"They need people like you, those children do, people who aren't afraid of their illness. People like me, we're too afraid even if we know..." my barber said to me in Vietnamese.
I explained to her that it's not that I am unafraid, because everybody is afraid of HIV, it's just that I understand the risks involved in what I do and how to be careful. There is nothing to fear when we really understand the reality of working with people who are ill, so long as we are safe about it.
Wednesday, August 29, 2007
Wednesday, August 15, 2007
An excerpt from my other blog, Dave@Xanga:
I feel like my trip there taught me innumerable lessons about life, love, compassion, and suffering. In some ways, my trip to Vietnam helped return me to my Buddhist roots, grounding me firmly in some of the tenets of Buddhism through developing an understanding of the relationship between suffering, life and death. I learned about love in all forms by learning more about the lives of others, the sacrifices they make, and the choices they are forced into out of necessity and survival. I learned about the compassion of a leader for their community and the struggle for redemption. I learned about romantic love, the unexpected connection developed between two strangers that pushes every boundary, the confluence of physical, emotional, and spiritual. I couldn't have possibly been more mesmerized by Viet Nam and what it holds in store for me for the future.
I'm back in Berkeley but I feel like I left my mind in Viet Nam and my heart on a plane heading westward, somewhere in between this country and the next. We'll see what the future holds.
Home
After more than twenty hours of flying, I am home. I am jet lagged and nocturnal, darker skinned, and slightly heavier than before I left. Life as I know it, has changed. I am still having trouble feeling grounded these days. As Jackie put it, the "real unpacking" has yet to begin.
I have yet to sort out all that has occurred in the last two months. When people ask me how Vietnam was, I simply respond with "intense" because there is no other word I could possibly think of that would sum up my experiences in Sai Gon. Jimmy said I had the full experience of studying abroad - something eye opening, something educational, and something exciting. In fact, I feel blessed to have many of each.
I will continue to write in this blog as those thoughts come to me. Eventually, I will post videos of some of the homes I've seen and my adventures. I believe this journal has mostly chronicled my thoughts on Vietnam, but the full meaning of all that has occurred has yet to reveal itself. Someday, I will look back on this summer as the two months that changed the way I look at the world, my friends, and myself.
To life, love, and happiness.
Saturday, August 11, 2007
Full Circle
The past two months have been amazing. I still haven't had enough time to fully reflect on all that I've seen, or as Jackie put it "fully unpack" all the thoughts and memories that have accumulated during my travels. The last two months have been crucial in terms of preparing me to follow my dreams of starting a non-profit. I am still unsure if I want to work on the local, national, or international level, but one thing is certain - I don't have to pick any single option and it is very possible that I may do all three. What is certain though, is that I am going to find a way to help this world as best as I can.
I've come to understand poverty in its truest form. With my own eyes I saw desperation and suffering, the economic impacts of foreign trade, the sick and dying, the poor and forgotten. At times it was depressing and impossible to handle, I didn't know how to sort it all out and I still don't. There is nothing more scarring than seeing a young child with amazing potential be lost to AIDS. There is nothing more saddening than seeing a community leader losing his life to cancer. Through all the suffering I see here, there is a hope that prevails through it all, a chance for survival, a wish for a better day.
Realistically, I can't solve all of these problems and I can't prevent other peoples' suffering. It would tear me apart to take responsibility and share the burden of so much suffering, but it would also be wrong for me to ignore it. What's the solution? I can try as hard as I can to make good of what I've seen, to use all of my photographs, clips and memories to share the stories of the amazing families I've met. The stories of Ba Sau, Co Tam, Thanh Thi and of all the strong people I've met will never be forgotten in vain. I can't put an end to all the suffering that I see, but I can damn sure try.
My study abroad trip has been a journey more than anything. As this journey nears its end I can only reflect on what I've seen while being present for the finale. Tomorrow, I'll be stepping onto a plane back to the US, but a part of me will always remain in Vietnam, more than words can say and more than pictures can hold.
We'll see what the future holds, not just for me, but for this country and these people as a whole.
I've come to understand poverty in its truest form. With my own eyes I saw desperation and suffering, the economic impacts of foreign trade, the sick and dying, the poor and forgotten. At times it was depressing and impossible to handle, I didn't know how to sort it all out and I still don't. There is nothing more scarring than seeing a young child with amazing potential be lost to AIDS. There is nothing more saddening than seeing a community leader losing his life to cancer. Through all the suffering I see here, there is a hope that prevails through it all, a chance for survival, a wish for a better day.
Realistically, I can't solve all of these problems and I can't prevent other peoples' suffering. It would tear me apart to take responsibility and share the burden of so much suffering, but it would also be wrong for me to ignore it. What's the solution? I can try as hard as I can to make good of what I've seen, to use all of my photographs, clips and memories to share the stories of the amazing families I've met. The stories of Ba Sau, Co Tam, Thanh Thi and of all the strong people I've met will never be forgotten in vain. I can't put an end to all the suffering that I see, but I can damn sure try.
My study abroad trip has been a journey more than anything. As this journey nears its end I can only reflect on what I've seen while being present for the finale. Tomorrow, I'll be stepping onto a plane back to the US, but a part of me will always remain in Vietnam, more than words can say and more than pictures can hold.
We'll see what the future holds, not just for me, but for this country and these people as a whole.
Friday, August 10, 2007
Photo Update
Photo update!
Summer '07 in Vietnam: Part 5: Rice Pot
Summer '07 in Vietnam: Part 5: Rice Pot
- Cat Tien National Park
- Lan's visit to my internship
- Lan's grandfather's home
Wednesday, August 8, 2007
Bước Chân Của Mình
I have three days lefts in Vietnam. The past eight weeks have been very hectic and there has been very little time for me to sit and reflect on all the changes that have occured since then. The last two weeks have been especially intense as I've been wrapping up my internship, schoolwork, and my extra curricular activities in Vietnam. I've been writing in my journal every chance I get, jotting down ideas and feelings, a quick reflection of a moment that has just passed. The vividness of those moments will never occur again and I'd like to think that in those moments when I am writing, part of me is truly present with the world around me.
I don't know how I'm going to say goodbye to this place, the friends I've made, and the bonds I've formed. Nothing is final - we'll all see each other again someday, hopefully. It just might be a little while. I am of the mindset that whichever roads we choose to follow in life will curve and wind, intersecting again and again with roads we've been on and roads we have yet to see. Life becomes an adventure, a dream to be boldly chased after, a journey without a destination.
The past is past, all that's left are foot prints to be washed away with the next rainstorm.
The past is past, all that's left are foot prints to be washed away with the next rainstorm.
Monday, August 6, 2007
Six Days
Six days left and I'm stuck in a Saigon love story.
Four days left and she's going back to Hawaii.
Life in Vietnam, for all it's worth, is complicated.
But it's alright because I have many stories to tell and many adventures to speak of.
Stories of being a gentleman and being caught in the rain to catch a taxi cab, of salsa dancing in the best night clubs in Saigon, and of waking up in the rain forest under a mosquito net. I have ghost stories, family stories, and personal histories to tell...
In due time.
Four days left and she's going back to Hawaii.
Life in Vietnam, for all it's worth, is complicated.
But it's alright because I have many stories to tell and many adventures to speak of.
Stories of being a gentleman and being caught in the rain to catch a taxi cab, of salsa dancing in the best night clubs in Saigon, and of waking up in the rain forest under a mosquito net. I have ghost stories, family stories, and personal histories to tell...
In due time.
Thursday, August 2, 2007
"Goodnight," I say...
... as the door shuts behind me, the thud of the metal lock echoing down the hallway. The rain starts to fall as I step out into the road leading away from the hotel. I can feel the heat pressing against me, the cool rain dripping into my hair from the trees above. The bats are awake, flapping around chaotically, chirping like birds and disappearing into the hollow sky above. I walk slowly at first, not minding my steps and mumbling to myself, "I must be crazy". My pace quickens as I get to the street, rounding the corner that will take me home. I'm getting wet, but I don't mind the rain because my head is filled with too many thoughts, too busy to notice the weather but awake enough to notice a child sleeping on the sidewalk and the prying eyes of a xe om driver looking to meet his meager profit margin for the night.
Every night is the same and yet every night is different. For a few hours, I'm no longer consumed by the suffering of this city. Instead, I am dreaming awake, looking forward into the future and talking about my plans. Somewhere between the past and the present, I became jaded by my own complexes, worn by a world that has lost faith in itself. Searching for love without sin is like looking for clean mud, nothing is both so simple yet unwaveringly complex as the human heart. I walk home, reflecting on the last six weeks of my life and how they have changed me, prioritizing my worries and making a list of burdens. I conclude that it's pointless, I'm holding onto my own suffering and giving myself a bigger headache than I need.
I walk home quickly, carefully stepping around the broken pavement and downed power lines, humming "Norwegian Wood" to myself as the rain comes down even harder. I wonder if the last few days have been a figment of my imagination, a dream meant to remind me that I don't need to be so jaded. I'm still young, there's no need for despair, it's a waste of time.
Every night is the same and yet every night is different. For a few hours, I'm no longer consumed by the suffering of this city. Instead, I am dreaming awake, looking forward into the future and talking about my plans. Somewhere between the past and the present, I became jaded by my own complexes, worn by a world that has lost faith in itself. Searching for love without sin is like looking for clean mud, nothing is both so simple yet unwaveringly complex as the human heart. I walk home, reflecting on the last six weeks of my life and how they have changed me, prioritizing my worries and making a list of burdens. I conclude that it's pointless, I'm holding onto my own suffering and giving myself a bigger headache than I need.
I walk home quickly, carefully stepping around the broken pavement and downed power lines, humming "Norwegian Wood" to myself as the rain comes down even harder. I wonder if the last few days have been a figment of my imagination, a dream meant to remind me that I don't need to be so jaded. I'm still young, there's no need for despair, it's a waste of time.
Wednesday, August 1, 2007
Lottery
Yesterday I visited the home of one of the many women in Sai Gon who sell lottery tickets. Since they are taken as solicitors, treated as another annoyance in the street, few people notice that they carry their children along with them. Long and I had a conversation about one of these people yesterday, and I never expected the opportunity to be welcomed into this kind woman's home.
She is HIV positive, living alone with her son in District 12. Her husband died of HIV two years ago and since then she has been selling lottery tickets in the evening from 4:30pm until 10pm. She rides her bicycle around the city from District 12 to the air port, son in tow. Since the price of lottery tickets has gone up to 5000 dong, it has become harder and harder for her to sell them. Somehow, she manages to sell about 40 or 50 tickets a day - which would seem like a lot of money, but in terms of profit she probably only makes a few pennies. The single, dark room that she rents in the back of a narrow alley costs roughly 200,000 dong per month, in one of the cheapest places in the city. The bathroom is outdoors and the neighborhood reeks of raw sewage, which seeps into the black waters of a nearby stream.
She is living solely for the survival of her son, though see grows weaker and more desperate every day. She loves him as any mother and is saddened by the fact that she has no family to turn him over to. During our conversation, while sitting on the cool cement floor of her room, she half-jokingly asked me to, "Take her son with me to America and turn him over to someone else". I could only respond with a smile, saying that a college student is not fit to take care of a child and that he would be better off in the arms of his mother. We continued putting together the wire flowers sold during the New Years festival, which take hours to make but only sell for a few thousand dong per kilo (roughly about 50 cents for several hours of manual work). She was kind enough to let me take pictures of her and her son, her house, and her life.
The experience, above all else, has been humbling. I'm glad I followed Thay Bac's advice when he told me to ask questions, talk to people, and try to understand what their lives are like. This is how I am learning about Vietnam - through the lenses of the common person. It's moments like this when one realizes that the person on the street bothering you during your lunch is more than an annoyance, they're human beings whose livelihood weighs roughly on minor decisions such as whether or not to buy a lottery ticket. They'll never win the lottery that they sell tickets for.
She is HIV positive, living alone with her son in District 12. Her husband died of HIV two years ago and since then she has been selling lottery tickets in the evening from 4:30pm until 10pm. She rides her bicycle around the city from District 12 to the air port, son in tow. Since the price of lottery tickets has gone up to 5000 dong, it has become harder and harder for her to sell them. Somehow, she manages to sell about 40 or 50 tickets a day - which would seem like a lot of money, but in terms of profit she probably only makes a few pennies. The single, dark room that she rents in the back of a narrow alley costs roughly 200,000 dong per month, in one of the cheapest places in the city. The bathroom is outdoors and the neighborhood reeks of raw sewage, which seeps into the black waters of a nearby stream.
She is living solely for the survival of her son, though see grows weaker and more desperate every day. She loves him as any mother and is saddened by the fact that she has no family to turn him over to. During our conversation, while sitting on the cool cement floor of her room, she half-jokingly asked me to, "Take her son with me to America and turn him over to someone else". I could only respond with a smile, saying that a college student is not fit to take care of a child and that he would be better off in the arms of his mother. We continued putting together the wire flowers sold during the New Years festival, which take hours to make but only sell for a few thousand dong per kilo (roughly about 50 cents for several hours of manual work). She was kind enough to let me take pictures of her and her son, her house, and her life.
The experience, above all else, has been humbling. I'm glad I followed Thay Bac's advice when he told me to ask questions, talk to people, and try to understand what their lives are like. This is how I am learning about Vietnam - through the lenses of the common person. It's moments like this when one realizes that the person on the street bothering you during your lunch is more than an annoyance, they're human beings whose livelihood weighs roughly on minor decisions such as whether or not to buy a lottery ticket. They'll never win the lottery that they sell tickets for.
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