Top ten things I miss about Viet Nam.

10. Pho Cuon
I was introduced to this meal by word of mouth. Many of the other students in Hanoi told me that Pho Cuon is delicious, and that I must try it! So I did, and I became addicted. Not only is it healthy, it really hits the spot. I miss my attempts to stay fit by eating these delicious treats on some days for lunch. "Chi cho em nam cai pho cuon". Oh I miss you so!

9. Bargaining
Although I often felt bad bargaining with the locals because I actually could afford their upped prices, I nonetheless engaged in this sport. It is not like you are disrespecting them or trying to rip them off, but you're trying to not let them rip you off. It is somewhat of a compromise. Being a Viet Kieu, I know I will not get the local price, and know that their first price is completely inflated. It somewhat reminds me of playing tag when you're little--tag with only two people--except this is just using words instead of arms. "Oi doi oi, 30 nhin thoi, em la sinh vien thoi ma chi, em khong co nhieu tien dau!"

8. Toilet Pub, Balcony Bar, and Dragonfly.

These three spots were where basically everyone of us went, on a constant basis. Prior to Viet Nam, never have I really hit the bar/club scene, mainly because I have prejudices against the ones in Chicago--maybe too showy, too flashy for me. But in Hanoi, these spots are very different from the assumptions I have of the clubs in Chicago. I miss sweating my ass off on the tiny dance floor at toilet, and just chilling and talking to the workers at Balcony--Anh Phuc, Dung, Hoan, and the Smirnoff girl! I also miss the good times spent with good company at Dragonfly. The wonderful battles of foosball with the group. I think Jimmy and Brenda were the top dogs.

Paris of North America.

Spring break is just around the corner--two months away--and I have decided that this year I want to treat myself to something nice. My good friend Kevin is studying in Paris, France now, and on STA Travel, they had some deal for 500$. But in further investigating that deal, it turns out to be false advertisement. Essentially, I am too poor to actually go to Paris, so I have decided to go to the Paris in North America. Or its official name--Montreal. I do not think that Montreal is actually referred to as the Paris of North America though, but it is a French speaking city, so why not!? The main reason why I am living at home is because I want to save some extra green to fulfill the desires of travelling. It is somewhat like a cigarette, or McDonald's, or even Lay's potato chips. Once you smoke or eat one, you just can't stop (that is unless you have a very strong will, which I do not).

I looked at prices and it comes to about 333$ after taxes. I suppose that is not too bad considering that would have been a little less than one month of living in the city. I am thinking four to five days there. I really know nothing about Montreal except for the fact that it is very representative of what a European city may look like, one in France. I have yet to step foot in Europe, so this is somewhat of a little preview, just like those Apple movie trailers. Here are some pictures stolen from lonely planet's image gallery for Montreal.



See you in March, Montreal.
(kevin, does this look like paris to you at all?)

english, the common language.

There was a sign in Thailand which I saw while I was over there this past summer. It said, "English is the language of the future". I somewhat laughed at the sign at the time, but after yesterday, it just might be true. It is an international language--people of different countries all use English to communicate with one another. Yesterday I went over to Judy's studio in boystown to enjoy some time with her and her international friends. As I arrived, I learned it was a celebration of her being single. South Korea, Taiwan, Costa Rica, Hong Kong, and Malaysia are the locations these folks are from. Of course, English stood as the common language.

I arrived at ten past nine and Terry and Kweon were there already drinking and playing a card game. I joined in. The game they were engaged in entailed absolutely no usage of the brain. The rules:

Each person goes around, counting from 1-#. The cards are divided into the # of players, in this case, 4 people. The players go around placing their cards in the middle. If the card coincides the number you count, then everyone must try to slap the pile of cards. The last person to slap must take the cards. The first person to have no cards left wins.



We switched to circle of death after Carlos arrived. Playing that game gets one drunk fast. We were all pretty drunk after one round of that game. Jootsie, Smoonie, and her boyfriend showed up a little after that with their Malaysian mahjong set. I know how to play Vietnamese style mahjong, and thought that Malaysian would be the same, but in this version, half of the tiles are missing, and along with the flower tiles, there are animals & humans ones as well. To win, you must have four sets of 3--either three of a kind or a three number straight--and a pair. Beginners luck for me, I won the first round. Following this spectacular game, we engaged in truth or dare. As always, sexual topics are inevitable. We ended the night with a dare, where we all had to participate. You suck a playing card in with your breath, and pass it to the next person and they suck in their air, trying to keep the card above ground. After one full circle, it ends. Of course, because our lungs aren't that strong, the card fell multiple times on the switch. I left at around 2:30 AM. Hope your new days as being single goes well Judy!!




Slept at Steve Tran's apartment dorm at around 5:30. It was nice catching up and what not. This morning I awoke at 9:30 and headed to the metra soon after that. On the way to the train, a stand on Roosevelt caught my eye. It was a food stand!! Oh My Lord, a food stand on the street in CHICAGO!?? It reminded me so much of Viet Nam, but they were selling Mexican food. Of course, I had to purchase something, just to relive that feeling of buying some street food. It didn't exactly feel the same though because snow was falling from the sky. That somewhat changes the level of enjoyment of eating street food. Too cold!



Well, that sums up my weekend.

eating like royalty.

I have always wondered what the kings in the medieval times ate like. There is that saying, "eating like kings" or something along those lines. It reflects the process of eating a really nice meal I suppose, or maybe just a lot of food. After 21 one years of existence, I have finally found out what it means to eat like a king. In present day, the type of meal comparable to what kings eat would have to be eating at a BUFFET! You have thousands (well maybe just somewhere in the X-ties) of dishes in front of you! One has endless possibilities of choosing what goes on one's plate. Fried goods, steamed treats, or white rice. The choice is yours! The means to such choices, I would imagine, would be congruent to those means of the kings back in the medieval period. They had X-ty dishes in front of them on those extra narrow, long tables. The only main difference is that in present day, the dishes are at a designated area, where many people can eat like kings, whereas during the medieval times, the food would be on the table of the kings, and they would not have to share it with anyone else.

Tonight, I was able to eat like royalty. Literally. I went to Royal Buffet with this Asian-based student organization group from North Central College near my house. A royalty meal for the present day commoner. The experience was quite enjoyable because I met a lot of new folks--both domestic folks, as well as internationals. I only knew two individuals from the organization, so the other thirty-five were complete strangers. It is somewhat comparable to buying two new fish from the pet store and putting it into your fish tank full of fish who already know each other. Sooner or later the two new fish will either adapt with the other fish, or be killed by them. Hopefully my experience will not follow the latter.

the windy city.

Before returning back to Chicago, I expected to be greeted with gushing winds and below zero weather. But upon my return, the climate really seemed to be effected by global warming, or as the right wing folks call it, climate change. This global warming weather went on like this for a couple of weeks and we all really started believing that there has been damage done to the ozone. But thank whatever higher being you may believe in, Chicago is as cold as it was last year. A little late, but here nonetheless.

Besides the bitter cold weather in Chicago, I am adjusting back to the life here. Although I do still miss Viet Nam, the life of a giant city is starting to come back to me. Riding on the "L", walking through the streets with towering buildings hovering above, and just the diversity are all great things about Chicago. I would have to say though, the Vietnamese restaurants are not that good. I enjoyed a Saturday by myself walking around downtown and visiting the Loyola University Museum of Art. The exhibit was on the Dali Lama and Peace--how the Dali Lama and his word is transformed into art, reflecting peace. It was free for college students who possessed an id. Luckily for me, I keep my id warm and snug in my wallet.

Prior, and after to this visit to the museum, I was able to catch up with some old friends and also some new friends from Viet Nam, here in the windy city. I went to dinner with an old childhood friend at this Persian restaurant. The food was delicious, but the portions were too big to finish. That should not really be a complaint though. It was good to see old faces and share my stories from Viet Nam with her and to find out that she is in fact going to Viet Nam this summer for two months. As for new faces, two friends who also studied in Viet Nam stopped in the windy city this week. Peggy, who was in the CET program, and I made a trip to argyle, Chicago's version of Cali's Little Saigon. I am sure the food does not compare, but hey, it triggered a few memories of Viet Nam. We also visited the Adler Planetarium (pictured to the left is me in a Galileo type study environment). I also met my friend Kara downtown. We went for a sip of St. Pauli Girl Beer at some bar underneath the brown line stop of Washington/Wells. Lucky her, she gets to finish up the 2nd part of the year in Sai Gon. It is odd to see these faces half way across the world. The last time I saw them was in Viet Nam, and to see them in my neck of the woods is somewhat strange. But nonetheless, refreshing.

The past two years living in Chicago, I somewhat took for granted all the cultural events happening each night in the city. These next five months though, I hope to take advantage of such a wide range of cultural events. I really only have a short time left in this city. St. Paul awaits me in June, and hopefully Budapest in the fall. Not until next January will I be back to the windy city. After visiting all the places I have gone to this past year and a half, I would have to place Chicago still as one of the top cities on my favourites list.

Hac.

Environment, culture, and perspective.

Black or white. Beautiful or ugly. Skinny or fat. Right or wrong? I find this idea of perspective sometimes quite interesting. Culture has an immense affect on one's beliefs, judgements, ideas, and most importantly perspective. Say if I were to grow up in Việt Nam, then my outlook in life would not parallel the ones that I possess right now.

As an example, in Việt Nam, this idea of skin colour is a much thought about idea. Throughout the country, you will see people, mostly women, outside covered up as if they are allergic to the sunlight. White skin is valued and desired. In the States, one is able to see businesses with names such as, "Sun Palace Tan", "UV Ray Tan", or "Skin Cancer Tan" in every town, suburb, or city.

These differences are due to the distinctiveness of each culture. Can we say that one is right or wrong? Probably not. But with these cultural differences shaping our perspectives and beliefs gives rise to conflict and disagreements. One side believes the other is wrong, and the other, likewise. Often times when individuals, or even groups of people have a certain view on a certain situation, other perspectives are not even considered. They argue one way, and one way only. It is as if no other view can ever be right. How could it be? It does not coincide with my own view! This idea does not only apply to the differences in cultures between the States and Việt Nam or say, Ghana, but even within the states as well. On a political level, both right and left wing politicians and followers seem to fall into this mold of perspective. It is hard for me to even pick a side, although I do lean to a certain way, but I view that those to the extreme ends of both spectrum rarely attempt to understand their opponents way of thinking, and why they may think that way.

What I am trying to spit out is that for me personally, I find it important to try to understand other perspectives on whatever the issue may be--whether or not Durian really tastes like meat, or if views of me being metrosexual may be true. Everyone on this globe is influenced by a different environment, a different culture, which shapes the thoughts formulated within our head. There many be individuals who agree with one another on certain issues, and some not, but to understand how these thoughts have come to be may be helpful to understand differences and can also be quite interesting at the same time.

hạc.

Observations on the "L"

The culture of the states is of course one of a kind. I came back to Chicago to spend some time here yesterday with a friend. As we were walking around downtown, a caucasian male and his friend passed us. As he walked by, under his breath, a "Konichiwa, bitches" seemed to come out. Because I have almond eyes and as does my friend, this individual assumed we were Japanese. I am quite shocked that he did not pick Chinese first though. Usually the first guess is Chinese. But this time, he chose the second. Too bad he was off. It is somewhat amusing and irritating at the same time to see that Asian-Americans are not only viewed as foreigners but also homogenous. It is as if you are Asian, you fall under whatever guess that person decides to pick. But then again, every minority seems to catergorize every caucasian person as "white". They do have blood from Ireland or Germany in there somewhere, thirty-seven generations back.

Today for New Years, after Kenny and I parted ways from Jackie, Don, and Ha, we sat in a train-full of the typical Americans and I overheard a couple of conversations; bits and pieces. Granted, these folks were drunk off their asses, but to the extent of stupidity they exerted is quite a hard thing to grasp on. Discussing the joys of drinking, how drunk they were last night, this and that. Not only were their words useless, their actions paralleled. Surfing on the train as it was moving, warming up in the train because the cake face bitches tried to look sexy wearing nothing but a rag outside in cold weather, and being loud and obnoxious. I sat and thought to myself, is this what the majority of Americans are like? Do they go living their life discussing such bland, uninteresting things? Does being intoxicated reveal their true self? On a train full of drunk Americans is always an amusing thing. But the amusement soon fades, and I begin to get annoyed. The stupid topics of discussion, the childish acts, and the beginnings of stares from them. Yes, hello sir, I am Asian. And yes, I am speaking English to my Asian friend.

America is not a white man's country. It is a country of immigrants, and caucasian peoples' ancestors were immigrants just like mine. What then allows such an elitest attitude to exist? Differences exist of course, but this acknowledgement in difference begins to change when the Konichiwa's and the shocked look of an Asian speaking English begins. It is as if Americans feel that the U.S. of A is the center of the fucking world. As if they are the superior people of the globe. I sit quietly in my seat and think to myself all these thoughts and I begin to feel sick about being an American. American culture degrades people of colour either blantantly or not. It allows those of not the colour black, brown, tan, or yellow feel as if they own the fucking world. How to change such an engraved, stitched attitude? An impossibility perhaps? I don't even know.