The Experience Ends; The Remembering Begins

We watched the end of the year approach, maybe wishing it to come more slowly than it did. There is so much to process and reflect upon.  Much of that will happen once back in the familiar confines of home; memories coming back all at once, or in fits and starts, or disappearing and reemerging in a different color and tone later on. But for now, these are the images, feelings and memories we will take with us as we make our exit from Viet Nam. . .

Andrew Sanborn
What I will miss most is my loving host family, who cared for me like I was one of their own. Throughout the year, they have supported me and made me feel welcome in a place that was very intimidating at first. When they came to greet me, they brought a giant bouquet of flowers for me.  I will miss my host family very much when I leave Vietnam. They will always have a special place in my heart, and I will never forget the kindness they showed to me this past year.

Anna Oakes

I’ll think about the Chị’s at the Mì Xào place and the Cô’s at the café we rather nonsensically called Ga 36, and how they went from being just our waitresses to what I could easily call our friends. I’ll remember waving hello every day to the family—husband, wife, and two grown children—who always sit at the corner of my street drinking tea and smoking Thuốc lào. I doubt I’ll forget the more unpleasant things, either: walking down the street, painfully aware of blatant stares and trying not to make eye contact with anyone. Uncomfortable cab rides, unwelcome catcalls from old men, and an unbelievable number of demands for my name, age, phone number, and current marital status. To me, Viet Nam cannot be condensed into a few noteworthy anecdotes; instead, it can only really be remembered as an accumulation of routines, customs, and experiences.

Perrine Aronson

I don’t forget what I have experienced. So I guess in 20 years, what I’ll recall clearly is how much traffic annoyed me, how terrified I was of my Vietnamese grandmother, and how enchanted I was each time my host mother would pop in my room, telling me to put some clothes on so that we could go shopping, or get a massage, or a haircut, or go meet some random old man. But see, there are too many things I can remember and talk about, so I’ll just tell you what I know I’ll remember most: Vietnam itself. 
                                                                                                
Elliot Crofton
Vietnam has grown on me. It squeezes its way into my veins and pumps through me. I will miss this place very much. I will miss my host family, I will miss my friends, and I will also miss the language; above all though I will simply miss being somewhere different. This place is so completely unlike everything I know, and I have grown fond of constantly being surrounded by new things. I will miss being in the beautiful, cloudy, mysterious land of Vietnam.

Luke Williams
What I will remember most about Viet Nam are the people. I have built many relationships that have defined my time here. The bonds that I have created with my host family and friends inside and outside of school have really made this experience memorable. For me living has always been about relationships, and living in Vietnam has exemplified this once again.

Sarah Weiner

I'll never forget waking up each morning knowing that outside the walls of my peaceful apartment lay an entirely new world, waiting for me to explore and discover.  To say that life in Hanoi was never boring would be an understatement.  Though the chaos and pandemonium of the bustling Vietnam streets was at times completely overwhelming, it constantly encouraged and motivated me to branch out beyond my comfort zone.                                               

Perrine Aronson

The night is deep and dark.

The stars light up the river,
Reminiscence of the fragile lanterns hassled by wavelets.
On the banks of fiery waters,
Flooded with merchants, surrounded by onlookers, 
She sits, quiet and wise, awaiting enlightenment;
The blurry crowd around fading in oblivion.
Further away, I stare, focused,
Her back bent by the weight of years and knowledge.
I sigh and realize,
The current of time's river
Will carry off all human deeds
Hers too will disappear into the maw of life
Forgotten by all
But me.
And I wonder, is there one
That will someday remember me
And treasure my memory?

Anna Oakes

Dark green hills frame the setting sun.

Stoic buffalo guard tall old wooden houses--
They barely raise their heads as we walk by.
I am lead by a girl, four or five years old.
Her hand in mine, we silently explore what she has known all her life
as I struggle to find words that we can exchange.

Brother and Sister

Sarah Weiner

The dropping sun tints the land gold.

It proclaims its  dominance one last time
before succumbing to the evening cool.
Sugarcane leaves sway gracefully;
A lone duck pompously declares his presence,
Stomping noisily through a muddy rice field.
Let him feel of importance now;
in the harvest season,
his squat legs will be no match for the towering rice stalks.
A small boy leans against a bamboo fence.
Bare footed, he digs his little toes into the dirt.
His nose is dark and delicate, decorated with scabs:
thick and and cracked like tree bark.
A little girl runs up to him, her hair whipping around her face.
Her eyes are big and worried;
she shouts something in a language I do not understand.
The boy smiles lovingly at his sister,
and kisses the top of her head:
a promise of protection.
She relaxes.
He takes her hand,
and together they walk down the dusty road,
their shadows long.

Luke Williams

Shining lights and jewels across a skyline
A mirage of people and smoke
Hustlers and scammers and tourists and locals
Cars and motorbikes whizz beside me
Trapped in the crossfire of the warring intersection
My senses are drawn to the quicksilver haze
I stand abroad feeling at home, thousands of miles away

Elliot Crofton

Dim lights, ragged furniture

Abhorrent waiting room

Visitors drink beer and smoke cigarettes

Ugly people lie in simple beds and stare at me

An adorable oddity in this hospital circus

I lie in a modest bed, look up at scrubs, face masks, outdated medical equipment

Stomach wrenches again and I vomit on the tile floor

It is as if the world is ending

Pain seeps from my body into my mind

My thoughts become scattered and dark

For just a moment I would rather die

Perrine’s hand comforts me and I know that I am okay

Vampire Weekend

Elliot Crofton

             I have reached the point in the year that one might call the doldrums. I have settled into my routine, and new and extraordinary experiences come less and less. This is to be expected, as everything good must come to an end. However I have found that maybe nothing really ends, but just continues in new forms.

            I started this Sunday very early. It was especially difficult because I had gotten very little sleep the night before. I started the day early to play tennis with my father and a friend of his. The match was horrific. I usually am fairly good at picking up a sport that I’m somewhat inept at. This is not the case with me and tennis. I lost four tennis balls, and spent most of the time I was playing mumbling expletives under my breath.
            We finished at 8 and I decided to go for my usual walk at the nearby lake. Near the entrance an older lady grabbed me and started saying something to me. This kind of thing happens sometimes, and I had my headphones in, so I smiled at her and kept on walking through the gate. As I paid the entrance fee, she waited for me. I walked up to her and she snatched the iPod out of my hoodie pocket and held it up to her ear, expecting to hear something. I laughed and put my other headphone in her ear. She loved this.
            We talked for a little bit. I expected her to listen for just a moment and then take the earphone out, but she didn’t. After walking for a couple minutes she informed me that we would be doing 4 laps around the lake together (about 3 miles). At first I could not contain my laughter. The idea of this old woman listening to my music (Vampire Weekend, The Strokes, Lady Gaga) with me was simply ridiculous. After a few minutes the whole idea became less silly and more fascinating. She became more interested in the music than in me, and I realized she was thoroughly enjoying it. It occurred to me that this old woman probably remembered when my country was bombing hers. But still she had no problem sharing an earbud with an American and listening to American music. Perhaps it doesn’t seem so profound, but the idea of it really struck me.
            After our 4 laps she said she was going home and we parted ways. I do hope I see her again, even though it is a nuisance sharing headphones with someone while walking. To me she is living proof that forgiveness is an unstoppable force, and that time and Vampire Weekend conquer all political differences.

The Art Studio

Sarah Weiner

            It was the unexpected burst of red and orange against the dusty, gray stone wall that drew me into the empty alleyway.  I walked towards the color tentatively at first, dubious of the sincerity of their warmth is this city of such sickly smog. However, my pace and purpose strengthened when the indiscernible blobs of color began to take shape as messily painted letters on a dry piece of cracking wood.  “Art Studio” it said, with an arrow pointing aggressively towards the small door that stood still and impassively beside it. 
            I looked over my shoulder in both directions, searching for someone's approval to discover what type of Art Studio would lay behind such a careless door.  Suddenly, a woman hurriedly turned the corner and entered the alleyway carrying a basket full of wet vegetables and looking slightly flustered.  She paused momentarily, noticing my hand hovering above the door knob. She tilted her head back and shouted up to an open window a few feet above the Art Studio sign.  I heard someone mumble in response to her agitated call.  With a flick of her fingers and a quick nod of her head, she approved my entrance to the Art Studio.
           I opened the door, expecting to see an entire room erupting with color.  Instead, I found myself in a small dark kitchen, a plate of half eaten chicken and rice on the table and dirty dishes stacked high in the sink.  If this was indeed an art studio, it was certainly somebody's home as well.
            Hearing gentle footsteps from above, I looked up to my left and noticed another sign proclaiming, “Art Studio”, in yellow, chipping paint.  This time the arrow pointed towards a narrow staircase.
            At the top of the staircase, I was met by an elderly man with a wide grin and intelligent eyes.  As I followed his careful, yet assured footsteps, into the room behind him, I greeted him formally: Chau chao ong a. He turned around, his soft white-gray hair shifting slightly around his face, clearly surprised to see a young foreigner speaking Vietnamese.  However, I barely noticed the way his eyes widened behind his thick framed glasses, for I was too entranced by the flood of color surrounding me.
            All around me, hanging on the wall, leaning against the window, stacked on the floor, were paintings.  Exploding with color and emotion, they were confrontational in a way that demanded attention and respect. 
            Dep qua! I exclaimed, unable to find stronger words to express the beauty held in the pieces of art.  The old man smiled gently, and I could see by the pride in his eyes that he was the painter.
            I wondered how such passionate, almost fearsome art could come from such a tender man.  I attempted to focus my eyes on one painting, wanting to see it all at once but knowing that my simple human eyes lacked the capacity.   The painting spoke loudly with distraught and disquieted emotions.  I could see that the paint was still wet, so glossy and fresh. I resisted the urge to touch a smear of crimson against a fretful backdrop of blue.  I wanted so badly to feel the slick, smooth texture of wet oil paint between my fingers. 
            Chau co thich ve khong? The man said, inquiring if I liked to paint.
            Co, a. I replied, secretly a bit embarrassed.  My paintings and sketches, although I enjoy creating them very much, would have appeared so meager and pathetic next to these masterpieces.  
            Ong thich hoa sy nhat? Chau rat thich Picasso, I said, inquiring which painter the man likes the most, and commenting that I was a dear fan of Pablo Picasso's artwork.
            The old man breathed in and out deeply, as if the question was particularly hard to answer.  He turned his back to me for a moment, walking across the room to open a door leading to a small balcony.  He beckoned me onto the balcony, where there was a small table and chairs.  I could sense years of patience and resilience as he cautiously settled down in one of the low chairs, sighing slowly.  After pouring us both a steaming cup of green tea, he proceeded to answer my seemingly simple question. 
            How could one even begin to compare the beauty of a painter's works to those of a different painter?  The old man leaned in closer to me and looked right into my eyes as he posed this question.  I was slightly puzzled, and he noticed this in my face.
            Let me explain.  You are a very beautiful girl, but there are many beautiful girls in this world.  It would be impossible to say which girl was the most beautiful because each and every girl is different.
            I leaned back in my chair, contemplating this idea.
            It is the same with artwork.  It would be unjust to say that Van Gogh's paintings are superior to Monet's, because each artist paints in a different way.  They are all beautiful in some way, and so I could not choose which one I like the most.
            The man smiled, satisfied and content with his answer.  He took a sip of his tea, and watched me carefully as I dwelled on what he had said.  We sat in silence, both of us thinking.  Soon, however, I realized that the shadows on the street below were getting longer as the light of day began to dim.
            I stood up, telling the old man that I must be getting home.  I put out my hand to say thank you, and he grasped it in the warm comfort of his two hands.  We could have been age-old friends. 
            I bid him farewell, knowing our paths would unlikely cross again.  I was still thinking of his smiling eyes as I walked out of the art studio and onto the bustling street.  There was something about the way he spoke to me, choosing his words so carefully and delicately; he wanted to make me think, consider and reconsider.  
            And so I began to contemplate my definition of beauty. 

The Hue Children's Shelter

Anna Oakes

     We came back from our most recent trip to Da Nang, Hoi An, and Hue little more than a week ago. One of the most notable events of the trip, for me, was the day we spent volunteering at the Hue Children’s Shelter. Little actual work was done; instead, we spent hours playing soccer, beading bracelets, blowing up balloons, and playing hand games with the kids. When we first arrived at the school, both our group and theirs seemed to keep a wary distance from each other—within an hour, though, even the older kids had joined us. I walked around for what felt like hours giving a little girl a piggyback. We went around to all the berry bushes in the yard, and she picked the highest, ripest ones that no one else had been able to, which we then shared. Of course once the other children saw this, they all ran up to me and clamored for piggybacks as well—if I acted at all reluctant, they’d start trying to actually climb up me to the desired height, and refuse to let go for several minutes. Most of us also played a passionate group hand game that even the younger ones, who had no idea how to play, got involved in.

     While waiting for our barbecue dinner to be set up, I somehow ended up watching a boy play Tetris on an antiquated gaming device from the 90s. Every time I tried to move away to see if my help was needed elsewhere, he would pull my arm, eyes still glued to the screen, and demand that I keep watching. To keep things interesting, he would shout “yes!” whenever anything remotely exciting happened on screen. I thought I might as well contribute, so I would reply “good job!” and “rất tốt!” After an American dinner of hotdogs and grilled chicken, we sadly said our goodbyes and got back on our bus.
   For me, this was the first time I’d really felt a strong sense of connection and friendship with the various groups of students we’ve met so far. I’ve talked to several people at the university here, and had fun talking to other university students in the South during other activities. However, the day that we spent entertaining and getting to know the kids brought us much closer to them—we were there primarily for them, and not for our own gratification even though we all ended up having a lot of fun. I think it’s unlikely that I’ll see them again—however, thanks to memories abetted by photos and Facebook, I won’t forget them either. I hope I’ll be able to return for a summer during college as a volunteer at the school.

"When life gives you a hundred reasons to cry, show life that you have a thousand reasons to smile.” Plato

Perrine Anderson

Sometimes when you travel there comes a moment of realization. The first thing I’ve realized is what I missed, what I refused to do that would’ve been worth it, but also what I do. Sometimes, it’s hard to deal with what comes across your way, but that’s part of life; you lose friends, and make new ones. Since I arrived here, I’ve been wondering if there was a real purpose for me being here, or if it was just another of those moments of questioning, of "fluttering”. I had my loads of previous disappointments and frustrations helping me to understand that if I wanted to make something good of my year here, I had to decide to change things around me, not wait for someone else to do it nor for another of my friends to fade away. I am absolutely convinced that we live the life that we create for ourselves; therefore we are the only ones able to achieve what we want.

Another thing I understood appeared to me during some long sleepless nights, when I came to wondering what I should do with my days, to try to make the best of my time left here. And that’s when it hit me, the time we have passes by so quickly that we don’t realize how much we can lose. Here we are, awaiting the day we’ll look at each other, hands in hands, heads full of vibrant memories, eyes full of tears, saying goodbye, maybe, or shall I say certainly, forever. And that can be hard to think about, but it’s life, and it won’t be the last time we’ll part ways with our friends. So either we cope with it, or we don’t, but both ways have their cota of pain and disappointments, discovery and understanding.

Hot Pot: A Giant Bowl of Patience

Luke Williams

Vietnam is not a fast paced country. Instead of a McDonald’s on every corner, it is a coffee shop in which people spend hours sipping on sinhto xoai and caphe sua da.  In my host family, dinner is prepared about two hours before consumption while eating takes another hour itself. Even major celebrations are enjoyed slowly, over long stretches of time. For instance, the lunar new year (Tet) is celebrated for a whole week and everything is shut down. On that same note Vietnamese weddings typically last two days for hours and hours of eating and celebrating.

This change of speed is very different from my life back home in the states. I am used to a “fast-paced” lifestyle where I have one thing going on right after another. As soon as one event in my daily routine ends, another one quickly begins. Nothing is prolonged and this is due in part to the “maximizing-efficiency” mindset of living in a capitalist country. Everyone wants things done as quickly as possible because time is money. Every second that I am doing something could be spent somewhere else, which leads me to get things done as soon as possible.  I could never imagine spending an hour eating a leisurely lunch during the hectic school week. Most people find this break in speed relaxing, but for me, it has created a sense of impatience.

Essentially this impatience has made my life feel like it is stuck in a vat of caramel. This had made me feel like I have been in Ha Noi for an eternity.  At this point it would seem Ha Noi has become the epitome of boredom and that really there is nothing to have gained from this other than a “break” from the typical American lifestyle.

However in this slower pace, I am able to pay attention to the small things more. I know this place well enough to tell the scamming cab drivers where to go. This pausing and stopping has really made me realize that things take time.  It’s almost like the hot pot our director is notorious for always ordering when we eat out. Not only do you have to wait for the soup to boil, but you have to wait for the meat and the greens and the roots to cook as well. It has shown me how patience is a virtue. Being able to accept that you have to wait for things is now something I find admirable, because in Vietnam waiting is all you can do.

Reintegration, Readjustment, and Renewal: Beginning the new year and the 2nd semester of SYA-Viet Nam.

Closer to Something

Elliott Crofton

            Two weeks away from Ha Noi was a welcome vacation. I’m certainly not sick of being here at all, but a break away from a place often makes it much sweeter when you return. There are family, friends, and places elsewhere that I miss.

            Dhahran  never really changes, and my time there was very much like every break; lazy and relaxing with plenty of time to socialize. I think what I enjoyed the most may have been the quietness though. It was enjoyable being able to hear my footsteps when I was walking somewhere, and not just the blaring of motorcycle and car horns.
            That being said, returning to Ha Noi has been fantastic. It is different. The weather is different, school is different, and I feel like over the last couple of weeks my relationship with my host family has been different. All of this change is welcome though. More conversation and frigid weather is delightful.
            I have realized how extraordinary this place is. I have also realized that my decision to stay a year instead of a semester was a wise decision. Many of my friends have left, and I can’t help but think that in their place I would feel as though my experience were not complete. At this point I have merged with the city, and my life here. This is the best time to focus on smaller things, minor unnoticed details; overlooked relationships and the nuances of a complex foreign culture. Instead of just trying to get by in a foreign land I can strive for perfection in it.
            I am coming closer to something and I am not completely sure what it is. But I do think I will arrive where I want to be before my time in Vietnam is done, and I know if I did not stay I would not have been able to get there. In the previous semester the months ahead felt very predictable and planned. I think perhaps now there are dozens, if not more, paths open before me.

Back in Hanoi

Anna Oakes

        It’s weird: school started again just a few weeks ago. We said goodbye to the eight semester students barely a month ago, and I parted ways with my family in early January. And, just back from a weeklong Têt holiday, we have another trip in less than two weeks. I’m now better equipped for Hanoi winter; instead of walking around covered in my blanket with a towel on my head for warmth, I now have a multitude of sweaters and even a pair of gloves to help me brave the cold. I also started out with a stash of chocolate that was supposed to last me through at least February, but which I managed to eat in a matter of days. I recently got a bike, so whenever we go to visit family I bike alongside my host parents and sisters on their motorcycle (all four of them somehow manage to fit onto a single one). My Lunar New Year’s resolution is to explore more of the city, which I can do more easily with a bike.

        Of course, most of January has been spent preparing for Têt. Starting at the beginning of the month, the streets seemed to turn a bright shade of red and gold as people began selling elaborate decorations—ornaments, calendars, lanterns, and paper sculptures to burn as gifts for the ancestors and kitchen gods. For one week, all of Hanoi seemed to shut down as people deserted their jobs to pay their respects to loved ones, dead and living. I normally woke up at 8, helped my host mom with food preparation, and then went with my family to visit the grandparents’ house. We usually stayed all day, coming home at around 10 at night. They did this every day from Sunday through Saturday—I came along most days, but tried to split up my time equally between host family obligations and friends.

        Strangely enough, as short as Têt was, it began to feel like a bit of a routine. (Though I’ll admit, it seems unlikely that anything could feel like a routine in Vietnam.) For this one week the city seems to work in sync, an abrupt change from the discord that seems to lie at the heart of Hanoi. And, living with Vietnamese families, we’re fortunate enough to be able to experience and become a part of this unexpected stability.

Yesterday, Today, Tomorrow

Perrine Anderson

You can always get used to travelling, to meeting people, to seeing incredible things, but you can never get used to pain, to horror, to death. You see kids eating ice cream in the US one day, because they decided they wanted some, and the next day, in Vietnam, you see kids moving around in wheelchairs, because 40 years ago, two countries were at war.   

Who can know in advance what tomorrow will be like? Who can say they’ll meet the most incredible man in a random university in the deep south of Vietnam, or the most annoying cab driver in Manhattan? Who can predict a war, or a wave of disease? Who can predict whether the cocoon you see on the branch of a tree will create a beautiful butterfly, or a hideous stick insect?

We see beautiful things every day here, meet the most fascinating people and eat the most interesting food, but we can also see hatred, feel years of criticism and remorse towards the past and understand the consequences of humans’ decisions, as harmful and destructive they were.

I’m like a ship, tossed about, on a stormy sea of moving emotions. My brain is full of thoughts, of wonderful memories and a wish to see more, but also of distaste, and anger toward human beings.  But who are we supposed to blame for disasters, for death? And who are we supposed to thank for magnificence, for miracles? I don’t know yet because I am far from having all the answers to the flood of questions drowning my mind.