Sophomores in Mrs. Dameron-Vines’s English 10 class worked throughout the month of March on a unit to craft Opinion Editorials, articles that explore an author’s opinion on a chosen topic of interest. We are happy to provide a platform for an on-going series that highlights some of students’ work.
As an Asian born and raised in America, living with two different cultures can be a challenge.
On one hand, I have people close to me that I call Mẹ or Cậu, and I enjoy eating dishes like Bánh bèo. On the other hand, I also call the closest people that I know Mom or Uncle, and I love eating fast food. These two parts of my lives have always been intertwined, and as a child I learned to grow up with both at the same time.
But as I’m getting older, one side has begun to become more prominent. Reading Vietnamese has become more difficult for me, and I can only say a few sentences with family without sounding like a crazy person. Whenever my mom plays her music in the car, or is watching those Viet comedy stage shows, I almost never understand what they are saying. I always feel so guilty about it because, well, it’s supposed to be my language. Not only that, but I feel like that side of me is fading, the side where Mom was Mẹ, and when reading Vietnamese was a breeze.
It’s not just the forgetting of language that bothers me, but also the way I live my life. My customs and everyday activities are different too. I eat more fast food than my own cultural food, and my mom even says, “it’s like you’re American!” While I absolutely love American food, I rarely eat any authentic or homemade dishes from my culture.
I’ve been to Vietnam twice in my life, once when I was 8 with my grandma and cousins to Saigon, a.k.a. Ho Chi Minh City. The food there was amazing, and the first time I went I realized how different it was to the country where I was born. Most people, if not everyone, had motorcycles. Whenever we would go out, my cousins and I would split up to ride with our relatives to get to our destination. Seeing the busy streets and different stores beside the street was so distinct compared to my life in Alabama, where people mainly used cars, and traffic wasn’t so hectic, and there weren’t a hundred million motorcycles around.
I had such an amazing time because I got to meet family who lived on the opposite side of the world from me. I hung out at my grandma’s before staying with my grandpa, where I loved catching fish with my hands. At least back then I was able to speak a good bit, and was able to communicate with my family on the other side of the world.
The second time I went when I was 14, I had to be a little more independent. I remember having to go alone, and I was really scared at first, but there were flight attendants and airport employees to help me on the way. The language barrier between my cousins and me became more prominent, but I still pushed through. I only went with one cousin, because my grandma was already staying in Vietnam, so I could talk to her in English normally while speaking Vietnamese to the rest of my family members. Because my grandpa had moved back to his home town in the countryside, I got to see Da Nang, a place with a long river and many boats. There were many vendors in the street, and still, many motorcycles. I took tons of pictures with my relatives and we eventually went back to my grandpa’s house.
In Vietnam, I’ve learned and experienced things that I would never have in America, and being there helped me realize that even with my American side and being born here, my Vietnamese heritage will always be a part of me throughout my life and will never disappear.
