Defining Moments
20 Feb 2012 Leave a Comment
in Family, Self Tags: asian, dad, Dom, mom, race, sister, society, vietnamese
I’ll always be more like my dad than my mom. Which, as much as my mother tried to force my sister and I away from being Vietnamese, my wholesale abandonment of the ethnicity drove a wall in-between us that I don’t think will ever go away. And it was started by one of the few things from my childhood that I remember with any clarity and am still influenced by.
Writers and historians like to push the idea that we’re defined by specific instances in our lives. These “defining moments” are a turning point for a character or story that change the outcome or perceptions of a person for the foreseeable future.
Truth is, reality doesn’t work like that. Humans work and change over a long period of time, with little pieces of themselves being slowly nudged in a particular direction. Rarely does a person wake up one day and decide that they’re going to do A instead of B, even though they’ve been doing B all along.
Now, this isn’t strictly true, there ARE defining moments in peoples’ lives, and the pathos runneth over when it happens, but it’s the exception, not the rule. Generally, people meander towards one set of beliefs or another based on a variety of factors that exert pressure on them over time. That’s why most people have the political views of their parents. It isn’t because their parents presented some great argument and convinced them overnight. It’s because of constant subtle indoctrination through their formative years.
That said I’m going to give you one of those quick exceptions that actually takes place in two parts. One, when the situation presented itself, and a few years later when I understood what had happened. I’m going to break my own rule, is what I’m saying.
When I was younger, about once a year or so my dad’s side of the family that lived in the States would have a family reunion of some kind. This was mostly the extended family of other members of my dad’s family (sister’s husband’s family, that kind of thing).
In the interest of brevity, I’ll jump right to the point. One of my aunts said that they had gotten a good tan at such-and-such place. I immediately jumped up, placed my arm next to hers and said “You almost have as dark of a tan as me.”
The room went dead silent and everyone looked at me. I thought I was in terrible trouble.*
She finally came back with a “Yes, you’re darker than me, but you were born that way” like she was performing an afterschool special.
It wasn’t until later that year, that I realized what all the fuss was about, and even then I didn’t really understand it. I’d never really put together what races were, though they had been rehearsed in school annually. I guess I just thought they were talking about someone else.
I mean, I was born in America, not Vietnam, or India, or Africa. I liked the same thing as the other girls (all white) in my class. It was at that point that I realized that something was fundamentally different about me, aside from my eye. From that point forward, I began to notice that I was not them.
Now, this might argued to not be a turning point, but it certainly altered my perceptions of the world. I wasn’t different until someone told me I was, though I guess it was true all along. I’ve tried acting Asian**, but it just doesn’t work for me. I’ll always be more like my dad than my mom.
*For those of you who don’t know, I’m a little dark (it seems to vacillate). I’m a darker than my dad who is on the browner side of white, but lighter than my mom, which I guess makes sense. Genetic stuff? Bunch of hooey. People are like paints.
**I honestly don’t know what that means, so that’s probably a good chunk of what went wrong with that plan.
I’m Too Productive for My Own Good
14 Feb 2012 Leave a Comment
in Self Tags: self, mom, books, read, productive, game, MMO, TV, television, kirby
I don’t watch a lot of TV. I know that seems like a pretty general statement, but when I say it I mean I fall waaaay to one side of that. For the longest time (since from about ages 19-23) I didn’t even own a television.
It wasn’t because I couldn’t afford one, or had some problem with it; it’s just that I didn’t need it.I’ve never been one to sit in one spot and stare at a screen. It’s just not something I’m good at.
About 45 minutes into any movie, and I can’t watch it any more. I must pause it, go do something else for a while, and come back. There are rare exceptions to this, but I’ve mostly given up trying.
I play this game online (an MMO) and I can’t even sit still for an hour to play that. I get up, I do laundry, organise stuff, sit down play for a bit and repeat. I can be on for hours, but only play for about fifteen or so minutes of that. There’s been times when my character has sat in one place for an hour or more, log in to log out.
In fact, the vast majority of the contact I have with the game, doesn’t even include the game. It’s outside the game, in various projects I’m knee-deep in. I don’t really play it much at all. It’s a 3D chat service*.
But it’s not restlessness. I can sit and read a book for several hours, or do work for several hours (up to 8 or 12 without moving) and be completely focused and fine.
I think it’s because I’m obsessed with being productive. All my life I’ve been pushed to do this or that and to never stop for a second. Now, when I actually get some free time from obligations like work and the little one, I don’t know what to do with myself.
I’ve tried to slow down, but that just makes me more agitated. I feel like I’m wasting time that I could be using to do something. Probably why I’m happiest at work. Always something to be done. Not a wasted second.
How pathetic is that? I’d rather be at work than playing a videogame.
*I’m being intentionally vague about what game it is because I’m not sure I want to associate myself with it. Not because there’s something wrong with it, but because I kinda made this blog to be separate from that. This blog is supposed to be separate from everything, just me. This is a conversation for another entry, methinks.
Protected: I’d Like to be a White, Blonde Woman, Please.
09 Feb 2012 Enter your password to view comments.
in Dating Tags: anastasia, asian, black, blonde, dating, disney, girls, guys, latino, men, society, white, woman, women
I Blame My Dad for Everything
06 Feb 2012 Leave a Comment
in Family Tags: anthony, books, college, dad, Dom, mom, read, school, sci-fi, sister, tony, work
I blame my dad for almost everything, but that’s only because it’s all his fault.
When I was growing up, my sister Dom had most of the attention, at least of my mother. They fought constantly, but their relationship was still closer than that between my mother and I. Of course, Dom fought everyone. It was kind of her thing.
I latched onto my dad, who was always a very reserved person. We didn’t talk a lot, but we didn’t need to. We watched a lot of TV, movies, sometimes he would read to me. That was the best.
One book that I remember him reading was a children’s sci-fi novel called Beyond the Earth or something like that. It was red and had a rocketship on the cover, very 50s. I tried to find a picture of it for the blog, but it’s either out of print, or I’m way off on the title.
Though I can’t recall a lot of the book, I did really like that one, and made him read it over and over. I was insufferable, I’m sure.
When I hit school and discovered boys and other things I kinda floated away from that. I can’t say, from highschool into college especially, that I really had much in the way of hobbies. I didn’t really have any friends either, since I spent most of my free time studying.
See, at the start of my 9th grade year, my sister had nearly flunked out of highschool (yes, an Asian with failing grades, I assure you they exist), and had no intention of going on to college. This infuriated my mother, and she in turn put a lot of pressure on me. This not only made my life more difficult, but forced a cold war between my sister and I that didn’t end till I was 22.
I was generally a good student, but suddenly my grades were a life-or-death situation. My mother pushed me into everything she possibly could. During my junior and senior years in highschool, I was also enrolled at a local college, taking a few classes there in addition to my highschool classes. A year out of highschool and I already had my Associates and within two had my Bachelors. With the help of 15 hour semesters and summer classes, I was able to complete my Masters, thesis and all fairly quickly (I just turned 24 last month, so you can kinda do the math and get an idea).
Please don’t confuse me for some kind of genius. I am not in any way, shape or form. I am reminded of this on a fairly regular basis.
But my dad was always there. Every time I would break down because I had so much to do, he’d be there to pick me up, remind me that it would be okay, and that I was almost done. About once a month we went through this ritual where I’d panic, lock up and he’d hold me while I whined about everything I had to do.
If it wasn’t for him there, I probably would’ve jumped off of some place very high. The thought had occurred to me as a serious option on more than one occasion.
Now, I’m out in the working world, with a bit more free time on my hands, and I’m back to Sci-Fi, rockets and such. I’ve come full circle I guess, and I blame my dad for everything.
I’m Not Vietnamese
30 Jan 2012 10 Comments
in Self Tags: american, father, girl, group, identity, mother, self, vietnam, vietnamese, white, woman
Maybe I’m Italian, even though I don’t speak Italian. I like pizza, does that count?
The truth is that I don’t identify with either of those groups. Neither see me and claim me immediately.
Over the winter holidays I went with my mother and father to spend time with my extended family in Vietnam for a few weeks. While I won’t bore you with particulars or a slideshow, I was faced with the same thing I’ve had to every time I went. Namely, that I’m not one of them.
See, my mom’s side of the family hates my father. Why, I don’t know, he’s the most wonderful person you’ll ever meet, and he’s never treated my mother (my sister) and me with anything but what a husband/father should. They don’t like him because he’s white, and Italian (or American, depending on your point of view).
At least, that’s what I assume. Oh, they’re nice enough to him, but only to a point. And they’re the same way towards me, though it goes away when my parents aren’t around.
While usually the derision is heaped on fairly heavily, they pulled back a bit this trip, but it was still there. They call me names, in a joking way, but you can feel the hate underneath the fake smile. They specifically make a point to leave me out when they can. They want to remind me that I’m not one of them. They want me to feel excluded and they want to hurt me. And it works.
When I was littler, I didn’t really understand what was going on. Us children would be having fun and then all of the sudden everyone would be gone. I’d usually just go find something else to do and wait until they came back hours later.
It sounds a bit silly, but when I was younger I actually thought I was white. I don’t mean in an overt “I’m white” kind of way, but I really didn’t distinguish myself from the other white children that I went to school (my sister and and I were the only Asians in our gradeschool for a year or two and we weren’t even “true Asians,” whatever the hell that means*). And my mom’s family was pretty much in agreement with them.
The thing is, they see me as “that white girl,” which is probably a fair accusation. I have a terrible American accent, a white father, and I don’t really have anything in common with them. As far as commonality goes, I have my interests line up more with a Briton than anyone on the continent of Asia.
I have been around America quite a bit, and it’s the opposite here compared to Vietnam. I’m seen as “that Asian girl” or “that Vietnamese girl.” I have a feeling that would be the same reaction I’d get in Italy.
So I’m not Vietnamese, as my mother’s family makes every attempt to remind me. I’m not Italian. I’ve never even been to Italy. Am I American? If I have to pick a country, I guess so, but that’s not really an ethnicity as much as it is a geographical designation.
Maybe I don’t need to fit into an ethnic group. I’d tell myself that if I didn’t think it was such a lie. I feel like I should pick a group and just stick to that, or maybe I’ll just be whatever everybody around me says. You think I’m Asian? I’m Asian. You think I’m White? I’m White. I’ll dance to whatever tune you play.
It feels like no one wants to claim me. Maybe I am Vietnamese. I like math, does that count?
*Seriously, when my sister, and later I, hit the public highschool we were shunned by the other Asian kids because we had a white father. We were mixed “bananas.” It was f***ing stupid and it still makes me angry. Not for me, but for my sister. She desperately wanted to be part of that group. I just decided to hang out with the white kids. They always seemed to be thrilled to have an Asian friend and I became an authority of sorts on the subject. Weird how that worked out.
It’s back… kinda
23 Jan 2012 Leave a Comment
in Introductions Tags: bunnies, dad, introduction, kinda, me, mom, nhung
So, I had this blog a while ago and I took it down, for reasons I’ll probably put in a another post in the future. This is more of a trial run, as I’m seeing if I still have an interest in doing one of these, or if I should stick to my more formal writing.
I’ll probably retread old subjects, since I took the original down in such a rush that I didn’t back up any of it. I’ll try to be interesting, but I think I’m going to stick to single-draft terrible writing for the foreseeable future.
Right now I’m planning on posting only once a week, as time allows for little else. It will most likely hit on Monday at some time.
Le Me
A little about me is in order, if you’re into that kind of thing.
My mother is Vietnamese, my father American, but immigrated from Italy. I think that means I’m Italio-Vietnamese-American. And it sucks. I’ll probably lament at some point how being mixed has generally made my life miserable, so I won’t go into it here.
I have one sister, no brothers. My parents live overseas now, so I’m the only one in my family still state-side. I have a daughter, Nhung, who is probably the best thing to have ever come under my roof. Her father is no longer in her life, so right now it’s just her and me.
My favorite animals are bunnies! I love the fuzzy little bundles of hopping joy. The big fuzzy ears and feet are what get me. I have kind of a thing with ears. I don’t understand it either.
I’d go on, but then I’d have nothing else to write about. One post and it’d be over.
Lastly, this blog is for me. I don’t really expect to get a lot of traffic, and I don’t particularly care. In fact, I don’t really want a lot of attention. Would kind of defeat the purpose. This is just me talking to no one by talking to everyone. So if that’s not your thing, then feel free to head on out. Won’t hurt my feelings.
__(=”=)__ <-This is me. hop hop hop
