When people ask me, “What are you?” I reply, “I’m Vietnamese”. Some think I mean “Vietnamese” as an ethnicity, while some think “Vietnamese” as a nationality. I was born in California, so I’m technically an American, but since my parents are from Vietnam, I have great pride in calling myself both “Vietnamese” and “American”. Both my parents immigrated from Vietnam nearly three decades ago for similar reasons. However, their methods of leaving the country were different and each greatly impacted me.
My dad was sixteen when he left Vietnam with his uncle in January 1980, in hopes to find better educational opportunities, escape the unjust communist government, and avoid the draft for the Cambodian-Vietnamese War. My dad and his uncle traveled with a group of people who had similar motives for leaving the country. Their mission was to get to Thailand, the “Land of Freedom”, and end up in the popular refugee camp, where they would stay before immigrating to other countries. However, before reaching Thailand, they had to go through Cambodia. As they traveled through Cambodia, they disguised themselves as Cambodian merchants, so they would not get caught; suspicions weren’t raised until they arrived at the Thailand-Cambodia border in February. My dad told me that there were Khmer Rouge, communist Cambodian soldiers, lined up at the border. The border was not official, but it seemed like the safest way to get to the other side. My dad, his uncle, and the group rode their bikes past the soldiers as if they were the locals. Unfortunately, because my dad looked paler than the average Cambodian and he did not speak the language at all, the Khmer Rouge picked him out of the group and accused my dad of being a spy. Of course, this was not true, but there was no way my dad could explain anything. Everyone made it to the camp, except for him.
The Khmer Rouge captured him, tied his hands, and placed him in a cage containing other prisoners and trespassers. At this point, my dad thought he was finished, but he was only kept there for five days. The most traumatizing day, he recalls, was when a Khmer Rouge soldier took him out of the cage, made him stand in the forest, loaded a gun, aimed at him, and pretty much said some form of “Just kidding”. My dad was then thrown back into the cage. There was another day when a different soldier threatened to slash my dad with a long knife.
Luckily, at the time, the Khmer Rouge were smart enough to keep their prisoners alive and trade them to the United Nation Security Council Resolution (UNSCR), an organization affiliated with Red Cross, in return for food and supplies. And that is what saved my dad; he was traded for a few bags of rice. The UNSCR then placed my dad in the infamous refugee camp in Thailand, where he joined his uncle. They spent about nine months there before sailing to Indonesia, where all the refugees were given English Language classes, health screenings, and interviews. Once all requirements were met, the American government welcomed them into the country.
My dad and his uncle flew to California in 1981. Immediately, my dad started attending high school, where he was known as the “smart foreign kid” because he managed to earn almost straight A’s. During school and during his summer vacations, he’d work to earn something he did not have at the time—money. My dad’s first job was a cleaner at a print shop, which only lasted a week because he landed a job at a golf course, where he picked up golf balls and random trash. Soon, he was hired at Longs Drugs (similar to CVS/Rite Aid) to restock shelves. Eventually, throughout his high school career, my dad gained a big interest in computers and databases because he’d taken a few computer science classes. He ultimately acquired a job as a data entry operator in an office. Then, after graduating high school, he attended college and received a B.S. in Computer Science. During this time, he still worked at that office, married my mom, and had me! From learning about my dad’s past, I’ve discovered that he went through so many obstacles and still managed to be where he is today. To think that he could have been shot in the forest is truly frightening.
This is a jade Buddha necklace that my dad’s uncle gave my dad after my dad landed his third job. It was almost like a gold medal for my dad. I have a smaller version of this.
Alternatively, my mom’s immigration process was much safer and faster. My mom’s family wanted to leave Vietnam because some friends and relatives started immigrating too. Early 1987, my mom and her family were granted immigration from the Orderly Departure Program (ODP), which was created to help the Vietnamese leave their homeland safely and resettle abroad. When the time came, my mom, her siblings, and her parents packed their suitcases and flew to the Philippines, where they spent seven months learning English, volunteering, and getting their immigration paperwork done. Then, they flew straight to New York, where my grandpa reunited with his siblings, who had immigrated a few years earlier.
Within a week in America, my mom began working at a Chinese sewing factory. Her parents and older siblings also worked, while her younger siblings started school. My mom was 21 when she arrived, so she could not attend public school. Although she does not have a high school diploma, my mom is still quite knowledgeable. Also, often at work, she got praised for her handiworks. Several years later, my mom was hired at a jewelry factory, where her pay raised, while her parents lost their jobs. My mom is very family-oriented, so most of the money she earned was contributed to the family house, which is where we live in today. Although my mom’s journey to America is less exciting than my dad’s, her story shows me that I need to work as hard as her, so I can to help out anyone in need. In her case, it was her family.
This is a photo of my mom a few years after she immigrated to NY. It was taken in the same house I live in today.
This may sound cliché, but after learning about my parents’ immigration stories, I feel grateful for all my opportunities, and I know I need to work very hard for things I want. My parents are no doubt my role models. If my dad, who struggled to flee from communist Vietnam and ended up in America, managed to get straight A’s and graduate from college, then I should have the capability to do well too. He told me that he didn’t really have a strong support system when he was young, but now I do, so I should take advantage of that. Also, if my mom could work endlessly and still be happy with what she contributes to the family, at the cost of her formal education, then I should be even happier with what I can or will contribute to my family, especially since I’m receiving a college education. If I am ever having trouble envisioning my future, I tend to think about my parents’ pasts and compare my circumstances to theirs. And that easily makes it a big source of motivation.
Moreover, as an effect of my parents’ immigration, my life differs from others. For one, my parents don’t let me work or date anyone because they emphasize that education should be my top priority and that I should not waste time thinking about money or boys or anything unrelated to my education. Originally, like other students, I wanted to work during my first semester, but my parents did not allow me to because they did not want me to fall behind in my classes, just for the sake of earning some extra bucks. They give me money whenever I need it because they believe money should not be important at this stage in my life.
They think the same about boys. My parents are overprotective, especially my mom, so I am constantly monitored. Whenever I say something involving a boy, or my mom sees me near a boy, she freaks out, questions me, and proceeds to lecture me about the danger of boys. This is why I didn’t bother to ask if I could attend my high school prom because I knew my mom would make assumptions and not let me go. Also, it’s why I don’t go out to hang out with my friends often, which is probably one of the causes of my introversion. I think my parents are overprotective because their parents were not overprotective back in Vietnam, and they know of all the loopholes that could lead to trouble. Nevertheless, I understand my priorities and limits and I try my best to work around them.
On a different note, because both my parents are Vietnamese, I have learned to balance and fuse the American and Vietnamese aspects of me. One out of every five songs I listen to are Vietnamese, and I enjoy looking up the lyrics. I also watch Vietnamese dramas or sometimes Korean dramas that are Vietnamese dubbed, rather than English subbed. My parents have also influenced my speech. Vietnamese was the first language they taught me. Then, they started teaching me English to prepare me for kindergarten. Today, I speak a mixture of both Vietnamese and English at home, which allows me to express my thoughts more clearly because sometimes there would be a Vietnamese word that doesn’t have an English equivalent or vice versa. Furthermore, in many sentences, I would say a Vietnamese verb and literally add “-ing” instead of simply saying the gerunds in either language. This is because gerunds in Vietnamese require me to say the word “đang” before the actual verb. For example, “run” in Vietnamese is “chạy”, so “running” would be “đang chạy”. An example of a sentence I would say at home is, “He was chạy-ing”. Hence, when I add “-ing” to the Vietnamese verb, I am using one less word in my speech. Interestingly, I notice that my brother and all my cousins also do this, so maybe it’s an effect of us knowing two languages and wanting to make our speech more efficient.
The fact that my parents immigrated from Vietnam has impacted my life in the the way I think about my future, the way I deal with obstacles, the way I explore my Vietnamese roots, and the way I express myself through speech. It’s nice to balance beliefs and cultures because I see myself as both “Vietnamese” and “American”.
