To Be or Not To Be Vietnamese

In the Goldring arts journalism program, there are 15 students including me. Of those 15, two are men, 13 are women. The ethnic breakdown is as followed:

African-American: 1

Indian: 1

Asian: 2

Caucasion: 11

The other Asian in the program is Xueying, who is from China. She is tall, with creamy white skin, and a sweet (and initially shy) demeanor. The perfect example of the ideal Asian girl (except for the height). This is also her first time in the United States.

According to her, said Avantika, my Indian housemate and fellow Goldringer, I am the most "American" out of all of the people in the program.

When I heard this, I was laughing. My best friend, Ali, is part Irish and to her, I'm her little Asian friend. Maybe it's the fact that I make Vietnamese food for supper, or I'm prone to the occasional "troi oi."

Then there are my Vietnamese friends, who tell me that I'm quite "white-washed." Perhaps it's my overt knowledge of American history and pop culture, and the fact that I love prefer Europe over Asia.

I started school in Syracuse and my professor, David Rubin, introduced me as one of the "foreign students" of the Goldring program.

"You're from Vietnam," he said when I was complaining about the oppressive moist heat, "You should be used to the humidity."

I wanted to shout, "I was raised in California!" I was born in Da Lat, Vietnam, a lovely hilltop town, with a replica of the Eiffel Tower in the middle of the town, but raised in Anaheim, California. My perfect prince is Joseph Gordon-Levitt, though I speak, read and write fluent Vietnamese.

Like most children of Vietnamese refugees, I live in a constant state of confusion. We are an odd generation, tending to go back in forth in our sense of identity. Because on one hand, we are not entirely American and in a crowd of white skin, our skin that tans easily in the sun and our slightly accented English has us standing out.

Then, for those Vietnamese who have a closer tie to the motherland - either they were raised there and came over, or they live there - we are foreign. Slightly related but always a world apart, not quite fitting in because of our cynicism and first-hand knowledge of American culture.

So what am I? Asian or American? Vietnamese or not? A feeling of never quite belonging to one part or another and feeling like I'm trying to be someone else whenever I try to choose one side over the other.

I recently read an essay by Vietnamese-American writer Andrew Lam. My sister, Thao (the lawyer) sent it to me. In it, he writes about how he struggled to become a writer, despite cultural precedence and the disapproval of his family.

Filial piety was ingrained in me long before I stepped foot onto American shores. It is in essence the opposite of individualism. “Father’s benefaction is like Mount Everest, Mother’s love like the water from the purest source,” we sang in first grade. If American teenagers long to be free and to find themselves, Vietnamese are taught filial obligation, forever honoring and fulfilling a debt incurred in their name.

My mom didn’t kill me; she wept.

In Vietnam, you do not strive to become a writer, such things are bohemian and not a sure way to make money and support a family. You can't buy a house with a writer's salary, which is a sure-fire way in Vietnam to win a bride.

Then again, I'm not entirely Vietnamese because my parents didn't raise me to be entirely Vietnamese. They were as American as Asian parents can be. Yes, hey did not approve of boyfriends but at the same time, they never pressured me to be a doctor, a pharmacist, or any of the typical Asian parent stereotype.

But they did pressure me to go to school. "As long as you're in school, I'm happy," both my mom and my dad has said to me multiple times. It's the perfect thing to write a personal statement about.

I can be seen as Vietnamese since I felt that filial obligation and that influenced the way I looked at the world. It's 23 years of being propelled. Go to school, work hard, get a degree, then the world will open up for you. Never relax for a second, always work towards your goal.

But I can be seen as American because I am pursuing a career that lets me be creative. Yet writing does not have a high salary and inherently unstable. The opposite of the perfect Vietnamese career.

Or maybe I am neither here nor there. "Not waving but drowning," as the English poet, Stevie Smith once wrote. Always bobbing up and down. It gets tiring and sometimes you just want to sink. Then you realize that staying afloat is what's keeping you alive, and you keep kicking your way to the top.