Family is an odd thing. They are just a group of people that you are stuck with through everything. They put up with your faults and you with theirs. Many people have more than one family; we marry, or our parents’ divorce and we are adopted into their separate families. But being placed into a family you have never met, and being immediately told to see yourself as a member is very unusual. This is the inevitable case with host families.
My family speaks English very well. Even little Chu Mi, my three year old sister, can speak a few words (however she prefers to make sheep noises.) This makes life easier for me, and our conversations much more interesting, but I don’t get much practice in Vietnamese. So what do I talk about with these people I don’t know but are my family? We talk about a variety of things: Australia, genetically modified organisms, dancing, Hai Phong, etc.
My father jokes with me hesitantly, because his English is not as good as my mother’s, and I sometimes really have to search for a punchline. But when he delivers he can be quite hilarious. I can’t recall an exact joke at the moment, but he cracked a good one about porcupine meat while we were out to dinner one time. My mother enjoys talking with me, but she often tries to switch the conversation to Vietnamese. Which is good, but it can become frustrating, and the conversation usually becomes pretty dull. Talking with her in English though never gets boring. Quan, my little brother, enjoys talking about cars and soccer, and testing my knowledge on various trivial subjects. He also asks a bizarre amount of questions about France. It’s likely he’s a Francophile in the making.
But of all my family members, Bac Chit is possibly the most fascinating. She is our maid/cook, but she has been with the family a long time, and certainly become part of it. She does not speak a word of English. Every day, as I learn a little more Vietnamese, I come closer to understanding her. My family is always very busy, so complete family dinners usually only happen on weekends. Often when I come back from my internship my family has eaten, but Bac Chit will often join me for dinner. There are long silences, lots of laughter when I fail at conversation attempts, and many commands from her to eat some dish or another. Every once in a while though, sometimes through translation from my cousin or just picking up on key words, I can understand her with a little more depth. I think that she likes me. And I think I’m no longer a stranger to her, or my family.
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