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. 

More than a Time Warp

Abby Ripoli

            My reintegration into Vietnam has been a strange one. Going home for a little over two weeks, after four months of being immersed in a place that couldn’t be more different from home, was ironically more eye opening than coming to Vietnam originally. As soon as I stepped off the plane and walked into customs at the Chicago airport, my first observation was how small I was in comparison to my fellow Americans. The longer I was home, the more complex my observations became. Why is my car so huge? I can’t believe I haven’t used a paper towel in four months! Why does everyone in my family take such long showers?

            As these realizations began to sink in, it became clear to me how much I really have learned and changed. I was bombarded with questions of “Have you seen this?”, “Have you eaten that?” and found myself disturbed by how little my friends and family really knew about this incredible place in which I’ve been living, and in a lot of cases, how little they cared. While I was home, it felt as though I had been in a time warp for the past four months, nothing having changed other than the weather.

            When flying back to Vietnam, I held the same expectations: that I would feel as though I had never left. Surprisingly, that was not the case. When I returned to Vietnam, after being gone for only two weeks, everything felt different: the streets, the people, the smells.  With America was still so fresh in my mind, everything seemed so foreign despite the fact that I knew how to get around, communicate, and smooth into a daily routine without any problem. Reintegration has ended up being more difficult than I expected as there is no longer the excitement of discovering something new. I thought that I would easily swing back into the daily routine of things and not have to readjust to the busyness or the pollution; but it ended up being a lot easier to forget than I had originally expected.

            However, what going home also made clear to me was that my time here is very short. Just as I was getting used to my new life, I realized that it’s already halfway over. With only another four months left, my mind is reeling with all of the things I feel like I have to see and accomplish. My ultimate goal: to return to the US and feel that I’ve gone through so much more than a time warp, but a truly life changing experience.

Being American in Viet Nam

Luke Williams

During my sixteen years on the only livable floating rock in the Milky Way Galaxy, I have lived in three cities, two states, and two countries. In each I have created long lasting bonds with groups and individuals through my day to day activities, from school to sports. It is through these relationships that communities form. This is something that I have come to realize as I participate in something that I have been doing for years: volunteering.

For years I have participated in community service activities. I grew up in Los Angeles and started volunteering in my neighborhood at the local dental clinic helping organize the client files. I went on to continue various forms of service work from tutoring to helping at food pantries.

As I am spending my final year of high school in Vietnam, I currently volunteer at a center for children who suffer from both physical and mental disabilities due to Agent Orange. One day, one of the mothers of the victims came up to me and said thank you for what my classmates and I were doing. She said that her daughter always talked about us.   Given the Vietnam War history between our two countries, she told us how she was surprised there were American teenagers willing to come to Vietnam to learn about the culture and help out here.    Her comments made me reflect on my role now as a “community representative” for both my hometown and for my country.   As one of the remaining seven spending the entire year in Hanoi I am not only a student, but also a representative: of my family, my school, my town and ultimately the United States of America.

Back in the Grind

Andrew Sanborn

Well it’s 2012. It snuck up so quickly and I often find myself staring at the calendar looking back at the last five months in disbelief, thinking about how fast it went by. After a welcome and well-deserved three week winter break, it was time to clock back in for the second half of my year here in Vietnam.

            This month was a period of adjustment for the school. After losing eight students in December it was quite a shock to be in class with only 7 people. And that's the maximum. Class sizes: Economics and AP environmental science, 6; Vietnamese; 4; math, 2. I feel completely bewildered by this. Last year, I had a math class with over forty people, now it’s down to two! As great as it is being in such small classes, I can’t help but think of everyone that left, and I miss them a lot. That aspect has been the hardest part of the reintegration. It’s an odd feeling sitting in the student lounge with only six other people, instead of fourteen. Granted both of those numbers are ridiculously small for a school, but in the context of this school, it is a huge difference.  

            Also, it’s freezing here! Then again I’m from Southern California, so anything below 60 degrees qualifies as freezing. But still, this is Vietnam; what happened to the jungle and heat that I saw in all the movies? Another adjustment is seeing everyone in jackets and wearing gloves, whereas 2 months ago that combination could have been deadly. I would say that overall, my transition back into Hanoi has been easier then I was expecting. I miss home of course, but it’s at a manageable level. I am looking forward to going home in May, but am also very excited for the next four months here. I want to enjoy my remaining time, because I know once I hit February, the remainder of the year is going to go by in the blink of an eye. Even this month has gone by in a flash. It’s such a strange feeling looking back at the year and realizing that the day we got here is now further away then the day we leave. It still feels as if I just got here.

            Well, no matter how fast this year is going by, I want to enjoy the remainder of my time here just as much as I enjoyed the first semester. I am happy to be back in Hanoi, and can now cross off another month.

Where Am I Now?

Becky Gordon

We are approaching the end of the first semester, after which half of our students will go back home and half will remain.  For this month’s blogging, I asked them to pause and take stock of where they have each come to at this point in time. They were given the question: Where am I now? Their responses reflect a range of concrete and abstract interpretations of the question, expressing the physical and emotional spaces in which they presently find themselves here in Viet Nam, and in their lives.

No Longer

Nan MacMillan

My fingers have made imprints on my bike’s cool rubber handlebars.
And no longer does the misty morning rain surprise me.
Rather, my skin readily absorbs each drop of moisture at seven thirty every morning.
My feet have memorized every pothole, every bump in the road.
No longer does the rush of cars frighten me
I effortlessly become a part of the river of traffic,
Letting the current simply take me.
No longer do the brown eyes locked to my white face bother me.
No longer do I notice the smog, the air’s filth.
I cannot recall what clean, fresh air smells like.
My nose has accepted smoke, exhaust, and dust as normal.
The strangers I called my relatives are now family.
The unfamiliar house is now my home.
No longer does ten thousand miles seem far, or four months feel long.
No longer is Viet Nam just a place. It is home.

Through the Door

Hy-Long Nguyen

Where am I now?

I’m at the end of the road. A closed door stands in my way, close enough to see its untouched, flawless design but too far to turn the handle. The shine of its cold, silver keyhole competes with the sparkle of the glossy, brass knob. It is locked; it is ready to be opened.

The past few months in Vietnam have made me realize that everything I’ve done so far in my life -- hobbies, accomplishments, talents, interests -- has been for one simple goal: to open up that door, go to college, find a job, and grow into an adult. I look back with disappointment and pride, tears and laughter. But most important, I look back knowing that I still have time to change who I am, to take the negative things about me, leave them behind, and shut the door after I walk through

So where am I now?

I am at the door, slowly reaching for the knob. I am deciding what to bring with me to the other side. I am evaluating who I really am.

At One Moment

Sarah Weiner

It wasn't as if she had all her questions answered.  She was still looking for the justification for those thing that she could not understand. She still dreamed, and wondered, and her curiosity and earnestness had allowed her to grow in unseen ways, enabling her to see through a different lens.  But her frustration with the inability to have the answers only grew as her impatient and restless nature became more apparent.  She struggled, grasping for something to help her while she attempted to defeat an invisible enemy.

She still had many more questions she was waiting to ask.  However, she did have one question answered. She knew where she was at any given moment in time.  She was walking down a foggy cobblestone road in an unknown town.  She was keeping her distance from a protective mother, guarding her young calf.  She was standing barefoot in a muddy field of rice.  She was absorbing the silent beauty of a thousand year old temple.  She was photographing a sunset through the window of her taxi, trying to freeze the silhouette of a broken down ferris wheel against the tie-dye sky.  She was sitting at her dining room table, crying with a foreign mother about something she knew little about.  She was holding a tearful boy in her arms, able to understand his sorrow despite the seemingly unbreakable language barrier between them. 

She always knew where she was standing.  But her perspective changed once again when she realized that what was important was not only where she was at one given moment.  Where she had been before and where she would go next were crucial in understanding where she was now.  Time never stops progressing.

Just Bloggin’ #3 Donde estoy ahora? Tôi đang ở đâu?

Luke Williams

Thirteen years ago I never understood what any of these sentences meant, yet they both ask the same question; where am I? Literally I am living in the Cầu Giấy District of Hà Nội, Việt Nam. I am at the point where I am growing into an adult.  Part of that growth has been the pivotal moment of getting on a bike for the first time.

When I decided to spend senior year enrolled in School Year Abroad-Vietnam, I planned on challenging myself academically and culturally. In my first weeks in Hanoi, my sole mode of  transportation was taxi.  However, viewing life from behind a window removed me from the flow of this vibrant city.  My experiences revolved at the end-points of my cab ride; school and host-family.  I envied my peers and their stories of people they met or foods they tasted while riding around on their SYA-subsidized bikes.

Right now I am a six-foot senior unsuccessfully trying to execute turns and attracting the added ridicule from both passersby and peers.  My greatest challenge wasn’t just the coordination of riding but the self-conscious vulnerability I felt. These roadblocks ended up creating a physical and mental battle with the bicycle, but one that was overcome with scrapes and laughs. I now have access to the exciting streets and alleys of Hanoi.  This is where I am now. That “monster” is now my best friend and I am now one with the city, flowing and bending with the heavy traffic.

The Lake

Elliott Crofton

It is fairly simple to say where I am now. I am in Hanoi, Vietnam. I am living with a family of Vietnamese people. I am attending an SYA school on a regular basis. This however is dull, and I do not think it does justice to the question asked. So then where am I really?

In these past 3 months I have grown exponentially as a person. Already I look back at myself at the beginning of the year and think of how strange I was. And already I know 3 months from now the current Elliott will also be viewed as strange. Right now I am in a state of constant metamorphosis. Most of the time the change is good, and if it is not I believe that my logic always sets me back on the right track. This constant change of person can be stressful and at times overwhelming, but I feel its benefits. I feel myself becoming more of what I should be. The reasons behind this change are many, and I do not think I could pinpoint one main factor. I admit it probably has to do with being immersed in an entirely different situation, but the true cause, the exact origin, remains unknown to me.

The state I am in now sometimes breeds longing and restlessness in me. I have found a cure to this though, a flawless remedy. There is a lake near my house with a circumference of something like a quarter to half a mile. In the morning I will go, and find the same seat I always do. I’ll sit on the edge of the lake and take in a view so beautiful I cannot begin to describe. But as I take in this view I will get the most extraordinary feeling of being part of this city. I can feel the whole city pulsing and moving, yet I am surrounded by tranquility. Maybe that is where I am now.

I am...

Anna Leah Eisner

Where am I now?

A good question
A little worn down, but still relevant.
Where am I now?
I am in a home, which was once a house
Eating with family who used to be strangers
Sleeping comfortably in a bed once hard
Brushing out stares that tangle in my hair
Where am I now?
I am walking down crowded streets
A newfound knowledge of avoiding motorcycles
Has become lodged in my muscle memory
Where am I now?
I am bartering with street vendors
Lowering prices, making bargains
In a language that until recently
Was as unknown to me as the country it came from
Where am I now?
I am slurping my noodles-
Devouring my spring rolls-
And eating more rice
Than I have ever consumed in my life
Where am I now?
I am meeting new people
With stories that tell
Of lives utterly unlike
The sheltered setting I grew up in
Where am I now?
I am in a completely different
And yet now familiar place
Strange, how odd it is
Strange, how used to it I am
So what am I now?
Define you.
I am a daughter
A sister
A street-savant
A fruit cutter
A pho eater
A chopstick user
A backup voice for children’s singing
A craft entrepreneur
A frisbee-thrower
An adventurer
I have become a part of this culture
And it has become a part of me

Hanoi Rain

Nathan Cluss

           
       Right now I am sitting at my desk staring into my computer screen, and listening to the sound of Ha Noi rain. Rainy days hit a different tone with each individual, but here, cooped up in my small room, I feel a sense of contentment. The experience I’ve had in coming to Viet Nam was completely unexpected, and serendipitous. Everyday I find myself contemplating my future, and without the life I’ve lived here, my thoughts and attitude would be quite different.  I’m now excited for what the future holds for me, and look forward to pursuing my passions, which have become more defined since being here. I think about how I’ve gotten here, what I’ve done to end up in this place at this exact time. It’s as if every little thought, action, or decision that’s led to this experience had meaning, and was even purposeful. All the hell I went through, and all the memories I’ll never forget; they all happened to bring me here. Such as every drop of rain falls and lands just as it’s supposed to, in the right place, at the right time.