At the end of February 2012, my grandfather had fallen and hit his head on the pavement, causing internal bleeding. Within a week we had flown from all parts of the country to see him in his uncommunicative state. He passed away on March 3, the night before my birthday.
Most recently, I graduated from IU's School of Music with my masters degree in piano performance, a field promising little to no material gain. I'm okay with that.
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I must confess that I do not typically think much about my cultural history, but I acknowledge it as integrally influential on my identity, though indirectly experienced. From the stories I have heard from family, trauma only begins to describe the struggles, hardships, and misadventures of many of those who fled Vietnam, and although I was never on a boat sailing for safety, sometimes I feel that my life is an extension or continuation of the journey that took sail. Every once and awhile, I think I see ripples, signs that we're still rowing.
My grandfather was the kind of person who played it safe and cared very much about doing things properly and correctly in order to stay out of trouble. More often than not, he was a huge worrywart. However, his conscientious sense of duty and commitment to family probably have a lot to do with us having a life in the U.S.
Furthermore, thanks to his hard work, dedication, and foresight, I owe a huge deal to him for being able to pursue the kind of education I have been pursuing. I don't think he was thrilled about the idea of my going to college for music, but after awhile, it seemed he understood that it made me happy. I have always been fortunate to have received such positive support to study something that no one in my family has really pursued. They believed in me anyway.
I would guess that generally I do not exhibit a screamingly overt Vietnamese-ness to other people, be they Vietnamese or non-Vietnamese. I am American born, and it's pretty clear from the way I talk. With that said, I believe it is a misnomer, an ignorant generalization, and, quite frankly, a hurtful lie to be understood as or called "just an American."Such assaults often arise from the discussion of birthplace or fluency in language. Okay, my Vietnamese vocabulary is not spectacularly large, and I probably could not carry an intelligent conversation with a Vietnamese speaker without incorporating English words...and I mean a lot of them. That should not override or overshadow the reality that through my family I experience a kind of indirect transferral of many cultural ideas and patterns as well as of struggles and trauma that, in my opinion, specifically characterize Vietnamese-American identity. Also, it doesn't help to be lumped in as just an Asian-American. The circumstances are too nuanced for a continental categorization. It has become especially evident most recently the more I have thought about it, and it helps to recognize when one cultural value clashes with another. When you live with both, you need to understand which is which to be the peacemaker, and peace, indeed, is denied without proper recognition of the two worlds that parent your growth and understanding of identity. We need to know ourselves honestly and not let others define identity for us. Especially with unhelpful generalizations.
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Sometimes families live too far away for it to make sense to attend graduation, so sometimes students feel less compelled to attend graduation. I walked, although my family could not be there for either of the two ceremonies (but I did have gracious surrogate parents for one day's graduation and adopted myself into another family for the other!)
Additionally, I felt that I was attending graduation for my grandfather that weekend. I don't think he would have come in person even if he was still alive, but I know he would have enthusiastically celebrated the occasion. I never really had substantially long or extended conversations with him. I felt that the combination of his being hard of hearing and my lack of Vietnamese fluency often hindered any attempts. Also, I think that's just naturally the way we were. Our relationship was built on few spoken words, only what was needed. Our most meaningful contact was through email exchange, and it gave him great joy to read my writing, whether it was my message or a paper I sent him. He often commented on my writing ability, and I would usually hear it from him or from my parents who would receive his praise for me on the phone.
With that in mind, I thought it would be appropriate to dedicate this entry to him, especially since I didn't really get to talk to him before he passed away. I wanted to recognize from where my family has come; to realize that my grandfather played a major role in helping my family have the privilege of living in the U.S.; and to celebrate who I am in light of my cultural and family history.
I can't think of a more genuine way to express this than "Cám ơn Ông Nội." Usually that was all I could think to say to him.
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