fond memories

Surfing YouTube today and decided to search for Dan Truong songs. He was often on the stereo when we visited the internet cafe in Tam Ky; cheesy as his songs are, they got entrenched. So I went to find some. I came across this one and the video reminded me so much of my time in Vietnam I had to share it. The small lanes, the cement houses with shutters, the bicycles, even the air mail envelope. It makes me a bit homesick, but I can't help but smile from ear to ear.

One year later

Here it is the day after Christmas once again, but this year is markedly different from last. 365 days ago, we were in Seattle waiting to board our Korean Airlines flight to Viet Nam, the culmination of nearly 10 months of planning and saving. A day we thought might never come.

And now, a year later, I sit in the "living room" of our two-room space, chatting via Yahoo with Tung, a former student in Thanh Hoa. One of my favorites, he taught Audrey Vietnamese and basketball, and constantly livened up our classroom. Stuart is playing video games while Audrey catches up on sleep.

The memories of our time in Viet Nam overwhelm me a bit and I'm suffocated by my life here. After nearly a month of job searching, I've yet to score even an interview. Time's running out and I'm bordering on panic, again. Coming back to the States was supposed to be easier than this constant drama of never having enough money and having to choose between being a provider or a caretaker for my kids. They deserve better than this and I regret ever getting on that plane back here, thinking that would solve any problems.

The financial stress is awful and Audrey often complains that I'm just so grumpy, but I can't help it. All I can think of is "How am I going to come up with another $300 to pay rent?" or "Where am I going to find some money for food?" or "How do I explain that no one is getting any Xmas presents from me?" It weighs over me like a ton of bricks and no matter how polished my resume gets, it doesn't seem to be doing me any good.

And then I compare this feeling of an elephant on my chest with the times we were playing on the beach at Sam Son and i can't help but get teary-eyed, aching for those days when the stress didn't come from how we were going to eat, but having to get lunch prepared before I headed off to class for a couple of hours.

I'm hoping that the new year will bring a bit more ease into our lives and some happiness to my heart. It's been a heck of a year with extreme ups and downs that I would have never believed possible.

Last day in Tam Ky (journal)

5 March 2007
This is it--our last day. We went to the Baby Orphanage, after some mad packing after breakfast and dragging it all downstairs, with the other volunteers. All our replacements. I'm really going to miss those kids. I love playing iwth them and being silly with them. Lan has really attached herself to me and I feel bad that I have to just leave. It's been such a great experience and I'm so connected to them all. The twin hellion girls. The little rambunctious boys. The quiet ones, especially Quy even though she cries all the time.

Each little kid has their own little thing that I will remember about them. It's so hard to leave and I just hope that they will be loved. It's amazing how close I've become to the kids here; I knew I would enjoy it, but I really didn't think it would be quite this strong of a bond with them. I really do wish I could do more them--take one or two home with me. Or something. It feels a bit frustrating. These kids are so wonderful and loving and really just need to be loved a bit more.

We said a quick goodbye, as to avoid the tears, then hurried back to the house to make sure all of our stuff was packed. We still had more (shoes, books) and decided to leave some (clarinet, clothes) to get later.

Mr. Hanh had to go back and get the other volunteers; we waited at the house watching time pass and consoling Mrs Hanh, who was crying pretty darn hard. I felt so bad for her, for Audrey. We've grown to love Mrs Hanh very much and even though we have plans to come back, it is still hard to say goodbye.

countdown

This is it. Our last 24 hours in Asia (for now). I can't help but be melancholy, though I am struggling to hide the sadness from the kids. Audrey, especially, feels sad and angry knowing that I don't want to leave, but she does. She is eagerly awaiting our arrival and I'm happy for her. Stuart is glad to be going back as well, though he, too, looks forward to our return to Viet Nam. It's a odd mixture of emotions as I prepare to go back. It's hard to not feel a bit of a failure. There's so much more I could have, should have done. Maybe it would have been better to take the tiny house and stay in Ha Noi back in March. Maybe Audrey would have liked it better. Maybe either way would have been difficult. Maybe this was what it was supposed to be. Either way, it's coming to an end. Or a pause? I don't know. I know what I want, but I'm not sure what the next step will be.

I will be doing more writing; I'm currently working on a piece I'll post next week about toilets. Funny how we've become so opinionated on the various aspects. Silly, but important here.

--------
Audrey has done some writing (and loads of drawings) and is getting one of her pieces published at the end of the year. Yea for her! I'll post more info when we get the specifics, but it's about our volunteer work there and should include some photos. Looking forward to getting some more stuff published, including a couple of comic-style booklets that she's made as well as an awful lot of writing that needs to be edited.


Thanks to everyone for your support. You'll hear from us again in a couple of days. From the other side of the Pacific.

comparison is inevitable

Here we are in China, with its wide streets, clean and accessible sidewalks, easy access to quick eating ....but we miss motorbikes and a language we at least partly understand (never realized how much Vietnamese I understood before coming here and understanding nothing) and chicken (or beef) and rice.

We've had an amazing time here and it is definitely vacation-like (which is precisely what I wanted for the kids). Tommy and his parents have honestly treated us like royalty, providing us a place to stay and getting us tickets on the train to Shanghai, feeding us an astonishing array of Chinese and Western food (Pizza Hut? Whoda thunk). I can never express my gratitude for all they've done and are doing for us. It's been amazing and I hope to forward that generosity on; I am again in the debt of others' kindness.

We've noticed, though, that every step of the way we inevitably compare it to the Vietnamese way. Oh, the girls are wearing short sleeves! Where are all the motorbikes? (Banned by law, I found out.) In Viet Nam, they're very worried about getting dark. Yes, people in Viet Nam eat every bit of the animal, too, but it is the first time I've seen deep-fat fried chicken head.

We can't seem to help it. Everything gets compared, both positive and negative (depending on the situation and the person). I can't help but think it will continue for a long while after returning to the States, as well. Sorry, folks, you'll have to deal with it.

There are bits of both countries that we like, but Ha Noi has my heart. Toi yeu Viet Nam!

[Our last night in Ha Noi at the ice cream buffet at Fanny Ice Cream.]

Good morning, Viet Nam!

The sun is just peeking out as I rise on this, my last day in Viet Nam. It's been a long goodbye this week, with tearful pondering on life's trajectory. I sat out on the steps yesterday morning, crying into my sweater sleeves (yes, I've acclimated a bit) and wondering just how this all happens. Ten years ago, I was still happily married with one son and another baby on the way, with no plans beyond what I was making for dinner. Five years ago, I was struggling through full-time kids, full-time college and part-time work, single and hoping for the best. And now, here I sit. Still single with kids, but living a life I could have never dreamed of. Despite all the difficulties with trying to get into China, I would never ever trade this for anything.

Over the last six months I have learned so much about what type of work I truly love (teaching), how much my childen mean to me (the whole world), what makes me happy (showing world to my kids) and how little I knew (but thought I was open-minded). I've learned to squat while waiting, which you do a lot here. I've learned to cook using only fresh foods. I've learned that I love pineapple even more here and that custard apples are pretty darn good, but unripe mangos with MSG will never suit me and I still don't like durian ice cream. I've learned to trust myself and not beat myself up when things don't go right. It's all a learning experience and I can only do what I think is best. But sometimes I'm wrong.

I wasn't wrong about this though. This, this adventure of getting to Viet Nam, working in the orphanages, struggling to find work and housing, trying to homeschool two kids on top of teaching two classes, handwashing everything and slowly learning to understand the language and the culture of Viet Nam.... this was the best thing I could have ever done, despite the financial costs, and I know in my core that it's been a blessing for my children. I'm often not very proud of myself, but I can honestly say I am proud to have managed a way to give my kids a truly life-altering experience that few get. And even more, I'm proud of them for jumping off that cliff with me, flailing ourselves into the unknown and somehow bobbing our way through the rough waters. They have been my strength and my inspiration. I am so grateful for their 24/7 company, for reminding me where I put things and for dealing with so many things that other adults would be unwilling to face. Stuart and Audrey did it with bravado.

Of course, we've each had our moments when a nervous breakdown seems right around the corner, but together we managed. I've tried to be the good example, but in the end, the kids have been a great example for me, as well. We've learned patience and tolerance and awe at our insignificance on this very large globe.

Now, we're off to Hong Kong, where we'll wing it once more. We've got to manage our way into China, to Shenzhen, where after nearly a year we will get to see Tommy again and finally meet his parents. There are some grand things to do there, but lest we not have enough money to do anything I'm not going to even mention it.

Goodbye for now, Viet Nam. Toi yeu Viet Nam. I'll see you again soon. I promise.

--------
An enormous thank you goes out to all the wonderful people who have touched my life here in ways they may never realize:
Huyen, Keith, Becky, Ha, Thuat, Thanh, Chi, Man, Tung, Trang, Mr Hoan, Phuong, Thuy, Huong, Hung, Huyen, Cuong, Jimmy, Kat, Nghiep, Dung, Giang, Loan, Lan, Kieu, Chieu, Rita, Yen, Quang, Rhissa, Mrs Hanh, Mr Hanh, Viet, Tamra, Jo, Claire, Nga, Thuong, Thuy, Song, Thu, Linh, and so many more. Thank you to all of my students in Tam Ky, Ha Noi and Thanh Hoa, but most especially those in Thanh Hoa who showed me what Vietnamese people are really like and the generous spirit that runs through friendship. I will miss you all.

I haven't cried this much in years

When I decided we were coming to Viet Nam last December, part of the stipulation was that the kids would have a big say in when it was time to go. Little did I realize it would be so hard to leave.

Audrey, in particular, has had a difficult time here and while she says she's glad we came, she wants to go. And I promised we would go back for 4th grade, if she wanted and she does. So what's a mom to do? Break a promise?

Well, let me tell you, I tried to find any way I could to get out of the keeping the promise short of a flat-out "No. We're staying." And that didn't seem like the good-mom thing to do.

There are other issues, as well. Namely family pressures to come back. Audrey hasn't been eating as much as she needs to and has grown little (if any) since we left Tam Ky. Stuart's falling behind in schoolwork, despite threats of repeating 8th grade.

So, with a very heavy heart I told my dear students, that I, too, would be leaving them. I don't know that I have ever cried that hard in public and I had to do it in two classes in the same day. Last Monday will live on in infamy as the day I couldn't stop crying.


I dissolve into tears at the oddest times. When I'm scrubbing laundry. Or walking home from the market. Or making another dish of fried rice. Or writing this blog entry. My sadness about leaving pervades all I do and try as I might, I can't seem to get past it quite yet.

I had high hopes of coming back for another four to six weeks while the kids had a needed break in the States, but flights are too expensive to justify the trip. If I can find cheap flights, I'd be back here at the drop of a hat.

Guilt lingers over me and I feel like a failure. As a teacher. As a mother. As a woman. Against my strongest desires, I will take my kids back to America, to a life of food stamps and not enough time together. This saddens me in a way that few could understand.


Here, I have been happier than ever before. I love my job and I love my students. I love the simple life in Thanh Hoa. I 'm lucky that I can spend 20 hours a day with my kids and I can provide well for them. Unfortunately instead of using the money that I have worked so hard for to travel, as I had so hoped, I will spend every last dime to get them home.

But not without a bit of fun on the side. I did promise them Hong Kong Disneyland, as well.

My contract ends in two weeks. The end of this life, at least for now. We'll head off to Sa Pa, hopefully with some of my students joining us, then during the first week of July we will fly to Hong Kong, then visit our friends in Shenzhen before heading to Shanghai where we'll catch a tiny plane to Vancouver, B.C. We're hoping to get our legs under us again there and spend a couple of days in Canada before taking the train down to Portland, Oregon. Home, though it doesn't feel like it to me anymore.

So, while I mourn my loss, the kids eagerly await seeing friends and family. Our close quarters force me to be creative in my expression of sadness. It comes when I am alone. Or like now, as they are sleeping and I lie awake pondering our future.

multicultural

One of the most astonishing things for us to learn here has been how isolated we are in America. It's rare when you hear someone speaking a language that is not your own. It's English, all day every day with nary an accent to be heard. Opportunities are scarce to meet Germans, Russians, Swedes, Thai or any other nationality, save Canadian and Mexican.

Then we compare that experience to Viet Nam where we have met people of those nationalities and many more. It's common to be in a room with three or more countries represented, often speaking the same language: English. It's a trippy experience for three novice travelers.

And then I look at the "visitor map" on my stats page and I see this; for some reason, it makes me terribly happy.
Even my blog is multicultural. Yea! Thanks everyone! I'm in awe that so many read it on a repeat basis. Could my life be that interesting? I can scarcely to get family to look at it but once a month and yet, there are all these other people keeping up with it all. Leaves me a little speechless (though not completely, as my classes would tell you--I can't seem to shut up most of the time!). Thanks. Really.

it's a small world after all

Three months ago we said goodbye to Quang, a young boy at the Quang Nam Baby Orphanage in Tam Ky, as he headed off to America with his adoptive parents. He and Stuart were pals and I've been lucky enough to be able to keep in touch with his mother.


Two weeks ago, I was contacted by another adoptive parent. She'll be coming in June to get Audrey's pal, Kieu and her brother, Chieu. To find out that both of the kids' favorite friends have families is good news, great news, even. And better news is that both families live in the same city.

I am grateful to have been the conduit to their meeting and we all hope that the kids can meet up occasionally (often?), keeping their connection to each other, their language and their culture. Kieu and Chieu's best pal is being adopted to the States, as well, and the parents have 'met' online, another connection made.

I don't know how to adequately describe my reaction to all this. In many ways, I am jealous of their financial ability to adopt. I fell madly for many of the kids, but I'm not in a position to afford the hoop-jumping required to adopt. So instead, I will provide any connection I can for these children, to their homeland, to their language, to each other.

I'm fully aware that I can only do a small amount and I feel stifled by my lack of real effect, but I'm hopeful that every little bit helps. My connection to those children and to this country runs deeper than I had realized until I started explaining it to a friend in the States and the call ended in tears at the thought of going "home" and not coming back to Viet Nam. It's a very distinct possibility that once I leave, I won't be able to afford the return trip and that frightens me more than coming here initially did.

Family wants us to return for good. I want to have them visit us. My children aren't sure what they want. They don't want to leave, yet they miss cousins and grandparents and friends. It's a quandary; what is best for my children? There is so much to factor into the decisions I am facing.

It's a small world, but it's still expensive to get around it. .