Us versus Them

Living out in Thanh Hoa, we see the same pale faces over and over again--the three of us plus one of the Kaplan teachers. That's it. We never run into other Westerners at the supermarket or walking the streets of Thanh Hoa. And even though we know we look vastly different, we have stopped feeling vastly different. Familiar faces wave hello. We know where to get banh mi, how to get to the shopping center, who has the best fruit drinks and more. Each of us have begun to feel like we fit in somehow, that this place is our home in a unique sort of way.

Which makes it truly shocking when we disembark from the train in Ha Noi to face Westerners seemingly everywhere. When we arrived last night, we saw more than a dozen pale-skinned people like ourselves just in the train station. Checking in with the hotel, Americans passed by talking about how nice it is that everyone speaks English and I wanted to yell at them: "Only because you're in tourism central. You should check out the real Viet Nam!"

On our way to get the fruit drinks we love so much, we managed to merge into a group of Australians coming around the corner. Loud and beligerent and distinctly new to Viet Nam. "Nothing worse than a bunch of drunk Aussies," Stuart muttered for only us to hear and we laughed loud enough to prove our own Western tendencies.

We're glad to find a donuts and pizza in Ha Noi, yet find ourselves frustrated with other Westerners clamoring for KFC. We know only the smallest bits of the language, yet belittle others for distancing themselves from the culture. We each complain about all the tourists in the Old Quarter, but this, too, is where we come each visit.

It's hypocritical, I know. But it's true that we feel a connection to this country, these people, that cannot be explained easily or readily. Maybe what we really want is for others to appreciate the beauty, depth and culture that exists outside the hop-skip-jump travel that keeps our fellow Westerners isolated from the realities of Viet Nam.

Martyrdom

My ex-husband used to accuse me of being a martyr and I consistently rebuked the term: I don't purposefully look for suffering . But this morning my mother, after listening to me whine about the chaos of these last few days, asked me, "Why do you do this to yourself?" and I didn't really have an answer. Some of it is inescapable. I have two papers for my online ED291 class due today, an earlier due date than I had expected after several days of no internet at home. My friend is hosting a farewell bbq tonight. My daughter wants to visit her friend's horseback riding class one last time. Both kids have to go to my parents' home for the night. Early tomorrow morning I have to catch a bus to the airport for a flight to Sacramento (via Seattle). The only thing I can really get out of is the riding class, but I feel like the loving mom, the good mom is the one who goes out of her way to make her children happy. I need to do it.

I have given up on the hope of getting the painting in the living room finished and I probably won't get around to making that other dress, but I have some clothing alterations that I promised for other people. I've got re-writes and critiques for my WR290 class to finish. I have to find another piece of luggage to pack all these clothes for the orphans in. I have to scrub the bathroom and mop the floor. Plus work everyday and have dinner with family, then friends, then housemates.

The schedule is so full, it's overflowing the pages of my planner onto sticky notes. And then the next week...it's empty. This is just the chaos before the calm. I think I'll make it through okay and with passing (if not stellar) grades. I'll finish my classes and I'll say goodbye to friends. And maybe someday I won't feel so much like a mouse on a wheel, always chasing after something I can't quite see.

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.

change of perception

I didn't even mention the biggest change, which is in my perspective of the world and, particularly, of American (aka Western) life.

Do we really need to be able to choose between 50 different brands/flavors/fat content/styles of yogurt? Yogurt. Come on. I'd be satisfied with plain vanilla Vinamilk yogurt again, with a little fruit thrown in. I can even see having a few varieties of fruit flavors, but it's overwhelming staring at the dairy section and the yogurts take up ten feet of shelf space.

And how can we possibly need that many choices in pretty much anything and everything, even water! Bottled water comes in small, medium, and large glass or plastic bottles. Flavored or not. Sparkling or flat. It was so much easier when there was just one, maybe two brands to choose from. And when 5 gallons of bottled water cost the equivalent of a dollar.

I find myself irritated with the seemingly American way of being self-absorbed. Last night, I was discussing with my mom the lunacy of Americans, particularly the worker who was jailed for spilling salt on a burger and the woman who tried to burn her neighbor's house down when she thought they'd stolen her keys (later found in her own pocket! People have way too much time on their hands.

And part of that falls into the other thing that drives me insane these days... the obsession of having newer, bigger, better. Doesn't matter if that jacket has hardly been worn, it's so last season! Our 4000 sq. ft. house? Just not big enough. There's a new iPod? Must have it now. -insert eyeroll here-

It's taking a pretty good tole on my patience to deal with listening to people's conversations about this fall's new lip color while I am struggling to find a way to send warm clothes to orphaned children. Or while women are being sold into prostitution. Or while any number of things are happening that are way more important, in my opinion.

I've tried not to get on my high-horse about it, but the kids and I spend a good portion of our two-hour daily commute discussing the lunacy of so many of our peers. And high school! Poor Stuart has to deal with the brunt of the "it's all about me and what I want" (with no thoughts for the future) attitudes of his classmates.

Yeah, I wasn't quite prepared to be quite so disappointed.

frustration

My feelings of inadequacy, of incompetence, of failure continue to loom over me despite daily efforts to look on the bright side. I just wish I could see a way of being able to support my kids, but it all seems so impossible now. The frustration limits my ability to accomplish much, which just seems to add to the frustration. It's a stupid catch-22. I can't help but be angry at myself for coming back before I was financially or emotionally ready, but at the same time, Audrey confirms that it was the right thing for her. She's even gained 3kgs since we got back! I just wish there was a way to have what was best for me and best for her and Stuart at the same time, but it feels like an impossible dream.

I'm continuing to work on my website and helping Audrey out with her Viet Nam scrapbook, so the memories still flow, bringing smiles and laughs. Good times, man.

Only 5 days until Stuart comes back. I can hardly wait. I love that kid and miss his witty humor.

life

First some good news: I got an assignment to write three articles for an upcoming family travel website. It won't garner much money, but right now any money is good. I also had an interview for a tutor position; that went pretty well, so hopefully that will work out and give me 5-10 hours/week.

But that's part of the bad news: I don't know how I am possibly going to make enough money to live on our own. I need to be making at least $20/hour, but I can't find anything that pays more than $13. At this rate, I'll be commuting an hour-plus to school and work everyday for months. A bit disappointing to say the least. The cost of housing is astronomical and there are so many expenses above and beyond rent (all those school loans comin' due, too) that it's even more impossible.

It's causing more stress and I can't help but be a bit angry about being here, struggling so hard to find a way to support ourselves, when we were living a wealthy, independent life in Vietnam. I'm fiercely independent and this lost ability to do what is my responsibility is frustrating, disheartening and embarrassing. Life is so hard here and I can't even fully explain how deeply it affects everything about me. I'm trying not to hate my life now. Yet so recently I was the happiest I'd ever been. The 180-degree shift has left my head whirling, my stomach ill and my spirit crying.

There's a small part of me that wishes I'd never known such sheer joy in life, that maybe it wasn't for the best; I certainly wouldn't know what I am missing now.

ugh

Well, the one week mark came and went, but the melancholy feelings have stayed, perhaps even worsened as time goes on. I was expecting to feel some loss, some culture shock from the big cars and big people. I didn't think I'd find myself horrified by the constant narrative on the television about why Americans are fat with frequent advertisements for how Americans can pay to stop being so fat. It's this strange teeter-totter thing, back and forth. And nothing really changes.

The kids and I make jokes to deal with the differences, for us. We went shopping for some paint (going to paint the treehouse) and paper (must write long-hand!) yesterday and I was griping about not being able to find a product and some random fellow shopper started chatting with me about the frustrations of the store layout. As the kids and I walked away, Stuart turned and joked, "Wow, her English is really good!" I needed the laugh. Outside the store, some man was talking with his kid in something akin to Farsi and I slowed my walking speed just to hear something I couldn't understand. I've taken to kind of turning off my ears at times. The overwhelming amount of talking, in English, annoys me. I don't want or need to understand everything that is said. Besides it takes the challenge out of communication, something I began to actually enjoy most of the time. (Granted there were a few times when I just wanted to sit down and cry: "Doesn't anyone speak English?!")

I've sent in my resume and applications for eight jobs so far. None pay anything close to what I was earning in Viet Nam. My students write and can't understand why I am not teaching. "You are best teacher. Why no one can teach?" one student emailed me. The strictness of the law regarding teaching in the US doesn't allow me to do what I love, so I have to find something else. But those of us with English majors are prevalent, so writing and editing jobs are few and snapped up as quickly as possible. Honestly, I've only found two jobs that entail writing. The others are tangent jobs that I could do, but not what I'm looking for (i.e. hauling boxes of food at the local Farmer's Market). I haven't heard back from anything.

I put notice up online via Craigslist for custom sewing, since that's easy enough for me to do, but no bites yet. And I'm re-working my Vietnamwithkids.com website. I got the front page up and then hated it. I fixed it more to my liking, but the interior pages are causing me hassle in the design area. Just can't get it to the point that I like it. Another frustration.

Sometimes it's hard to not wander my parents' small forest, silently crying over my life that seems completely without purpose. I felt like I was improving the world a tiny bit at a time when I was in Viet Nam. And now, the thoughts "waste of breath" and "pointless" invade my day and I can't figure out what the heck I can do. I could volunteer my time, but that's dismissed as ridiculous when I'm looking for work. And gas prices are so crazy-high that I can't afford to go anywhere. No money coming in, so no money can go out.

I really don't know how people do this. Landing in Viet Nam was difficult, but it was never so depressing.

jet lag

It sucks. That's all I really need to say about that, but I'll just keep writing anyway. I can't seem to sleep at night; all day I'm exhausted. Stuart had to wake me up at 10:30 a.m. today. Me! The girl who can't seem to sleep past sun-up slept past breakfast. Crazy. And now here it is, one o'clock in the morning and I don't feel the slightest bit sleepy.

Of course this may have to do with my mind working a million miles an hour trying to figure out what to do first on my enormous, mental to-do list. So many things to do, but I can't get the motivation. I keep thinking about all my friends/students in Thanh Hoa and how I let them down unexpectantly and how their lives are so much more difficult now, yet my children are so happy to be here. Two important parts of my life clashing so hard.

There's much to do, but I just can't get to it. I think I will resort to an actual "To Do" list, written out in ink, tomorrow and force myself to accomplish something.