A must watch short doc on the impact of agent orange on the Vietnamese people and the once beautiful lush tropical land.
Watch here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GJxb7CY13uc
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
Saturday, April 10, 2010
Tyrese's new reality show on Koreatown.
With the stereotypical portrayal of Italians in Jersey Shore, I'm doubtful that Tyrese's version of Koreans from Koreatown, LA will be any better. Miles' family has been here since 1958, long before this place was even K-town, so I have a deep love for this place. I know the show won't do any justice for the community, but I hope there won't be an injustice. This struggling community is diverse & resided by Koreans, Bangladeshis, Mexicans, & Central Americans. K-town is more than just bars & clubs on Friday nights! It is a community of immigrants working towards achieving their version of the "American Dream."
There is a traumatic hystory of love, community development, injustice, destruction, and rebuilding. Interestingly, Tyrese is introducing this show this month... April 29 will be the eighteenth year remembrance of the 1992 LA Civil Unrest.
There is a traumatic hystory of love, community development, injustice, destruction, and rebuilding. Interestingly, Tyrese is introducing this show this month... April 29 will be the eighteenth year remembrance of the 1992 LA Civil Unrest.
Tuesday, April 6, 2010
my first book...
no more trauma, more more drama! my first book will be entitled -- three generations to sanity: famine & poverty, the refugee experience, and the 2nd gen bicultural chinese-vietnamese american identity
for those who know me, you'll get it.
more to come!
for those who know me, you'll get it.
more to come!
Sunday, April 4, 2010
Was I Not Pretty Before?
Was I Not Pretty Before?
I only want what's the best for you, she says.
I'm willing to spend thousands on you.
You need this, don't you want to be beautiful?
Imagine what you'll look like, she says.
Once you're done, lose fifteen pounds and you'll be perfect.
As I am lying on the bed in the stuffy surgery room located in the midst of the congested
streets of Saigon, I hear the chatter of other women outside.
I can't believe they are all waiting to make drastic changes to themselves.
Open, close, open, close the doctor says as I feel the stitch go across my eye.
My left one, then my right, back to my left and again right.
I held the tears back, not the tears of physical pain, but the tears of mental pain for I have
never thought I would do such a thing.
"Was I not pretty before?"
He finished and I got off the surgery bed with this in mind,
"I promise myself I will never force my child to do something he or she doesn't want to do."
I looked in the mirror and saw the black stitches and dried blood above my eyes.
It was horrid looking let me tell you that.
Two hours after I returned to my aunt's house, my right eye suddenly started bleeding.
It bled for hours before I convinced the doctor on the phone that this was not a usual
situation as he said it was. I am fucking bleeding in the eye for goodness' sakes.
Frightened, I panicked and kept thinking about how I'm going to miss school for the entire
semester because my right eye is bleeding like there's no tomorrow.
"I'm going to be ugly. I hope she feels bad for making me do this. Out of all people to mess
up on, the doctor fucks up on the girl that traveled twelve thousand miles for this shit that
her mother forced her to do. I hope my mom feels bad, I hope she feels horrible for this.
Was I not pretty before," I said relentlessly.
Finally, it's fixed... fortunately, my eye stopped bleeding.
Days after, I removed the stitches and weeks later, I recovered.
My mom kept saying, "You look like the White girl on the magazine, aren't you happy?
All you need now is a nose job and a fifteen pound weight loss."
I hate how she makes it seem like she did me a favor by making me "Europeanize"
my eyes.
Of course, all my aunts, uncles, cousins, and even my father were staring at me,
encouraging me to get a nose job too.
And all I could do was cry internally... cry without shedding any tears, asking myself,
"Was I not pretty before?"
I only want what's the best for you, she says.
I'm willing to spend thousands on you.
You need this, don't you want to be beautiful?
Imagine what you'll look like, she says.
Once you're done, lose fifteen pounds and you'll be perfect.
As I am lying on the bed in the stuffy surgery room located in the midst of the congested
streets of Saigon, I hear the chatter of other women outside.
I can't believe they are all waiting to make drastic changes to themselves.
Open, close, open, close the doctor says as I feel the stitch go across my eye.
My left one, then my right, back to my left and again right.
I held the tears back, not the tears of physical pain, but the tears of mental pain for I have
never thought I would do such a thing.
"Was I not pretty before?"
He finished and I got off the surgery bed with this in mind,
"I promise myself I will never force my child to do something he or she doesn't want to do."
I looked in the mirror and saw the black stitches and dried blood above my eyes.
It was horrid looking let me tell you that.
Two hours after I returned to my aunt's house, my right eye suddenly started bleeding.
It bled for hours before I convinced the doctor on the phone that this was not a usual
situation as he said it was. I am fucking bleeding in the eye for goodness' sakes.
Frightened, I panicked and kept thinking about how I'm going to miss school for the entire
semester because my right eye is bleeding like there's no tomorrow.
"I'm going to be ugly. I hope she feels bad for making me do this. Out of all people to mess
up on, the doctor fucks up on the girl that traveled twelve thousand miles for this shit that
her mother forced her to do. I hope my mom feels bad, I hope she feels horrible for this.
Was I not pretty before," I said relentlessly.
Finally, it's fixed... fortunately, my eye stopped bleeding.
Days after, I removed the stitches and weeks later, I recovered.
My mom kept saying, "You look like the White girl on the magazine, aren't you happy?
All you need now is a nose job and a fifteen pound weight loss."
I hate how she makes it seem like she did me a favor by making me "Europeanize"
my eyes.
Of course, all my aunts, uncles, cousins, and even my father were staring at me,
encouraging me to get a nose job too.
And all I could do was cry internally... cry without shedding any tears, asking myself,
"Was I not pretty before?"
Repressed Feelings
I just got back from a two-day retreat with progressive Viet folks from across California. A lot of issues came up for me from this weekend.
Being ethnic Chinese and mostly culturally Vietnamese has made me one really confused person. Yes, my heritage traces back to Guangzhou, but because of famine my grandparents left for Sài Gòn in the late 1890s/early 1900s. My mom and dad were born and raised in Việt Nam and experienced some harsh conditions.
I guess, this weekend opened up this box I've been holding in my heart that represses my feelings towards my parents. These are feelings of pain, sadness, anger, but also compassion, understanding, and forgiveness. I am supposed to love them unconditionally as this "good Chinese daughter," but I find it so... so immensely hard to give that kind of love. I hear from other people about how much they love their parents. I want to feel that kind of love too.. I want to love them deeply, but I can't seem to find that love anymore.
My parents have put me through a lot over the last few years with their horrible decisions. And I have arrived at a point where I feel like I want to walk away from them, but I can't. There were three moments where I ALMOST left, but couldn't bring myself to leave them. If I left, I wonder if my life would have been healthier and happier. Because of bad decisions they made, it has resulted in the deterioration of my health and well-being. When they were working 7 days/week, I had to clean their house, take care of the dog, do their laundry, AND go out to the restaurant to help with whatever they needed that required by computer and English literacy. But over time, my mom expected more and more from me. I had to fill out thick ass application packets, work on EVERY holiday morning to night, write letters, translate, constantly fix the computer menu ordering program (in THREE different languages - Eng, Viet, and Chinese), outreach/marketing, be their lawyer, be their spokeswoman, cater for parties.. all the meanwhile I was attending graduate school full time and working half time.
My parents are always bragging about how other kids are helping their parents with their family business. That's great, but do those kids have anything else going from them? Do they know what they want to do with their lives? Do they have this bicultural identity that I do where I don't want to run the damn family business and be on call 24/7? I am different from all of them. I am the black sheep anti-capitalism-socially conscious-activist-ruckus raising-non-profit working-compassion for people-person.
We're told that to be good daughters we have to help, but at what point does it become abuse and at what point is it taking advantage of me? My sister would like to disagree and say it's not abuse, but what would she know? She's not the one here doing the work.
It's interesting because at this retreat, we had this activity where we create a timeline of our life and include all significant events that contributed to who we are today. I noticed a lot of the folks started their timeline from when they were born or when their parents fled to the refugee camps. For me, it started before 1978 when they left. It starts with my mean and horrible grandparents who physically and emotionally abused my parents, particularly my mother. Three generations down, I suffer from how my grandmother raised my mom. She beat her incessantly with boards that had nails in them. Grandma waterboarded my mother. Grandma forced my mom to give her all the money she made from working in the factory at age 10. Grandma forced my mom into this unhappy marriage because my dad had some wealth and forced my mom into being his mistress. Grandma forced my mom to do so many more horrible things that I can't even write on this blog because I respect my mom enough to not share it. Grandma made my mom crazy, unstable, violent, aggressive, cold-hearted, and emotionless. Grandma made me suffer through my mom.
I only met the woman once in my life when I was 5 or so and I don't remember that much about her. I just remember when I was in the second grade, I walked out of my room in the morning to find my mom crying on the couch. She said, "Grandma died." She cried silently for 5 minutes and got up and went to work at the nail salon. In hindsight, I wonder... I wonder if those tears were tears of relief for all that grandma put her through. And I really don't want to have the same experience as my mom and cry tears of relief that she's gone. Cry that the pain and misery that she has put me through has finally ended. Of course, what I went through is absolutely NOTHING compared to what my mom endured. Still, it wasn't easy.
It pains me. It pains me so much that tears stream down my cheeks just thinking about all the suffering in my family.
Being ethnic Chinese and mostly culturally Vietnamese has made me one really confused person. Yes, my heritage traces back to Guangzhou, but because of famine my grandparents left for Sài Gòn in the late 1890s/early 1900s. My mom and dad were born and raised in Việt Nam and experienced some harsh conditions.
I guess, this weekend opened up this box I've been holding in my heart that represses my feelings towards my parents. These are feelings of pain, sadness, anger, but also compassion, understanding, and forgiveness. I am supposed to love them unconditionally as this "good Chinese daughter," but I find it so... so immensely hard to give that kind of love. I hear from other people about how much they love their parents. I want to feel that kind of love too.. I want to love them deeply, but I can't seem to find that love anymore.
My parents have put me through a lot over the last few years with their horrible decisions. And I have arrived at a point where I feel like I want to walk away from them, but I can't. There were three moments where I ALMOST left, but couldn't bring myself to leave them. If I left, I wonder if my life would have been healthier and happier. Because of bad decisions they made, it has resulted in the deterioration of my health and well-being. When they were working 7 days/week, I had to clean their house, take care of the dog, do their laundry, AND go out to the restaurant to help with whatever they needed that required by computer and English literacy. But over time, my mom expected more and more from me. I had to fill out thick ass application packets, work on EVERY holiday morning to night, write letters, translate, constantly fix the computer menu ordering program (in THREE different languages - Eng, Viet, and Chinese), outreach/marketing, be their lawyer, be their spokeswoman, cater for parties.. all the meanwhile I was attending graduate school full time and working half time.
My parents are always bragging about how other kids are helping their parents with their family business. That's great, but do those kids have anything else going from them? Do they know what they want to do with their lives? Do they have this bicultural identity that I do where I don't want to run the damn family business and be on call 24/7? I am different from all of them. I am the black sheep anti-capitalism-socially conscious-activist-ruckus raising-non-profit working-compassion for people-person.
We're told that to be good daughters we have to help, but at what point does it become abuse and at what point is it taking advantage of me? My sister would like to disagree and say it's not abuse, but what would she know? She's not the one here doing the work.
It's interesting because at this retreat, we had this activity where we create a timeline of our life and include all significant events that contributed to who we are today. I noticed a lot of the folks started their timeline from when they were born or when their parents fled to the refugee camps. For me, it started before 1978 when they left. It starts with my mean and horrible grandparents who physically and emotionally abused my parents, particularly my mother. Three generations down, I suffer from how my grandmother raised my mom. She beat her incessantly with boards that had nails in them. Grandma waterboarded my mother. Grandma forced my mom to give her all the money she made from working in the factory at age 10. Grandma forced my mom into this unhappy marriage because my dad had some wealth and forced my mom into being his mistress. Grandma forced my mom to do so many more horrible things that I can't even write on this blog because I respect my mom enough to not share it. Grandma made my mom crazy, unstable, violent, aggressive, cold-hearted, and emotionless. Grandma made me suffer through my mom.
I only met the woman once in my life when I was 5 or so and I don't remember that much about her. I just remember when I was in the second grade, I walked out of my room in the morning to find my mom crying on the couch. She said, "Grandma died." She cried silently for 5 minutes and got up and went to work at the nail salon. In hindsight, I wonder... I wonder if those tears were tears of relief for all that grandma put her through. And I really don't want to have the same experience as my mom and cry tears of relief that she's gone. Cry that the pain and misery that she has put me through has finally ended. Of course, what I went through is absolutely NOTHING compared to what my mom endured. Still, it wasn't easy.
It pains me. It pains me so much that tears stream down my cheeks just thinking about all the suffering in my family.
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