Preparation

Jaya Sahihi

     I walk along the paths, eyes darting every which way, a metal detector hunting for gold in a pile of rubbish. Beeep beep beep beepbeepbeep. Got something. As it turns out, there is quite a bit of hidden treasure in these markets because by the end of the excursion my bag always ends up considerably heavier and my wallet much lighter. You see, I am already preparing myself for a return greeted by endless questions and desires for explanations from all those who haven’t been living in Viet Nam the past four months and weren’t satisfied with my pages of letters. My answer, buy them things. I’ll give them a little something straight from the source so they can feel and experience the culture themselves.

     My gaze often wanders to the one hundred eyed, one hundred headed goddess standing by my computer as I write. She is my favorite. Her hands are reaching up in an arch around her, spreading out in all possible directions. I find I am thankful she only has two eyes and the artist took the liberty of leaving the other 98 up to imagination. I don’t know how I would feel with those extra 98 eyes watching me. As if there aren’t enough from my hoarde of Buddhas, wise men, goddesses, elephants, and dragons, which I have accumulated to bring back as gifts. Bits of culture picked up from dusty shelves. Our first memories created out of the meek haggling I take part in, not having the heart to push the price back much at all. They arrive at their new, temporary home covered in crumbs from riding next to a bag of rice donuts; the very best Vietnamese snack.

     Yet, I walk through the door upon my return from a day’s adventure, head hanging a little. This is partially due to the extreme weight of my bag but also because of the looks I am unavoidably going to get from my family as I unpack my haul of the day. With their quizzical eyes, there isn’t a need for words. You bought more?

     And then I position them along my shelves, desk, and bedside table and I think: this is supposed to show them the culture? Of course they are still beautiful but still, I have the sinking feeling in my stomach that they will become stuck, high on a shelf, keeping up a stack of books or something like that.

     But what am I supposed to do? I can’t bring back the steaming hot bowls of pho, the fear of crossing the streets every morning, the deafening laughter filling Vietnamese movie theaters at a not so funny joke. I can’t describe well enough the chorus of smacking and slurping my family creates at the dinner table. There is no way to pack up both the roller blades and my little brother/teacher. No way to bring him back so that together we can continue cracking up, showing off my new skill, as my wobbly legs make my first full lap around the apartment building hallway. No amount of pictures will capture the colors of the fruits, vegetables, and meat sold on the side of the street.
     So for now, I will buy statues. I will fill them up with memories from this wonderful place. And hey, maybe if they rub Buddha’s belly just the right number of times, these memories will somehow find a way out.  (Except maybe not the smells, those aren’t always too pleasant.)