Thai Le's Blog: Child of South Vietnam

Where is the Integrity of Vietnam?

2012-01-26T15:17:00.000-08:00

Does Vietnam have any integrity at all?

A woman poisoned her husband with heartbreak grass because after he invited two friends over to get drunk, she saw a quick way to stop his drinking and beating on her forever. Why is a woman and her children beaten regularly and community members come to the house and drink with the abusive husband for pleasure?

Poisonous porridge has become popular in Ha Gaing. Why would people in the area be attracted to a dish called "poison" and why would they risk eating something that if prepared incorrectly could kill?

In my childhood, when we were still South Vietnam, we used our exotic gifts for their medicinal value, but not for excitement.

We ate fish and chicken with herbs such as lemongrass, picked fresh coconuts and oranges off our own fruit trees. Snake has its place as a medicinal remedy and otherwise as a respected if not feared part of our local habitat. The same Burmese python recently outlawed for shipment from foreign cultures to the U.S., was a natural wildlife of our playground near the rice fields or by the Lai Gaing River.

I do remember one time when someone in my family ate snake but not as a gourmet food nor even as a meal. Thac's face broke out in horrible acne when we lived in Qui Nhon. She had always been the prettiest of my family, with beautiful eyes and skin. Because she felt the break out so ugly, Thac began hiding half her face behind her hair. One of my uncles on my mother's side came for a visit. When he saw saw Thac, he said, "I know how to fix that." When he left he said, "I'll be back soon with a cure."

Several weeks later, he returned with a pot of cooked meat stew. Uncle said to Mother, "Don't tell her what it is."

After Thach had eaten all she could hold, she asked, "Well, what is in this?"

"Snake meat," is all my uncle said. Thach groaned loudly.

Within two days, a miracle happened. Thach's face returned to her clear beauty.

One day, I hope our lost culture can still be saved.

Tet Offensive

2012-01-17T14:03:00.000-08:00

At this time of year, it is impossible not to think of the Tet and the battles that occurred on or around January 30, 1968. Previously the Viet Cong and the North Vietnamese Army had not worked together in the war against South Vietnam. During this horrifying sequence, the North took several of our cities, later to be won back by the U.S. and South combined forces. As we fought to drive the North out of our land, we began to lose ground.

This segment of the battle to win back Hue was to be named the Massacre at Hue. Thousands of South Vietnamese were executed and 100, 000 of their homes lost as the North vindictively desecrated them one by one with bombs. Both the North and the South had agreed to ceased fire during the three days of Tet so people could celebrate, but the North did not keep their promise and attacked Hue and other cities nearby. Though these cities were all recovered, Hue was destroyed forever.

This is the saddest time of the war for all of my people. So many lives were lost unnecessarily. Though the war should have seemed winnable at this point, losing all these lives and all the destruction made us feel disspirited and made many feel they had no home in Vietnam.

Deceit of Party Leaders in Vietnam Today

2011-12-04T06:23:00.000-08:00

Vietnam News 12/4/11 reported Party Secretary Trong as saying, "he appreciated the group's effective support and co-operation in economic development, especially in projects of hunger elimination and poverty reduction." A Reuters article dated 9/6/11 discusses how the propaganda of Vietnam officials states the opposite.

The Communists weave a tissue of lies on Vietnam News to trick the world into believing they are trying to help their indigent masses.

Reuters states, "Across Asia, capital inflows have been driving prices higher while in Vietnam, rapid credit growth and wasteful spending by state-owned companies lies at the root of the problem." See the direct contrast in these quotes? Communism alive and well and frighteningly deceitful to the people of Vietnam.

Vietnam News

I beg all countries to boycott Vietnam for travel, an economic sanction that would mean something to the government. Perhaps officials would recognize their human rights violations are not going unnoticed, they cannot hide behind a blanket of deceit.

USU aids deaf children in South Vietnam

2011-11-22T08:55:00.000-08:00

USU aids deaf children in South Vietnam

This is great article that makes me sad to read. I'm so glad Americans are supporting medical needs to oppressed Southerners, but why is the government so ineffective, the one that said they stood up for the little guy, in taking care of special needs? No educated teachers for hearing impaired? In 2011 while so many rich feast on exotic snakes! Thanks for telling of you service in a month-long mission. This is truly amazing for a university to invest in. It speaks well for Utah State University and for all the students involved.

Southerners left behind and in fear of reprisals daily still think of the area they live as South Vietnam. In the article, the author refers to South Vietnam as an area. A commenter stated there has been no South Vietnam since 1975. It was actually 1976. Calling the section South Vietnam distinguishes where the trip focused, the place where there would be most need due to government neglect.

St. Pius X Dallas, A Light at the End of the Evil, Dark Tunnel

2011-11-09T15:04:00.000-08:00

My two sisters and myself attended a mass celebrated at St. Pius X church in Dallas. This was a usual 5 o'clock mass on Sat. but this mass was especially to celebrate the 65 year anniversary
of Monsignor Weinzapel who has served the Catholic church.

The church was packed with people, and I am sure most of those lived in this community just like I have and now come back to honor him. Among all the highlighted services of his life, one was in 1975 when he sponsored many Vietnamese families who fled Viet Nam and came to find new life here in Texas.

Sitting in church, looking at him up on the altar, he had aged quiet a bit, but yet I can still feel the compassion, kindness in him. The way he carried himself had not changed from what I remember of him when I first met him in 1975. I have visited St. Pius X church often. Since I stay with my mom on Saturday nights, I sometimes attend mass here on Sunday but today, seeing Monsignor brought back many tender memories: how lost we were, how we missed home, and how we had tried to fit into this new life.

Memories that brought tears to my eyes of how kind these people were; even though, they did not know us nor did they speak the same language. Looking at Monsignor and seeing how old he is made me realize how long it has been since I first came to this church 36 years ago. My family will forever be grateful to the Catholic diocese, St. Pius church and its community and especially to Monsignor Weinzapel.

I just wanted to write this to show our appreciation to him, wishing him well and pray that he may live many more years, so he can continue to serve god and for me to have a chance to remember that the earth
still have good, kind heart people out there. I won't forget what he did for us, and I will try to help others
if I am needed and able to.

Thank you, Sir

http://spxdallas.org/

Happy Father's Day!

2011-07-08T13:22:00.000-07:00

During the war I didn't spend much time with my dad because of his intense involvement in it. My father was town manager of Bong Son and later a Senator when we moved to Qui Nhon. That's why I valued and appreciated each time he was able to come home (he slept in the town hall each night where he worked to evade guerilla nighttime gunfire) and spend time with me. Whenever I saw his jeep or his little motorcycle come into the front yard of our home, no matter where I was or how much fun I was having with my friends, I would always run home to greet him. I liked to see his smile brighten up when he saw me. To me, my father had the sweetest smile, a beautiful one. His smile was so sweet and tender, and yet his eyes were so strict and full of authority. But that is what I liked about my father. He was so manly and his heart was so kind.

It's Father's Day, and I just happen to remember his kind face and miss him. I hope all of our children of the world will find that same love within their hearts toward their parents, for I don't think anybody
on this earth loves us more than our parents love us. Appreciate, cherish and grow with it.

Happy Father's Day!

Mother's Day Comes after "Black April"

2011-05-06T14:53:00.000-07:00

The Vietnamese people fled the country during and after 1975 because of the invasion from the north, so we made the month of April "Black April". No matter where we are in the world, April is a mourning month for us. The last day of the month: April 30th is the day we all get together at the community where we live to remember, to mourn, pray, appreciate and reflect. This year is no different; I came to the site where we have the memorial ceremony. The sight of my beloved Freedom Flags and the songs people were singing brought tears to my eyes. A chilling sensation runs through my body whenever I hear these songs and see these flags.

I think there were more young people attending this year. This moved me so much, for I always hope that the next generation will realize the importance of their involvement in the fight for our Viet Nam and its true freedom. For the people of Viet Nam one day will have rights and happiness, and also one day we all would be able to go back and rebuild our country.

In remembering the saddest day of our lives, I would like to join my people everywhere in mourning, saluting and praying for all the soldiers, people who have died for my country and because of my country. This includes my dad and my mom for all their sacrifices in their life for my safety.

Happy Mother's Day!

Vietnam Today

2011-05-01T16:07:00.000-07:00

The Viet Nam War ended on April 30, 1975. There was no more gunfire, and all of remaining soldiers returned home. Though my family faced retribution if we returned, we prayed other families, not so outwardly involved in fighting against communism, would be safe. Viet Nam would be reunited. The North and the South would rebuild the country. We hoped and prayed from America that our cherished Viet Nam would finally have peace.

That's what we all thought when the ceasefire was called. When the North soldier's came into Sai Gon, our beloved capital of the South, they did not bring peace. Instead there were more tears shed.

Our soldiers did not get to come home to their families. They were all sent away to what that the North called rehabilitation camps, but they were in fact prisons. Our soldiers were tortured physically and mentally and many died. The few that survived the torrent of abuse were sent home many years later in such a sickened state they were unable to continue a normal life.

My family was one of the lucky ones that left Viet Nam on April 30, 1975. That day brought many of us dreams, hope for a better future that would never come. That day in history brought Viet Nam into turmoil, agony, pain, and suffering. Even today, thirty-five years later, my people are still suffering.

I grew up during the war, young, but old enough to see what my country went through and what had become of my Viet Nam. I had good parents. I learned from my mom to be independent, competent and yet retain a kind heart because during wartime. My father was seldom home. She was responsible for both the mom and dad roles. I learned from my dad to be strong, righteous, caring, respectful, and to love all people.

Today, I try to teach my children about my Viet Nam and their grandparents. My children were born in the United States and have not had a chance to visit their mother's land. That's why I am trying to teach them the good and bad of the United States and Viet Nam. I want the to keep the good things from Viet Nam's culture and value the good qualities from American culture, using both to grow. I pray that my children will see the good in Viet Nam in their lifetime if it's at all possible.

I love my Viet Nam with all my being, and I want my children to love it too. I hope one day they will visit a Viet Nam with true peace, freedom, and happiness. I love and appreciate America, a country that saved and sheltered my family and my people, a country that gave us freedom and opportunities to survive and achieve success. America became my second country, a country I learned to love and cherish for as long as I live.

But still the North spreads propaganda throughout the land and persecutes the Viet Kieu, or Southerners who fought for freedom from the North. Tourism websites offer trips to my country stating that Viet Nam is a great place to live and visit. But in contrast, horrors or violence still occur in my land. Southerners are still oppressed by the government. For example, a friend of mine returned home to visit Viet Nam for the Tet celebration in January 2011. As he ate lunch in an open-air café, a woman who had vended him food from her cart stepped out into the street. A car raced toward her. She couldn’t get out of the way fast enough. My friend watched frozen in shock as the vehicle hit the woman, knocking her down, spilling her blood, and leaving her struggling for breath on the ground, her legs and arms splayed unnaturally at odd angles. Communist officials came over to my friend as he bent over the woman.

“Leave her. Go off from here,” the police officer yelled.

The car, that had struck her, screeched to a halt. The driver jumped from the driver’s seat into the street. He began screaming.

As he stood over the dying woman he screamed, “You stupid cow! It was your fault!”

After he had driven off, the police spoke to my friend again, who still watched, shaking his head from side to side.

“That man is an official’s son. You can do nothing. Go from here and never speak of this again.”

The woman groaned and let out one last labored breath and died.

To justify acts like these, Northerners have always condemned Southerners for unsupported accusations. According to Tal Tovoy's case study entitled "Peasants and Revolutionary Movements," Viet Cong propaganda has depicted the South Vietnamese government as a “political body opposed to Vietnamese unification." Tovoy states the initial struggle against the South Vietnamese instituted by the communist North was to rebel against large landholders and to offer a "provision of land to the peasantry."

But according to Ron Gluckman in 1990, an American reporter stationed in Sai Gon, "Legislation passed last year authorizes Viet Kieu to purchase property in Ho Chi Minh." Viet Kieu were not given freedom to live as other Viet Namese. If Viet Kieu were not allowed to purchase land, this is in direct contrast to the North’s pretense that they offered unity and offered all people equal opportunity.

Thich Nhat Hanh, a Buddhist monk, was exiled to France from Viet Nam in 1966 for his writing and demonstration against the North for South Viet Namese suffering violence at the hands of communists. Martin Luther King Jr. nominated Hanh for a Novel Peace Prize in 1967. Hanh could not return to Viet Nam for a visit until 2005.

Yet North propaganda states, “Solidarity for a better world.” According to a 2010 Vietnam Bulletin report for the Vietnam Daily News, farmer peasants in the country do not even have refrigerators, while rich government officials in town live extravagantly.

Andrew Lam writes in Nation of Ly Van Nguyen, on trial in Vietnam in 2007 for spreading propaganda against the communist government, “During the trial on March 30, Father Ly Nguyen's mouth was physically muzzled after he recited four lines of his own poetry.” The father’s poetry was about freedom from oppression, freedom from violence, the freedom the North says they seek.

“All houses are happy,” communists post around Viet Namese cities and towns. “Tomorrow starts today.” But in actuality there is no freedom and many families have loved ones in prison. “In mid1985, the Hanoi government conceded that it still held about 10,000 inmates in the reeducation camps, but the actual number was believed to be at least 40,000.” (http://countrystudies.us/vietnam/40.htm)

By writing my memoir, I hope to show mainly the wonderful family I had growing up in Viet Nam when it was still a free country. We weren’t so different from Americans. In addition, I wanted to reveal what the war was really like for a Viet Kieu like myself, whose family was passionately patriotic and fought for the South’s freedom alongside Americans. It is my hope and prayer that readers take away a greater understanding of what the country was and what it could become again. The more who become aware and bring the truth to light, the more likely the Viet Namese people will achieve freedom in the future.

Muc: My Dog, My Friend

2011-04-10T15:05:00.000-07:00

I had a dog in my childhood years. His name was Muc 'meaning ink' because his hair color was all black. He followed me everywhere, from the beginning of the village to the end He even climbed the mountain with me and waited for me at the foot of the tree when I was up on the tree.

My family lived in a small village, almost like a farm area here. We had mountain, river, brook and not too far there was the beach. We had a pigpen, many chickens and even rabbits, but Muc was my favorite. He was my best friend.

We liked to run in the rain, sliding down a small dirt hill or to go swim in the river. My favorite time with him was when we chased after the small yellow chicks and angered their parents so we could get chased by the mommy and daddy chicken. I did not think Muc was scared of the chickens, but if I ran he would follow me.

I have many beautiful memories with him but my last one with him was when we played in the flooding water overflowed from the river crawling into our front yard. He was so happy when we caught crickets coming out from the holes.

That was my last time having fun with my best friend for the water got higher into our home, I was ordered by my mom to go upstairs and Muc was still downstairs enjoy his swimming in the water. He did not know the current could got stronger and it took him out of my house swirling all the way to the brook and out of my sight, out of my life.

Chapter 3 of my memoir, Child of Vietnam, is published in Kartika Review.

Tribute to My Uncle

2011-03-25T12:35:00.000-07:00

I want to tribute my uncle who passed away now six years ago. He and my father were close, both in politics, both elected to senate positions but in different cities in Viet nam. All of this was before the Viet Nam War. When my family moved here, my father left his political life behind and devoted himself to family. My uncle, though, moved to California, where there were more Vietnamese people, and became a political activist for South Viet Nam.

My uncle attended as many protest as he could with the Vietnamese community in California. He also had a time slot in a Vietnamese Radio Broadcast where he tried to educate people how bad communist ways are.

My uncle became sick, but he still went on to this one particular protest, which turned out to be his last
one. His illness grew worse that day, for he was standing in the rain and cold. He passed away
after about three weeks later after battling pneumonia. Since our dad passed a way nine months before that date, our uncle became our father and six years ago, we lost him, too.

All of us siblings rushed to California for his funeral. To my surprise and amazement, at his wake, as I saw him lying there, but we heard his voice from his radio broadcast throughout the funeral chapel. So many of his colleagues came to pay respects. The final respect for him was at the burial, to see a Vietnamese Freedom Flag covered his coffin, the gun shots, the salutes and the handing of the flag to his wife. I was so proud of him, I was crying, for I had lost an uncle, but also I cried for my country to have lost another fighting soldier.

All these years, I thought my father had no longer involve in politics, but I was wrong, he was still involved, only in his own way. He talked with my uncle everyday and gave him advice.
Together, they still fought for Viet nam, and no they are both gone, I am sure there are many many
more Vietnamese out there who still carry on the battle, hoping one day we can all come back
to a country, free of communism.

My father and my uncle had always said, they wished to live long
enough, so they would one day set foot on our motherland again. But that did not happen. Perhaps
that will happen in my lifetime.

Vietnam's Jungle Law: A Sad Story

2011-02-23T05:16:00.000-08:00

I apologize for not writing anything on my blog for a while. This past Thursday, we celebrated our Vietnamese New Year. I remember in Viet Nam, New Year's Day was a huge deal for all of us. We came together like a family no other time of year. Tet is celebrated like a birthday for everybody, no matter where family is, each will try to come home at all costs. The younger ones wish the best wishes to the elderly relatives and in return we will receive wishes from them and also a little red bag containing of money. In Vietnam my mom and sisters decorated our home with all kinds of exotic flowers and hard to find fruits. As a catholic, we went to church to thank God for the old year and pray for the new year.

Here in the United States, now we also attend church to give thanks and prayers at New Year's. We cling to the customs as we had in Viet Nam, but I know it is not the same. Somehow there is always an aching feeling inside of me knowing that I am so far away from "home".

New Year's I should talk about happy things, but there is a story that I just heard from one of my friends returning from visiting his family in Vietnam last month. This story has haunted me for days and I would like to share with you since we all live in such a safe and privileged country. We don't hear about what is really happening back home. I often say Viet Nam has no law or their law to me is 'jungle law'. This story will let you understand why I said such thing.

My friend was sitting at an eatery on the street of Saigon. He bought some breakfast from a middle-aged woman who was selling food from her cart. After selling him the package, she pushed her cart across the street. An SUV come charging down the street and hit her. Her body was on the street gushing blood. My friend said he tried to run over to help. Some police officers held him back so he wouldn't be run over in the street. People crowded around the streets but no one cared to help or each was afraid to help. Just then a young man from the SUV jumped out, stood over the dying lady cursing, blaming her for not watching where she was going. Then he got back into his car and sped off. Throughout this entire episode, my friend said he used his camera trying to tape the tragedy, but again the police snatched it and also made him leave the area. He was wondering why, and they told him the driver was one of the high official's son. My friend left the country with frustration, disgusted, and he has been haunted with this sight forever.

For those who have gone to visit Vietnam as a tourist or who as child returned to visit the motherland, I have heard many of them say positive things about the country. I wonder if it is the material things they see. Where are the rights for my people? I am sure all they see are the lavish, tall beautiful buildings, hotels...the facade of Vietnam. I hope they will look deeper into the heart of my people. There they will see the sorrow, agonies, fright, anger that the communist government is trying to hide from the world. Viet Nam has NO law. Any law now is "jungle law" to me. I am sure with all my heart that my people were happier and even safer during war time than after the war ended, and there were supposed to be peace in Viet Nam.

Please respond to the beginning of the memoir in progress.

2011-02-09T10:35:00.000-08:00

Introduction

At seven years old, my 1970’s Việt Nam was a breathtakingly beautiful land full of excitement and danger; a land of poisonous snakes, killer floods, and terrifying accidents. But it was also a place of adventure and delight, of exploration on the mountain and in the neighboring villages, climbing mango trees and picking acai berries, canoeing in the brook and crabbing, playing any and every game imaginable. Oh, yes, and by the way, it was a place where a war was going on. My mother, watched us arrive home plastered in mud or emerge from mists of tear gas, and folded us in her arms rejoicing in our miraculous, continued wellbeing. She knew we were surrounded by danger, so she trained us rather than chaining us.

My father struggled to save the world one child at a time by adopting Việt Cộng[1] spies and an orphaned boy, who years later turned traitor, a victim of communist brainwashing. Above all, we led as normal a life as possible amid battling artillery right outside the windows of our home. My father, city manager and an important man, commanded our family before he died to tell people he was a good father
. Family always came first for him and then country. My father was humble about his public service.

I chose to write this memoir in tribute to what South Việt Nam once was, and also, to honor my parents, who planned and provided for my lucky escape from the horrors of the Việt Nam War that was fought on my front doorstep.

[1] The Việt Cộng (VC) are the Northern Communists who fought the Americans in the Việt Nam War.

Lost Tradition: Ngay Gio

2010-12-26T05:53:00.000-08:00

My country is not that big, but because of the war, we often were terrorized by the communists when going from city to city. That was why I did not get to see or know many of my relatives. I only knew a few of them that lived in the same village. I think I was closer to my village neighbors than my own uncles, aunts and cousins. I was able to see my father's side of the family once a year for we had a day called "Ngay Gio". It's like a family reunion only we got together to remember our ancestors, our love ones who were dead.

Every year, on that particular day, most of my father's family members, near or far, all tried to come to our home because the Le Cemetery was in the same village where we lived. My father's uncle, Le Van An, who was a Bishop from Long Khanh City, would also come home to the village to celebrate a Mass there at the cemetery.

This was about the only time of the year I saw my relatives who lived far outside my village. After these few days were over, we parted ways and promised to see each other again next year. I was too young to remember anybody. Years later when the war became too intense to travel and the village became
more dangerous for relatives to visit, that celebration could no longer being honored; therefore, my chance of knowing any family members was even less than before.

Now, so many of my relatives I will never see. I left them behind in Viet Nam along with my family's property, our possessions, and our beloved cemetery with its cherished tradition.

Thai Describes Her American Education

2010-10-24T07:36:00.000-07:00

My son was finalizing details on his project and planning on studying for his tests the next day.

I listened to him complain how he will have to stay up late. I told him he needed to go to bed. This bring back lots of memories for me.

When I first came to the United States, I did not speak any English. My way of communicating was using my English/Vietnamese and Vietnamese/English dictionary.

My everyday routine after coming home from school was help with the chores, have dinner with my family and do my homework.

I would have to use the dictionary to translate any reading material I had for my homework.

This could take several hours, until all the words translated and carefully penciled in on top of the word. Then I would go back and try to read the chapters and answer the questions. Even after all this hard work I still could not understand much of the chapter. It did not make much sense, but I did my homework anyway.

Months later, when I was able to know English a little better, I realized that words I tried to translate were not necessarily the same meaning of what was in the chapter or a sentence. My realization made me frustrated. I would rather not know that and just do my homework the best I could understand.

With this realization I became discouraged, not wanting to study anymore, and yet I had to spend more time into the night trying to do my homework. I knew that this was the only way for me to succeed and gain education in this country. If I wanted to live here and have a future here, I HAD to learn the language.

There were times when my mom peeked into my room with worried eyes because it was so late in the night, but she left me alone. She knew this was the only way for me to better myself. With this memory in mind, I told my son I loved him and goodnight.

Vietnamese Church Confession

2010-10-03T16:12:00.000-07:00

I was raised as a Catholic. As far as I remember my parents told me that we have been Catholic for many generations. I grew up going to church every Sunday and every holy obligation day. I went to Bible school every Sunday, and know to go confession at LEAST once a year. That's what I learned, but once a year was not what my family did. According to my parents, I had to go once a month and I guess maybe because of my culture or the way I was raised, I still do whatever my parents said. I didn't argue then and I still do it now.

I remember one time I rode my bike to the church on a Saturday afternoon for my monthly confession with the priest. It took me about twenty minutes to get there, and it was raining hard, too. By the time I got to the Church, I was very wet. The confession line in the Chapel was long. I got in, kneeled at one of the chairs and did my usual prayers. After that, I stood in line with the rest of the people and waited for my turn.

My heart was pumping so loud I felt that everybody could hear it. When it was my turn, the priest told me he was going ask me a few questions about the Bible lessons I learned. I don't remember what the one question was, but I did not know the answer. The priest then opened the curtain, peeked his head out and yelled at me in front of everybody that he would not do the confession for me, to go home, study and come back next week. I left the church with a heavy heart, felt humiliated and the thought of the ride home in the rain made me want to cry.

Nowadays, I try to get my children to go to the reconciliation at least twice a year, and they still complain. I told them my story and tell them that was why my heart pounded so hard every time I faced the priest. Today, we call it reconciliation. Just the word itself sounds easier than confession. I don't understand why the Vietnamese priest had to make it so scary and terrifying then. After all, we were going to make peace with our God and knew that he would always love us, no matter what we did. The Catholic church today is more understanding and easier. My children shouldn't feel so terrified to go face God at the reconciliation booth. Actually, I don't think they are scared. They are just lazy. I hope my experience will help them see how lucky they are that they don't have to go through what I went through. I look forward to reconciling with God every time. I feel good about it.

Death Reflection and a Dream of Peace

2010-09-18T20:48:00.000-07:00

The front of my house in Bong Son had a porch with painted rails. The top of the rail was wide enough for me to sit or lie on. In the early morning I liked to like lie on it, so I could feel the coolness of the cement base on my back and enjoy the early morning sun. One morning I was lying there feeling the sun and dreaming who knows what at that age. I heard my oldest sister's voice calling for me. Her voice was loud and somewhat hysterical. I did not want anything to disrupt my dreamy morning, so I decided to ignore her calling me.

http://notesfromacommonplacebook.blogspot.com/2009/11/bunnies.html

After a while, I decided to run to the back of the house. There I saw my sister kneeling on the ground beside the rabbits' cage and our dogs were there, too. I was terrified at the sight and realized that our rabbits were having babies and the cage's rails were too big to hold the babies so they were dropping on to the ground, and the dogs were trying to attack the baby rabbits. I ran to my sister and tried to shoo the dogs away. She was crying, and I felt so bad for not coming to her sooner. A couple of the baby rabbits died from the attack of our dogs. I told her I was sorry. We picked up the lifeless bodies of the rabbits and buried them by the lemon tree.

We lived in a place where we saw dead bodies carried up on our street almost every day because of the crossed gun fires of the previous nights and where because of the war, human lives seemed so unimportant. But that does not means we do not value our lives and the lives of the others. If the life of a tiny baby rabbits means that much for us to shed tears, then we know we wanted to live, and live with a peaceful happy life. I wished the war had ended differently, and with a different government even if it meant we would die in the sea or in the jungles as long as we have freedom. Also many of our soldiers were jailed and many have died even after the war ended, and we are supposed to have peace in our country. And let's not forget all the soldiers who have fought and died for the peace and happiness of Vietnam. I hope one day Viet Nam will have real peace and happiness so all of our tears had not been shed in vain.

Bombing the Bong Son Bridge

2010-08-30T14:12:00.000-07:00

The explosion was so loud that it woke up the whole entire city of Bong Son. I opened my eyes to this loud noise so close by my house. At the same time I saw all of the windows and doors of our house spring wide open. Things on the shelves in my house were crashing down on the floor. I heard my mom's terrifying voice called out to us to go in to the more secure room to hide. I was crouching low
on the floor while there were guns firing outside. We knew right away that loud noise was a bomb meant to sabotage someone or somthing specific, but we did not know what got hit.

After what seemed like an eternity, the gun fire wore down, and we all went back to bed. The next morning we found out the bridge that helped us to travel from the village to the city of Bong Son had been sabotaged last night. It was the saddest sight I have ever seen. I had always known that our lives were connected to war and we could be killed any time, but seeing the broken bridge, which had taken me and my friends to school, to church, to the market etc. in the city of Bong Son saddened me. It made me realize war was close to home, and we were helpless to do anything to stop it.

Vietnam 1970's Wedding: Thai attends her first wedding

2010-08-16T10:08:00.000-07:00

My mom told me one night she would take me to a wedding reception with her in the morning. Being very young, children often do not attend these important events. Only the adults are invited. Imagine my excitement.

My mom and I left early for the wedding ceremony at church. She reminded me to get ready. I was excited not because of the food, but because I had not attended any weddings yet. I wanted to see what happened.

We went to the groom's house first. All the ladies dressed in Vietnamese Traditional Dress (Ao Dai). They were all sorts of different colors with flowers imprinted on their dresses. Some men also dressed in Ao Dai,

and some wore regular slacks and shirts. My little brother and I were escorted to the table where all the kids were sitting while my parents went up to the main room of the house.

There were big signs all over the house starting at the gate that said "Tan Hon," meaning newly weds. From the gate through the courtyard into the front door were decorations of red fabric ribbons and flowers. I noticed that even the landscape pots were tidy and pretty.

I saw the bride in her red wedding dress woven with golden. She paired it with a white satin pants and a red round hat. She topped her dress with outer wear made of sheer fabric rimmed with gold. I thought she was so pretty. To me her husband was a different story. He also wore white satin pants and a long silk shiny blue ao dai. On his head also was a round blue hat but he did not look pretty like the bride. I thought he looked weird.

Then there was music, but by this time, after the ceremony at the home, introductions of the relatives,

and passing around the teas and gifts, I was tired and ready to go home. I wanted to get out of my pretty

dress, which I was so excited to put on that morning for the occasion. I saw some children running around the courtyard and playing. I started to join them, but my mom looked at me with a smile and shook her head. I knew she wanted me to behave.

I do not know how long a time had passed, but I finally got to hold my mom's hand and go home. What a relief! I remember thinking weddings weren't fun at all.

My Mother in Vietnam, Now I'm a Mother to Her in America

2010-08-10T13:16:00.000-07:00

Taking care of my mom every weekend is an honor, a privilege, and a duty I am glad I am able to share with my siblings. This Saturday when I was at my mom's, to my surprise she was not her usual quiet self. She patted gently on her bed and told me to come lie down next to her. I came and put my head on her pillow, my face to her. To be this close to her, I was able to see how beautiful her skin is for her age. I giggled to her, "Mom, you are so pretty. Do you think maybe because you have been eating just vegetables, fruits and milk?" She did not answer me, but just touched my face and smiled. I saw the glistening tenderness in her eyes. I did not know what she was thinking, but I thought how ironically our positions had changed. I was the one she was taking care of, and now I am taking care of her.

I remember being very young and sick one time. I did not know what my temperature reading was, but my fever was high. My mom asked a nurse in the next village to come see me. He gave me some pills. I guess it was kind of like Tylenol nowadays. We did not have antibiotics to help me feel better the next day. I was in bed with a high fever for days. My mom did everything she could to help my body fight the virus. She made me orange juice she picked from the tree. She cooked me congee with lots of peppers in it. She put a wet towel on my forehead every so often. Because of the fever I had many weird scary dreams. Every time I woke in the night, my mom was always there watching over me and hugged me, so I won't be alone.

Now, sometimes my mom wakes up in the middle of the night and opens the front door. Because I am sleeping and tired, this makes me frustrated at times. She was so patient with me. I only hope I can be patient with her. I understand now that no love on this earth can compare to a mom's love, and my love for my mom is nothing compared to her love for me. Thanks Mom.

Flood in Vietnam

2010-08-04T10:48:00.000-07:00

Flood is something my village had to endure every year. If we were lucky, we would have one flood every year. Most years we ended up with two or sometimes three floods. My village was between a mountain, brook and the Lai Giang River. The river's end connected into the ocean. When it rained for days, the water would overflow the river and the brook. On top of that we would have water coming from above the mountain and all of that flowed into our village.

Because of the flood, most of our homes in the village had raised foundations. Sometimes the flood would just hit the foundation and withdraw, and sometimes it would come into our homes and rise high up, almost to the ceiling. For my parents and the adults this was a
http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/in_pictures/7083622.stm

hard time, but for us children, when the water started to creep into our streets we were overjoyed. As children we were excited to feel the water at our feet on our own street and yards.
The crickets came out from their holes, so we caught and stored them in jars. My dog and I used a hollow
door and floated around our yard until the water was too high for safety. After the fun, we were all soaked
and wet. We went upstairs. My mom would feed us steamed rice with salty fish. This was the best
meal...ever!

My beloved people had to suffer not just from the war, but also had to endure so many other catastrophes in life. And yet we were always there for each other. We shared the same values and love as my mom shared when she provided that small pot of steamed rice with the rest of the villager who were there at our house
on a rainy, stormy day.

Midnight Spy Search

2010-07-17T06:33:00.000-07:00

The village where I grew up in Viet Nam during my childhood years was a beautiful place, and the neighbors were always looking out for each other. We were like one big family. There were other villages around us just like us, but we did not know most of them. One evening, when I was about five or six years old, the city official came to our home and told us we needed to evacuate the village because they believed we may have communist spies who came to live within us. They wanted all of us to move to the city and spend the night in the city hall building so they could identify us.

My mom told us to pack an overnight bag, and we crossed over the bridge into Bong Son. The building was crowded; therefore, people that lived next to the building offered their homes to some families to relieve the overcrowding. We stayed at our great uncle's house, which was across from city hall. That night we had to sleep on the floor with other people. I remember I was lying next to my mom. She had a blanket to keep me warm. In the middle of the night, a group of soldiers came in and woke us up by pointing their flashlights in our faces. I was very terrified and started to cry. My mom told me it was okay, not to cry and not to make a scene. These men came in and looked at everybody's faces to make sure that there were no unfamiliar faces. They asked the adults a few questions and left.

I did not have a good night of sleep after that. The floor was uncomfortable, and there were too many people in the house. Most of all, I was terrified of the soldier's with flashlights. I did not know who or what those official men were looking for, and why my dad was not there to vouch for his family. I asked my mom about it the next morning on our way back to the village. She explained that the soldiers had to make sure that we did not have enemy strangers sneak into our neighborhood to hurt us. Even though dad worked in the city, we had to go through the event just like everybody else, no exceptions.

July 4th, Freedom in America, but Still no Freedom for Vietnam

2010-07-05T09:34:00.000-07:00

We are celebrating Fourth of July. Independence and freedom are something that every human being wishes to have but not everyone gets them. Many people have to sacrifice everything. And I am thinking of my
people...of how many decades have gone by and how many lives have died for "Independence and Freedom"?

Yet, my people, my country is still not able to call what we are having in Viet Nam freedom.
Happy 4th of July!
Thai Le

http://www.historyplace.com/unitedstates/vietnam/index-1945.html

I found this information about the Vietnamese Government. Interesting, diplomatic way of expressing how ineffective socialism has been implemented by the Viet Cong:

Red tape and regulations
As in most countries, bureaucracy is a problem in Vietnam. ‘Law’ is a comparatively new concept (until the 1990’s, Vietnam had no further education law institutions). Much legislation takes the form or regulations and circulars that are passed down to local level for implementation. Interpretations often differ from area to area, and much paperwork is generated in attempts to standardize procedures.

Much administration involves more than one ministry. As communication is almost entirely vertical, there is little co-ordination between different ministries and Departments leading to long delays and frustration. Recently, the government has tried to speed things up by laying down time limits for particular activities, but bureaucrats everywhere are skilled in the art of finding exceptions to such rules and generating more forms to be completed.

http://www.haivenu-vietnam.com/vietnam-today-governance.htm

Amanda Griffith

Tear Gas and Agent Orange

2010-07-01T08:04:00.000-07:00

Have you ever experienced inhaling tear gas? I have many times during my childhood in Thac Da village. I did not know how or why it happened or who was it coming from.

The picture to the left is of Vietnamese Agent Orange victims.
http://www.flickr.com/photos/jlascar/4607344945/ The North Vietnamese display this in Ho Chi Minh City to criticize the U.S. for its use in the Vietnam War.

The villagers were just going about their daily business, and then we would first sense this strong smell in the wind blowing by our neighborhood. My mom would rush us all to the well. She would wet cloths and pass it along to all of us. We then rushed to brook where there were water and lots of wind to help us deal with our breathing better.

This was the most horrifying smell of all. As we breathed, it would follow in to our nostrils, down our throats, our eyes would tear and we felt like we were going to die of gagging . I do not know how to describe this feeling except I know it was horrible and do not ever wish this upon anybody.

Today, sometimes my sisters and I visit with each other. As we grow older, we seem to forget
things, but we often tease one another that we are not old, we are just having side effects from "tear gas and Agent Orange."

A Father's Day Tribute to Thai's Dad

2010-06-21T17:18:00.000-07:00

My village was not a safe place at night for my dad to come home to and spend the night. He always had to just come home for dinner and go back into the city to stay overnight. I did not spend much time with my dad as I had with my mom, and I am sure most Vietnamese children did not see their dads much at that time. All the men from South Vietnam went to the war zone to protect our country. I was probably luckier than children that had dads in the army. Their dads had to go into the battle fields for months at a time.

I treasured my time with my dad when he had time for me. He tried to find time out from his office during the day to come home and be with us as much as he could. Those times he would take Ban, my little brother and I fishing at the river or just to sit under a shady tree to talk to us. Ban and I went swimming with dad at the Lai Giang River. In the middle of the river there was a sandy island. My dad would put me on his back and carry Ban in front and swim through the deepest area to get to the island. The water there was clear. We played and swam in the shallow area while dad swim around us in a deeper area. We liked to play on that island, especially with our dad there. We made him lie down on the sand and we would cover his body with sand. He told us that the sand felt cool and relaxing as he lay there, seeing the sky and the clouds while his children were there with him. He felt safe and happy.

We went home in the afternoon and had dinner, and it was time to see Dad off again. He looked at us, smiled and said, "Be good!" I thought my dad had the prettiest smile of all.

Dad was always busy with his duties, the higher his position, the less time he had with us; therefore, when came to the United States after the war, he devoted all his times with the family. It did not matter if he was tired, sick or not feeling well. His face would light up with that pretty smile of his and welcome us. He would talk to any of us about anything we want to talked about. To me, he was so intelligent and knew so much. He could communicate to the grandchildren from three years
old to his children in their forties and fifties. If we needed him, he would be there. My father spent the last years of his life for us, sharing his life experiences. He taught us to love, care, respect and be kind to each other and everybody else. That's how he lived his life, and that is what he wanted us to be.

My dad passed away six years ago. His last words to us were to take care of mom and love one another
for love is what gets us through anything in life.

My dad always said that he want to outlive the communism. He wanted to go home to Viet Nam once the communist were no longer in existence in his motherland. Unfortunately, they are still there, and my dad never had a chance to go home. But rest assured, Dad, we are with the rest of the people longing to do away with the communism in Viet Nam, and that day will come some day soon. I will go home to see a free Viet Nam, and I believe the future Vietnamese generation will rebuild our country with freedom.

Thank you Dad, for being my dad. You are greatly missed! Happy Father's Day.

School Discipline in Bong Son

2010-06-15T12:09:00.000-07:00

Before I started Elementary school, I attended a smaller school site in the neighborhood. I guess now we would call it preschool. I remember my classroom were tiny. We probably had twelve children sitting around two rectangle tables. I do not remember much about my teacher except that he was old and strict. I was afraid of him and did not like school at all at the time.

We were taught that teachers are just like your parents. You will respect and obey unconditionally. We would be punished harshly if we did not obey. At this school we learned first not about academics except for reading and writing, but more importantly we learned how to have good characters. I always
have to cite that "First we learn to respect, values, morals...how to be a good human being, and second is academic." I asked my parents why and what was this means? and they would tell me that no matter how smart I am or whoever I became later in life, if I did not have the first rule, I still would be nobody. This did not mean much then, but it all makes sense now, and I am trying to teach my children the same ideas.

I do not remember what my friends and I did wrong at the time, but I remember we were being punished by making us lie on top of my teacher's desk. The one that initiated the wrong act, the most naughty one, was made to lie on the bottom, and the rest would be on top of each other respectively. My teacher then would paddle us according to the level of our actions.

After the paddle, we were to kneel on a piece of a jack fruit skin. It was spiny like a porcupine. The rest of the students got to go home for lunch. I guess that day my mom did not see me come home as usual, so she walked to the school. I saw her from afar and started to cry, thinking she was coming to my rescue. When she saw that I was kneeling with two children being punished, she stopped, looked at me sadly, and turned herself around to go home without saying anything. I was so disappointed and tried hard to hold my tears. I knew my mom was disappointed in me, and she was sad because I did not get to eat lunch. We had a good talk that night, and I understood that I needed to be on my best behavior, for my parents had entrusted me to the teacher. My parents would not interfere with the teaching.