

help him walk up the stone steps. Little did I know that this moment – the wonderful lunch, the surreal scenery, my dad holding my hand – would be imprinted in me for the rest of my life. That evening, my father writhed in stomach pains. We rushed him to the emergency room where the doctor gave us the worst diagnosis anyone can hear: cancer.

I always knew my father was respected by many but I never knew how much he touched everyone personally. We flew back to the States the following evening and headed straight to Valley Medical Hospital. The doctors confirmed the diagnosis of pancreatic cancer and stated that my father had possibly up to two months left. He passed away one week later. Since then, it’s been an emotional roller coaster. I tried to only think of the good memories, of how close and loving our relationship was. He was a man I cherished, respected and admired. I aspire to be a father figure for my children

Bà Nà

like how he was for me, and a husband to my wife that he was for my mom. My family and I found comfort in the immense show of support our family received after his death. I always knew my father was respected by many but I never knew how much he touched everyone personally. One by one, each person offered their condolences and each person shared their personal stories of my father. However, other thoughts and questions continue to run wildly through my mind. What if we found out my father’s condition earlier? What if I knew in advance this was the last trip I would ever have with him? What would I have done differently during the first few days in Vietnam? As time moves ever forward, I am beginning to see that these questions aren’t important. What is important are the lives he impacted, the legacy he left behind. What is important is that my father got to visit his native country for the last time and that I spent a day with my dad at Bà Nà Hills. My journey with my dad may have ended, but like all the other good memories I have of him, that day in Vietnam will live forever in my heart.

THU TRAN

1. SAPA, LÀO CAI: Ta về thị trấn Sapa Mùa hoa nở rộ là ngà khói mây Làn sương nhẹ hẫng mù say Em đi ngược gió đong đầy nắng Xuân Sapa is a small town with beautiful mountains, terraced rice paddies, and pleasant subtropical climate in northwestern Vietnam. It is populated by various ethnic minority groups including Hmong (largest group), Dao, Giáy, and Tày. Sapa comes from the word “Chapa” which means “sandy place” in the Hmong language. Sapa is one of the best places to meet ethnic minority people and learn about their fascinating cultures. The town first appeared on Vietnam’s national map when the French explored the northern highlands of Vietnam in the 19th century. Its beautiful scenery and pleasant climate turned Sapa into a famous vacation destination. At that time, the town had already been a popular marketplace for local ethnic minorities to trade their handicrafts and produce. Since these vendors had to walk for hours from their houses to Sapa, they often spent the night in town. Naturally, it became a place where young vendors could socialize and potentially find a partner. This place, called the “love market”, still exists today. Right outside of Sapa is Mt. Fansipan, the roof of Indochina, which can be summitted after an extremely strenuous hike, offering many scenic villages of Hmong, Dao, Giáy people. Local markets offer excellent eats including subtropical produce, free range suckling pigs, river fish, purple sticky rice, and “thắng cố” (horse meat stew).

2. ĐƯỜNG LÂM OLD VILLAGE, HÀ NỘI: Ngõ nghèo gợi nhớ xa xăm Đá ong mưa nắng dãi dầm quản chi Từ đây dấn bước ra đi Tâm hồng náo nức, gan thi với đời Đường Lâm is one of the oldest villages in Vietnam. Despite many changes throughout Vietnam’s history, it still retains the characteristics of a typical Vietnamese village with an entrance gate, a banyan tree, a temple, a pagoda, a well, a watch tower, and endless beautiful rice paddies. Đường Lâm has a unique road and alley system that looks like fish bone, which makes it impossible for people to turn their back to the village temple, a subtle way to respect the village gods. The seat of the old Sơn Tây province, Đường Lâm has almost 1,000 ancient houses built in the 17th, 18th, and 19th centuries. These houses were all built with mud and laterite, a local type of rock that keeps structures warm in winter and cool in summer. Simple as these materials may sound, the houses are still in superb condition and inhabited by descendants of their original owners and builders. Đường Lâm is also famous for its specialty Mía chickens and delicious soy sauce. It is such a pleasure to visit an ancient house, eat a countryside lunch with the owners under the hundreds-yearold roof, catch a nice breeze from nearby rice paddies, and get away from the bustling city life. Everyone should try that experience at least once in their lifetime to reflect on present and past.

3. PHÁT DIỆM CATHEDRAL, NINH BÌNH: Ai về Phát Diệm quê ta Thăm nhà thờ đá thánh ca dập dìu Nắng xanh ngọn núi Cánh Diều Nước non, non nước bao điều ước mong Phát Diệm cathedral was built between 1875 and 1898 by Father Trần Lục and local Catholics in Kim Sơn district, a predominantly Catholic region of Ninh Bình province. The cathedral is considered the center of Catholicism in northern Vietnam and it has excellent Christmas decorations and shows every year. It is a regularly visited destination in Ninh Bình because of its unique architectural style and rich history. Built with just stone and wood, the cathedral looks like a Vietnamese pagoda combined with a Gothic church. The internal part of the cathedral also has some strikingly Asian features. For example, there are Vietnamese-looking angels in its vaulted ceiling and Eastern mythical characters such as dragons, phoenixes, tortoises, and unicorns on its walls. All the wooden statues in the cathedral were made by Phó Gia, a local artisan. It is said that Father Trần Lục wanted to blend the Vietnamese temple and pagoda building style with the Catholic church architecture to show the harmonious relationship between Christianity and other Vietnamese religions.

4. HUẾ, THỪA THIÊNHUẾ: “Đường vô xứ Huế quanh quanh Non xanh nước biếc như tranh họa đồ” Huế is Vietnam’s last feudal capital where the Nguyễn dynasty reigned from 1802 to 1945. Before that, it went by the name Phú Xuân and was the capital city of the fedual Nguyễn lords, who governed central and south Vietnam from the 17th to the 19th century. The city is known for its long history, rich culture, and great food - bún bò Huế, anyone? Huế boasts numerous historical ruins including the Imperial Palace, the Forbidden City, and many shrines and tombs that belonged to the Nguyễn dynasty such as the tombs of Minh Mạng and Tự Đức. The complex of Huế monuments within the Citadel is a recognized UNESCO world cultural heritage. Huế also has famous handicraft trades such as porcelain enamel and wood carving and well-known local folk music (ca Huế). The royal lifestyle and old customs of Huế live on through her people. Local folks are said to be polite and soft-spoken while the food remains sophisticated and well-decorated. Whenever I visit Huế, I enjoy the slow pace of life and the genuineness of the local people. A scenic city with the Trường Sơn mountain range in the background and bisected by the Perfume (Hương) river, Huế has been the inspiration for many famous novels, songs, and poems.

5. CÁI RĂNG FLOATING MARKET, CẦN THƠ: Chợ đã nổi từ nửa đêm về sáng Ta vẫn chìm từ giữa bữa hoàng hôn Em treo bẹo Cái Răng Ba Láng Ta thương hồ Vàm Xáng Cần Thơ Located not very far from Ninh Kiều Port, Cái Răng is one of the most well-known floating markets in Cần Thơ province. It is where local farmers sell vegetables and fruits on their own boats, canoes, and rafts. Instead of store signs, vendors hang their merchandise of fruits and vegetables on long poles call “bẹo.” Today, to serve the need of sellers and buyers, there are even boat vendors who sell coffee, meals, medicine, etc. These special vendors often go around the market on their smaller boats to cater to customers. Cái Răng is one of many floating markets typically found in the Mekong Delta. These markets started in the past due to the lack of ground transportation routes in the Mekong Delta. The waterways served as a much faster and more convenient way to get around and do business for local residents. Even after roads were built in this region, floating markets are still very popular. Besides fresh fruits and vegetables, visitors can also experience the well-known warmth and generosity of Mekong Delta residents. If you are lucky, maybe some vendors will even sing a few “vọng cổ” (Mekong Delta-style folk songs) lines for you.

JOSEPH PHAM Joseph was born and raised in Boise, Idaho. Over the past decade, his motherâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s side of the family has immigrated to the United States and he hopes to one day bring his fatherâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s side as well. Joseph continues to search for his calling while being an undergraduate student and strives to be a part of the medical field as well as to serve the Catholic Church in all her beauty.

hey say the two most important days in a person’s life are the day they are born and the day they find their purpose for living. Like many people my age who are in school aspiring to change the world one day, I’m also pondering about my own calling. In this search, one thing is clear: my travels to Vietnam have profoundly shaped my worldview and continues to help me move forward. Over the course of my life, I’ve had the privilege to visit Vietnam several times. Though they have been mainly for recreational purposes, the trips have taught me much more than what I expected. One of the lessons I appreciate most is to enjoy the simple things in life. Even while I am in a country with amazing sights and sounds and delicious food to enjoy, sometimes the best feeling is to just “be” with those I haven’t seen for a long time and be a part of their daily lives. The memories of having breakfast together, watching our favorite cartoon shows in bed, and simply hanging out on the living room floor built by our own hands often surpass those of visiting beaches, zoos, or resorts.

group of people, we have overcome so much adversity to stand tall and continue to fight for the current generation and future ones, too. These trips have left me humbled and full of gratitude. Since coming home, I’m more aware of the blessed life I have, and for that, I have my heritage to be grateful for. With this awareness more present than ever, I am inspired to give back to my community and to pursue a career in healthcare. Although I have good memories of my time in Vietnam, I can’t deny the fact that many are suffering from diseases that are treatable or at least better cared for in the United States. Their lack of resources to medicine and proper health care and the full access of mine often leave me feeling guilty. I am constantly struggling and in conflict with what I have and with what my families in Vietnam may not have. However, this also drives me to make the best and the most out of the opportunities I’m presented with.

Since coming home, I’m more aware of the blessed life I have, and for that, I have my heritage to be grateful for.

And then there are the lessons that have influenced me in much deeper ways. Beyond the tourist attractions, there is still much hardship and poverty in Vietnam. After living in an area where there is limited sanitation and resources, I am more thankful for all that I have access to back home in the United States. Despite the everyday struggles to survive, I still saw Vietnamese people smiling and embracing life. There is a profound pride to call myself Vietnamese. As a

When I was younger, I felt like I never really fit anywhere as an Asian American. Not in America. Not in Vietnam. But these trips have helped me understand that my Vietnamese heritage as well as my Catholic faith are building blocks of who I am. I am beginning to realize that my Vietnamese background is a gift and what a blessing it is to have these opportunities to visit my homeland. Though I am sure I will continue to question the purpose of my life and think of how I can give back to my family and community, I am unquestionably proud to be Vietnamese and am thankful for everything I have experienced and learned in Vietnam.

Bình Giã

ALEX & hoa NGUYEN Alex was born and raised in Seattle, Washington and Hoa was born and raised in Hแบก Long, VN. They both enjoy traveling, playing tennis, and spending quality time with family with the new addition of their baby boy. They look forward to finding ways to leverage their skills and passion to make a difference and help others where possible.

Focusing on things that were important to me instead of trying to climb the corporate ladder had the added effect of bringing quality time to my family.

t was a hot humid day late in 2013. As my team was waiting for approval to set up a clinic about two hours southeast of Hà Nội, I met my future wife. I was with the U.S. team while she was with our Vietnamese counterparts and this was one of the many medical trips that we had volunteered for over the years. Neither of us were in the medical profession but the only requirement of the trip was to have a heart of service. But my journey to meet my wife really started back in 2007 when I first decided to join the same medical team to build a clinic in Vietnam. Prior to that trip, I had always wanted to visit Vietnam with the intention of starting a business there. However, as I was able to extend a helping hand through humanitarian work, I fell in love with the people and the country in a way that was much closer to my passion. This sparked a change in my life. I began to relearn my heritage, my parent’s past, and started to listen to Vietnamese music to relearn the language. Focusing on things that were important to me instead of trying to climb the corporate ladder had the added effect of bringing quality time to my family. We took several family vacations together and even visited my parents’ villages. As we became closer, my mom asked me one day why I was not married yet. I told her that it was up to God’s

timing and it was more important for me to focus on things that was dear to my heart. Not long after saying that, I met Hoa. It was customary to make friends with the Vietnamese team as we work together, and while there may be some communication after returning home, it was usually nothing significant. But for some reason, Hoa and I decided to reconnect after the trip. My Vietnamese was a lot better by then so we were able to talk more deeply. I was intrigued to learn what life was like in Vietnam and she wanted to improve her English. At least that’s what she says if you ask her. Our first video session lasted nearly two hours and became a daily occurrence for almost three weeks. Sometimes we talked twice in one day. It was obvious what was happening even though both of us carried doubts because of the stories we had heard about these things; I was afraid she only wanted to get to know me because I was American. She was afraid I was hiding something. Despite the fears, I decided to make a trip to visit her and see if this could really work. Things did not look good in the beginning. I missed my flight and as I was getting on another, I was told that my luggage had been lost. It seemed that no matter how much I tried, I would only mess up. Hà Nội

After deciding to forgo trying to make everything perfect, I let God take over. The trip could not have gone any better from that point. Hoa and I got along fabulously and I even met her side of the family. Upon returning to the U.S., we had a video session for her to meet mine. My mom loved her right away. I proposed four months later and we married soon after. Hoa received her visa to come to the U.S. and quickly connected with my family. She and my mom shared a special connection, spending hours on the phone with each other. When news of Hoa’s pregnancy came, Mom was elated and knew before anyone that a grandson was coming. Sadly, the addition of a new family member would be accompanied by a loss of another. My mom fell ill and passed away before our son could properly introduce himself. As difficult a time as it was, we survived as a family and I’m so grateful to have had Hoa by my side through it all. If I had never joined the trip in 2007, it wouldn’t have caused the chain reaction that led me to meet Hoa. I have been incredibly fortunate in our marriage and family. I feel blessed as a result of just doing what was dear to my heart and being able to receive so much in return. Our journey is just getting started and we are looking forward to our next chapter together.

These candied fruits and veggies come in many varieties and are typically served as an assortment, here are some popular ones: • • • •

Coconut - Dừa Ginger - Gừng Pumpkin - Bí Lotus seed – Hạt sen

In Vietnamese, the phrase commonly used to express the celebration of Tết is “ăn Tết,” which literally means to “eat Tết” showing the significance of food in its celebration. Some of the food can be enjoyed all year round while other dishes are only eaten during Tết. Represented here are some of the most common foods that just scream Tết like no other. Each region and family will also have specialties that are no doubt just as delicious!

A sweet or savory Vietnamese dish made from glutinous rice and other ingredients. It is often served as a dessert, especially during Tết.

Watermelon seeds and pumpkin seeds sometimes are dyed red using food coloring to look festive. Watermelon seeds are hard to crack open but they sure are fun to eat!

A quintessential food for Táşżt made from glutinous rice, mung beans, pork, and wrapped in banana leaves.

Braised pork or fish in caramel fish sauce are enjoyed year round but during Táşżt they take on an extra special and deep flavor from all the joy of the season.

LESSONS FROM

VICTORIA BUI

Victoria was born and raised in Washington State. She loves to travel and hopes to make it to six out of the seven continents. Her passion is to continue learning about her family and cultural history so she can restore her family tree book one day.

was very nervous on my first day of nail salon training. My mind couldn’t think clearly, my Vietnamese started to freeze up, and my voice became unnaturally stiff. But that’s to be expected from an 18-year-old girl who grew up in a middle-class, Vietnamese-American family in a relatively white community with little connection to the Vietnamese language and culture. The unexpected part was that the nail school I chose was in Hà Nội.

The year was 2011 and I had just finished high school. Wanting to be more independent, I decided to go back to Vietnam by myself for 2.5 months. I had visited Vietnam several times before then with my family. It helped me stay connected to the culture and I even picked up the language well enough. But this time, I wanted to take a different approach and experience my trip not as a tourist but as a local. I tried looking for activities, such as volunteering, that would help me socialize with local Vietnamese but I could not find a steady position. I then remembered my interest in nail design and, through online searches and asking family members in Vietnam for ideas, I found my match with a salon in Hà Nội. Working at a nail salon is often seen as the epitome of Vietnamese stereotypes for women. As an industry, it’s looked down upon as menial labor. But my experience at this Hà Nội salon taught me so much more than just nails. After the first few days, I started to ease up and settle into the rhythm of things. Waking up bright and early each morning, I walked over to the nail salon and stayed there until evening. Besides picking up skills on nail design, I also gained a new community and learned about the women around me. They earned barely enough, yet life for them seemed simple and happy. Not everything was perfect, but they adapted to be content and to enjoy every moment after long hours of work.

Through sharing stories with the ladies, I discovered their takes on life, marriage, gender inequality, and occasionally the government. It was an interesting and fresh perspective since my family in Vietnam largely come from collegeeducated backgrounds and has more modern and Western views. I learned about their hopes and dreams and how they sometimes wished to find a husband outside the country and being able to open their own salons. After work, we often ate out in the streets, gossiped over drinks, sang karaoke, wandered around on scooters, watched movies, and had hot pot parties at someone’s house. We talked about their husbands and chitchatted about other things like the murder case of a family on the outskirts of Hà Nội. These ladies invited me to look into their lives and, as a result, I learned more about my culture than I ever did before. For the first time, I felt like a true local and would often forget that I was just a temporary visitor working a blue-collar job. This trip was an eye-opening experience for me. It not only gave me the opportunity to learn more about the working people in Vietnam but it also pushed me closer to my culture and to feel a sense of independence and maturity. It also reminded me of future decisions to be made when I returned to the U.S. After the trip, I became mesmerized by the compass and lotus, prominent symbols of Buddhism and Vietnamese identity, ones that would encourage me to find my direction and identity. These thoughts would follow me through the subsequent years and, in 2015, I came back to Vietnam to make one of the boldest decisions in my life. I transferred these symbols of identity, faith, love, and direction from my heart and mind onto my skin, permanently.

Hà Nội

TERESA BICH DANG Teresa is a graduate of the UW College of Education with a Master’s degree. She has done research in the non-profit sector and taught ESL in Thailand. Interested in race, culture, and literary analysis, she enjoys watching melodramas with strong female characters, reading multicultural graphic novels, and drinking copious amounts of green tea.

n Facebook I am registered as a member of my maternal clan, the Dinh Family. But when I look into the mirror, it is hard to spot any physical likeness. I see a stubby chin, high cheekbones, twig-like arms, and a slouching posture. Once, after a fainting episode, an uncle commented disapprovingly how I was not very strong or hardy like the rest of the Dinhs. To be part of any group, it’s generally helpful to display characteristics compatible with the members. My uncle struggled to find qualities in me that would help create a sense of connection. Finally relenting in a Christmas letter five years ago, my uncle wrote to the entire Dinh clan how “Bich” was very “hard working.” This disappointed me. An eighth grade teacher had also described me as a “work horse,” a generic descriptor she assigned to those students for whom she couldn’t find other qualities to prescribe. I wanted to be special and unique but in a way that was identifiable with a group that I could loudly brag being a part of.

Tired of being that boring, hard working people-pleaser, I decided to book a plane ticket to Sài Gòn and not tell my parents that I was visiting their ancestral land for the very first time. I was 22 years old and felt rebellious, and like any child of immigrants, wanted to know more about my homeland. I wanted to understand my cultural identity and to find my tribe. I tried keeping my trip a secret, but my dad confronted me one day, mentioning a credit card bill containing a plane ticket purchase with Air Asia going to Hồ Chí Minh City. “Would you know anything about this?!” he demanded. I had forgotten that my dad cosigned my first credit card. Not wanting to admit any wrong-doing, I threw accusations at my mother as a diversionary tactic. “But I don’t know anything about dad’s side of the family!” I howled back. “I’ll never get to meet them!”

living. When one of them giggled, I could see black, rotting teeth. Worst of all, they did not have their father while I still had mine. As much as I wanted to foster a closer relationship with my cousins, I did not anticipate our disparate conditions being such a barrier. Language was a challenge for sure, but our socioeconomic circumstances too? I remember lending my digital camera to Hong, my cousin’s child, so she could have something to play with in the yard. I observed Hong’s father become more irritated by the minute as his daughter played with the camera and snapped pictures around the yard. Not long after, he stood up and sharply informed his daughter that it was bath time. Quietly I took the camera away from Hong’s hands, feeling terrible. I wasn’t showing off, was I?

Who we are Is not what we wear or eat It’s deeper but just as transparent - Alan Chong Lau

Not in a million years did I think my mom would take these accusations seriously but when spring crawled around that year, I found myself booking a second ticket. My mom and I were both going to meet my dad’s side of the family, the Dangs. She, too, had never met them. The Dangs lived in Bảo Lộc, a small city in the mountainous area near Đà Lạt, my father’s birthplace. He had grown up among the pine trees. After the oppressive heat of Sài Gòn, I was surprised to climb into the coolness of a more temperate climate, which I thought was not possible in tropical Vietnam. It felt like the Pacific Northwest: not too hot, not too cold. My dad had only one brother who died a couple of years prior from a stroke, leaving behind five children, my cousins. Meeting them for the first time was a little bit like seeing my dad and myself in another dimension and in another life. The physical resemblance was spooky; I saw my father’s distinctive hairline and

head shape in my male cousins. When one of my female cousins grinned, her cheekbones soared like mine. We look more alike than I do with my own sisters. “Oooh, she’s definitely related to us,” teased one of them as she poked fun at my lanky frame. “Look at those arms!” It was astonishing to see my features on faces 7,327 miles away. But the excitement quickly subsided once I learned how different my life was compared to theirs. It was as if I picked the winning card from the deck of fate and my cousins were dealt with cards of misfortune. I was college educated, able to travel, and had several career options to consider ahead of me. My cousins, on the other hand, lived in a simple two-room wooden house, surrounded by avocado trees and chickens. The eldest of them lived next door in a one-room shack with his wife and child. College was not a reality and one of them never made it past eighth grade, resigning to ironing clothes for a Bảo Lộc

The trip to Bảo Lộc affected me deeply, lending itself to a series of decisions for which I had little explanation until much later. I volunteered to work with lowincome Vietnamese elders, researching their needs and challenges for almost two years. I chose to room with a Vietnamese family I found on Craigslist whose family name was coincidentally also Dang. For an internship, I picked an elementary school in Rainier Valley because I knew that was where most low-income Vietnamese students were. These were terrible decisions. I was paid little for my research work, didn’t mesh well with the Craiglist Dang family, and lost a great deal of sleep from the four-hour daily commute to that Rainier Valley elementary school. Somewhere along the way I began to realize there were limitations to being a martyr and that, buried in the decisions I made, was a sense of guilt. I was trying to atone for all the time spent not knowing my extended family and not being able to properly care for them. This guilt distorted how I saw myself and my identity. In the end, I simply had to concede that connecting with people, even family, isn’t always as easy as it seems and that, ultimately, my tribe might not be the Dangs. I am more than just my family and what I look like.

VINH NGUYEN

n 2014, Vinh Nguyen, along with his older brother Truong and his childhood friend Phi, quit their jobs and headed off on a 6-month long backpacking trip all through Southeast Asia. They had worked hard, scrimping and saving every penny for this adventure. Instead of taking the easyâ&#x20AC;&#x201D;and more expensiveâ&#x20AC;&#x201D;road, they decided to live out of their backpacks and stayed in hostels for a unique experience.

They traveled through all of Vietnam, joined a lion dance troupe in Malaysia for Lunar New Year, and visited Myanmar, Thailand, Singapore, Taiwan, and the Philippines. Needless to say, it was a trip of a lifetime. Vinh hopes that sharing a slice of their adventure, the best slice, and the lessons that he learned will inspire others to listen to their wandering heart and go off into the world.

TRANSPORTATION We all know the first step in getting to Vietnam is a very long flight. Once that’s out of the way, though, the real journey begins and there are many options: planes, trains, cars, buses, vans, scooters, bicycles, boats, and our very own feet. We did it all but the best way to see Vietnam was on a scooter. The city streets of Vietnam is the definition of organized chaos. During peak hours, all sorts of vehicles and contraptions filled the roads to the point that no cement is visible. If you happen to find yourself on a scooter, you’d be close enough to touch elbows with the person next to you, on both sides. At first I was terrified of the idea of riding in Vietnam. However, by overcoming that fear, I gained more freedom and removed limitations of where my feet could take me. Learning to ride a scooter was like unlocking a game achievement and the reward was worth it! With scooters, we were able to visit a mountain pass in Sapa named Trạm Tôn (Heaven’s Gate). We were on top of a valley looking down a winding road that leads into China. It was a nice and cloudy day. As the sun broke though, we saw rays of light beaming into the valley, a sight we’ll never forget.

I realized that home isn’t the material stuff you have in a house; it’s a feeling of comfort. When the people you trust and rely on are around, it doesn’t matter what your environment is. That feeling of comfort will always arise if loved ones are by you.

Living Spaces Have you ever slept in a room with 12 beds? Growing up with many siblings and cousins, I was used to sharing space. But that was family! The first time I stayed in a room with so many strangers, I couldn’t sleep. All I thought about was someone stealing my backpack and I’d wake up with nothing. It’s a hard feeling to shake but over time, I learned how to trust others and let go of the fear of my belongings being stolen…as long as I kept my passport and wallet safe. Staying in a hotel or a private room feels nice but communal hostels offer a unique experience. One hostel we stayed in offered free beer for an hour every night from 6-7pm. Of course, everyone gathered around at that time. There was a German man who had already filled up one passport and was working on a second. There was a couple from Sweden finishing up their 5-month trip around Asia. That hostel lobby became an exchange market with everyone wanting to share their experiences and to hear ours. There are no shortages of friends while traveling.

Traveling with friends Going solo is totally alright but if you have friends or family willing to work hard, save money, then quit their jobs to see the world with you, well that’s just special. My brother Truong and childhood friend Phi were my home away from home. It’s very easy to get yourself to a new place, but it’s not quite as easy to adjust to being alone and uncomfortable. Through this experience with Truong and Phi, I realized that home isn’t the material stuff you have in a house; it’s a feeling of comfort. When the people you trust and rely on are around, it doesn’t matter what your environment is. That feeling of comfort will always arise if loved ones are by you. Yes, we argued and hated each other at times but, at the end of the day, we always went back to the same hostel together. A bond was formed that only we understand.

Food

Personal lessons

We all love food and, if we’re being honest, Vietnamese cuisine is the best. There are countless things to eat in Vietnam with each region holding true to its own tastes because of their unique histories and the variety of local ingredients. The food speaks to how diverse Vietnam is!

When traveling, the world becomes a smaller place and connections start happening if you’re open to them. Even within Vietnam, I was able to meet people from all over the globe and, through them, I felt more connected to the world as a person. Getting to know them also got me curious about who I am.

One of the best dishes I remember eating was cháo lòng, pork organs congee. What made it so good was how we got it. After getting tattoos in Huế, we became friends with the artist and his apprentices. That same day, we hopped on the back of their scooters and rode two hours out to the mountainside. During the ride we got to see all of the countryside and, before we knew it, we were in the middle of nowhere with a group of strangers. For all we knew that could have been our last meal. None of us expected it to be one our best! We also ate at KFC on Christmas because we’re Americans after all and we wanted a piece, or eight pieces, of home.

Tattoos Tattoos are not for everybody but while in Vietnam, I didn’t ever want to forget what I was going through. I wanted every noise, every smell, every sight, and every sound to be imprinted in my soul. I had left a mark on Vietnam through this trip and so I invited Vietnam to leave a mark on me. I chose a tiger tattoo on my right calf as a reminder to take every step with courage. I had it done in Huế, the city where I was born. After a mix of English and Vietnamese to get my idea across to the artist, the six hour session started. It was painful and I even thought about stopping. But I made it through. Even though my tattoo is on the outside of my body, every time I look at it, a wave of emotions and memories flash through me. I can hear the heavy rains, see the dirt roads, and feel the warm bowl of bún bò Huế filling my belly.

At first, I started looking for myself in the new land. But I quickly realized that wasn’t the approach I wanted. Instead, I started to create the person I wanted to be. I only had five shirts on this trip. I never stayed in one city for more than three days. With the same five shirts I was able to be a new person in every new city. I learned that the only person that limits who I am is myself. When my environment was new every day and no one knew who I was, I stopped being stuck with a narrow definition of who I could be. Traveling is a great way to know the world…and myself!

Bắc, Trung, Nam

great grandfather

great grandmother

great grandfather

grandfather

spouse

younger aunt

spouse

great grandmother

grandmother

younger uncle

younger sister

spouse

older uncle/aunt

spouse

younger brother

father

ietnamese culture places a high value on familial relationship and connection. One of the most obvious ways this value shows itself is through a very complex system of titles and pronouns that we have for family members. Everyone, even far-extended relatives, is referred to by their appropriate title or pronoun, never just by name. During the Táşżt season, when family and relatives gather and visit each other, itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s especially important to know what to call the people

great grandfather

great grandmother

one might see. We hope this Vietnamese family tree will help you navigate the myriad of pronouns that exist in our language. Many variations on this system exist among different regions and even from one family to the next. What you see here is not meant to be all-inclusive and only aims to highlight what is most commonly found. To know exactly what pronouns your family uses, ask your parents or grandparents and make your own family tree!

great grandfather

grandfather

mother

older brother

older uncle/aunt

spouse

great grandmother

grandmother

spouse

younger aunt

older sister

spouse

younger uncle

spouse

All cousins*

nIece/ nephew

Photo by Kevin & Beth Kreitl

he winds and rain began lightly but grew strong enough to delay our friend’s flight out of Đồng Hới, Quảng Bình in Central Vietnam. The bittersweet goodbye was offset by the arrival of a new group of Swim for Life interns. We departed the airport with them, not at all prepared for what the next five hours would bring. The winds picked up and the rain became even heavier. It reminded me of my childhood in Spokane, WA. When a spring storm passed, my brother and I brought chairs to the front porch to watch the lightning and hear the thunder above. One one-thousand, two one-thousand, three one-thousand – we were told every second between seeing the flash of lightning and hearing the thunder equals one mile of distance from the storm to where we were. As Beth (my wife) and our interns huddled in a small room to get out of the rain, I counted. First ten miles, then four miles, now directly overhead. We are volunteers for Golden West Humanitarian Foundation, co-directing their Swim for Life program to reduce drowning in Vietnam. We had quit our jobs in higher education and the corporate sector to get married and spend our first year volunteering in Central Vietnam. We chose Vietnam because of our connections through serving on the board of a non-profit called PeaceTrees Vietnam. Through these relationships, we discovered a problem in Vietnam that is taking the lives of 35 people (11 of which are children) every day: drowning.

Kevin Espirito & Beth Kreitl Kevin and Beth are volunteers and co-directors for Golden West Humanitarian Foundation’s Swim for Life program. To find out more information and how you can support, please visit www.swimforlifevietnam.org

That first year was met with pleasant surprises and challenges. With summer temperatures consistently well above 100 degrees Fahrenheit, the mandatory blackouts that turn off electricity for 12-24 hours felt like torture even if it was to help conserve electricity. Contrasting this, winter temperatures can drop to 47 F. Because of the building style in Vietnam (brick with a thin layer of concrete), when it is 47 outside, it is 47 inside. It was almost a daily occurrence to wake up feeling every bone in our fingers. Cockroaches, ants, mosquitos and rats all seem to take a backseat to the elemental conditions.

Despite these challenges, we were also struck by the beauty as well as the development of the city and province. The people of Central Vietnam are warm, hospitable, and welcomed us as family. Our work and our deepening friendships are what drive our efforts and hopes here. We have hired great local people to ensure management and sustainability long after we depart. Our two pools, with expansion plans for three more next year, have already graduated 2,000 children from a survival swimming course. This year 72,000 children will receive water safety education in their primary schools through our program. When we made the initial decision to leave our jobs, we consciously decided to truly live in the unknown— to live inside the fear that comes up and the spaciousness it creates to pursue our deepest desires. We decided to live just one step at a time. Sometimes, this way of living is exhausting, frightening, and difficult—and yet all those moments are overshadowed by a shared aspiration to be motivated by desire and love rather than driven by our fears.

Photo by Kevin & Beth Kreitl

After 2 hours of torrential downpours, the water had risen and the streets resembled small rivers.

But fearful we were as we watched people rushing through the water from our second floor. It was mid-day. Kids were still in

school and people were still at work. We could sense something different about this storm. After two hours of torrential downpours, the water had risen and the streets resembled small rivers. The canal had already swelled to only a few feet below street level. We wondered how long the electricity would stay on or if we had enough food and water to weather the storm.

Our concerns also turned toward our Vietnamese friends, the many people we met over the past year of volunteering and the houses and farms we visited for family celebrations and meals together. If the rains didn’t stop, the very issue we had come to address in Vietnam, drowning, would cause death and suffering for many families. Although we see a bright future in which lives are saved through our drowning prevention programs, we also know these programs are too late to help the victims of this current flooding. Initial news reports indicated over 35 lives lost with additional persons still missing and over 100,000 homes flooded. There is much work to be done, and together we believe we can make a lasting difference.

Đồng Hới

ince its inception, Xin Chào has operated on the principle that it is a product of the community. Even as we continue to develop new ideas, this principle guides our approach and every decision that we make. The question at the core of everything we do is “How can the community benefit from this?” After four years of volunteer work that is supported and inspired by the generosity of local businesses and individuals like those listed in the following page, what’s becoming clear is that Xin Chào is no longer just a magazine.

It is growing and taking shape as a hub in the community, a space through which information, ideas, and stories —like those printed in our pages—can

be shared and found by their intended audience. By making these connections possible, we believe that even more networks, projects, and ventures will spring forth, creating a healthy and vibrant Vietnamese community. You can join our effort by making an investment today to help build the community. Visit our website or email us (contact information below) to make a donation or become a sponsor. We appreciate your generous patronage and continued support. As always, we are also interested in contributions of stories, photographs, or artwork. Please contact us if you’d like to see your work published in a future edition of XC!

www.XinChaoMagazine.com Editor@XinChaoMagazine.com

Crawfish King crawfishkingwa.com

206-623-3622 725 S Lane st, Seattle, WA 98104

• Awards letter for Social Security, and 1099 for disability income • When income is delivered from rental income, commission, interest or sources of income other than salary, tax returns may be required SOURCES OF FUNDS/DOWN PAYMENTS: • Bank statements for the last three months, including savings, checking and investment accounts • Stock and securities account statements for the last three months • HUD settlement statement if using funds from the sale of property • Sale of asset: Proof of ownership, proof of sale, and proof of funds transfer • For gift funds: A gift letter, evidence of transfer and sometimes evidence of withdrawal

current year, if more than three months have passed since the end of the tax year PAYMENT HISTORY: • Cancelled rent or mortgage payment checks for the last 12 months, if not available on credit report • Copy of land contract, if possible • Child support/alimony • Bankruptcy/Consumer Credit, if received ADDITIONAL INFORMATION, IF APPLICABLE: • Purchase agreement, including legal property descriptions and any addendum • Divorce decree • Explanation of discrepancies in credit *Alimony, child support or separate maintenance income need not be included if it’s not to be considered as income available to repay the loan. Child support or alimony income may be used if you received it for the last 12 months.

CALL US TODAY TO GET YOUR MORTGAGE QUESTIONS ANSWERED FAST!

Gwen Huynh Dao Diep

Axia Home Loans 707 S. Grady Way, Suite 600 Renton, WA 98057 Ofﬁce: (425) 243-4030 Cell: (425) 679-9887 Fax: (866) 472-9545 Email: Team@ReadyForLending.com www.ReadyforLending.com NNMLS# 262330

©2016 Axia Home Loans is a Registered Trade Name of Axia Financial, LLC – NMLS ID 27830, 1120 112th Ave NE, Suite 600, Bellevue, WA 98004, 1(855) 3552942. Alaska Mortgage Broker/Lender License #AK27830. Arizona Mortgage Banker License #0932828. California-DBO Residential Mortgage Lending Act License #4131325. Colorado Mortgage Company Registration - Regulated by the Division of Real Estate. Hawaii Mortgage Loan Originator Company License #HI-27830. Idaho Mortgage Broker/Lender License #MBL-6619. Minnesota Residential Mortgage Originator License #MN-MO-27830. Montana Mortgage Lender License #27830. Nevada Mortgage Broker License #3820. New Mexico Mortgage Loan Company License. Oregon Mortgage Lending License #ML-4727. TexasSML Mortgage Banker Registration. Utah-DRE Mortgage Entity License Other Trade Name 1 #8233814. Washington Consumer Loan Company License #CL-27830. Wyoming Mortgage Lender/Broker License #2679.

All Service Moving stephen@allservicemoving.com (503)867-6598

Michelle P Pham Sr. Mortgage Consultant MLS#583065 michelle.pham@homestreet.com 206.660.1151

Tran Telehealth Solutions dat.tran@trantelehealthsolutions.com 206-370-4748

Pho Dinh

Vietnamese Cuisine

Theresa Reyna Interpret This Inc. www.InterpretThisInc.com theresa@interpretthisinc.com 206-200-3727

Peter Carlson, CPA HR Block 206-725-1822

Tel: 253-804-8688 2822 Auburnway N. Pho dinh Auburn, WA 98002

253-804-8688 2822 Auburn Way N. Auburn, WA 98002

Vietnamese American Community of Seattle & Sno-King Counties

Development Coordinator

Editor

PR & Social Media Coordinator

Design Director

Photo by Tero Patana | terophotography.com

Designer Photographer

Development Coordinator

Editor in Chief

Designer Development Team Lead

Vision CONNECT THE VIETNAMESE CULTURE TO OURSELVES AND TO THE WORLD. mission PROVIDE A PLATFORM TO ENRICH THE COMMUNITY AND TO INSPIRE DIALOGUE. Our name, “Xin Chào,” is simply Vietnamese for “Hello.” It is how we greet each other and begin sharing our stories.