essential perseity

2007-11-19T14:06:00.000-06:00

I have switched my blog to wordpress. Imported this website to wordpress. New website is:

http://tranquyhac.wordpress.com

Cultural Ambience

2007-11-12T03:13:00.000-06:00

Budapest, like many other European cities, has loads of cultural activities to offer. I have only recently taken advantage of these opportunities. There are dozens of free museums, cinemas, galleries, and of the like. This past weekend was the fourth Verzio International Film Festival in Budapest, which showcased quite a few interesting flicks. Although I had ten lined up on my "to watch" list, I only made it to four.

The first film I attended was Between the Lines: India's Third Gender, about Hijras within Indian society. Hijras, a growing third gender, are previously men who get castrated to become this gender. What is unique about this particular gender is that they self-identify not as women or men, but simply as Hijras and are known for spiritual blessings or curses. Within Indian society, these individuals appear to be not only discriminated by somewhat accepted at the same time. Many of those within the film interviewed appeared to live very poverty-stricken lives, begging for money on a constant basis, selling their bodies to men for money, or dancing in clubs. Walking through the streets of Mumbai, it appeared the Hijras attracted stares of not only difference, but of disbelief and disgust. Despite these types of non-acceptance by the Indian society, they are heavily relied on--both for their supernatural powers and their bodies as objects for men--within Indian society. The film captures this sub-culture within India and reveal both the pains and joys of a minority class.

Two out of the three other films are worth mentioning. One of which is Exile Family Movie, a story of exiled Iranians throughout the globe. The film takes us through Arash T. Riahi's personal history of his own family, both nuclear and extended, who have either left Iran for political reasons or remained within the suppressive regime. The film begins in 1994 in Vien, Austria, where his nuclear family resides. Images and clips depict the pain his family members face as they are torn apart by politics, displaced across the globe, and separated by cultures. It has been years since the family has been together until they decide to meet in Mecca, in Saudi Arabia. Arash takes us through a personal journey filled with cultural differences, family connections, sorrow and ecstasy. This film encapsulates not only a personal journey, but reflects the notions of political subordination, determination, understanding, and most importantly love.

In Africa, the Democratic Republic of Congo, plagued by war, famine, disease witnesses the rise in Evangelical Christianity. Many of the Congolese are inflicted by deep poverty, AIDs, unimaginable hardships, looking for a way out of this life. Thanks to a handful pastors who claim they are God's messengers, preaching what the poor Congolese wish to hear, are not only creating a sense of false belief, but also a rise within their own bank accounts. The sad reality remains in the continuity of this practice, where individuals infected by AIDs and other detriments truly believe that through the prayers of these prophets to God, their ailing will heal. The film concludes with a very powerful scene, as one Congolese women lies frail and ill, flies circling her body, perhaps infected by cancer or AIDs, repeating that God will save her from her condition.

The wonders of international film festivals, such as these, is that it allows one to visualize the varying cultures, struggles, issues throughout the world. Simply reading a newspaper or an online article is indeed informational, but with this visualization, one is able to conceptualize the realities of the conditions of individuals. Taking a peek, even if only a minute one, into the lives of these people, we can move beyond the vague understanding we might initially possess.

two months

2007-11-05T04:37:00.000-06:00

86,400 minutes, 1440 hours, 60 days, two months. Sitting at my laptop at 11:37 AM, it has hit me that two long months have passed since my arrival here in Budapest. In thinking of this time period past, too many things emerge within my thoughts--the first initial feeling of the city, my integration, my friendships, my travels. Outside of these thoughts, the one thing which tends to emerge from time to time is the fact of familiarity.

I wake up to the sun shining through the square windows each morning. I walk down Kiniszi Utca to either the Kinai Bufe or the burger joint for lunch or dinner. I stride over to the university where three big buildings stand--the main building, the sohaz building, the new building. I attend class each day, and see the same people within these classes. The topic changes of course, but when one simply observes this schedule without sound, its like looking at a set of the same pictures. I've become accustomed to my schedule, and have no problems. The people I have met are amazing.

My weekends consist of socializing, either at someone's flat, or at a local pub. I have grown attached to specifically three pubs--Szimpla, Klub Vittul, and Kuplung. They are all dive type bars, really Bohemian type environments with old stone walls surrounding the main area, grafitti on the walls, obscure designs floating around.

I have become used to the pace here. It is much slower in comparison to most cities of the States. Although the drivers on the road are absolutely mad, there still exists this sense of relaxation. I walk down the various Utca's of Budapest and even with this cold weather, people are sitting under the umbrella's covering the tables and sipping on their coffee or tea, intimately discussing something.

I have become familiar with the political situation here, somewhat. Weeks ago, there was the riots/protests against the government which tends to embody socialist ideas. Speaking to a local Hungarian man on the street, he mentioned the corruption of the government, the lack of even distribution amongst the citizens, and the vicscious cycle of poverty with no institutional aid. The man reiterated variuos times, "It hurts my soul to see this in my country."

Budapest is not simply the picturesque setting one sees upon arrival. It is not only the beautiful Danube with marvelous bridges lingering above. It is not only the fancy tourist streets such as Vaci Utca or Raday Utca. It is not only what lonely planet speaks of Budapest. Budapest has become a city with personal connections for me. Within only two months, I have grown attached to the life here. I am not saying that I'll drop everything and move here, or stay here rather, but to really understand what the city is about and feel part of it is a great thing.

About 86,400 minutes, 1440 hours, 60 days, two months remain.

The Balkans

2007-10-25T12:48:00.000-06:00

Commemorating Magyarorszag's (Hungary) national holiday, all services were put to a halt. With a long weekend, I planned on heading down south to the former Yugoslavia, the Balkans. The night of the eighteenth, Thursday, Kevin, Bianca, and I met at Keleti palyaudvar (train station) to catch our train to Belgrade, Serbia--our first destination. The remains of the former Yugoslavia is now Serbia. Prior to the 1990's Yugoslavia's territory extended to what is now Macedonia, Bosnia, Croatia, Slovenia, and Montenegro. Kosovo, an autonomous region during that time still, remains under Serbian control.

After six hours or so, we arrived in Belgrade. My first thoughts of the Balkans was that the effects of war still remained--destroyed buildings, underdeveloped, decrepit. As we walked all throughout the city for hours upon hours, there were some areas which showned such signs, where other areas have been covered up with development. In one of the main streets of the city, two buildings lie side by side completely destroyed. Perhaps it was due to the bombs dropped by NATO during the 90s, perhaps just a decayed building. As the seconds became minutes, minutes became hours, the three of us remained wandering throughout this grey city. Several stops to the Museum of Ethnography and to the old Fort on a hill, viewing a breathtaking scene, we eventually headed back towards the bus station to catch a ten o'clock pm bus to Pristina, Kosovo--the most anticipated destination for me.

During middle school in the late 1990s, there were several students from Kosovo who arrived to our school. Their families were displaced due to the war between Kosovo and Serbia. At the time, what I knew of Kosovo was just some point on the map where there was conflict. The U.S., under Clinton, assisted Kosovo in defending themselves against Serbia and Milosevic. Never in my life did I actually think I would visit this site. Sitting on the bus was somewhat overwhelming for me, yet exciting. My seat was somewhere near the back, close to the last row. As I observed my surroundings, I somewhat laughed in my head. It was as if I was situated in some scene in a movie, or a made up scenario within one's mind. All around me were Kosovar Albanians, either trying to sleeping, or fully awake. Stares of interest pointed my way as I sat there, in silence, listening to the high pitched Madonna type Albanian singer through the intercom.

We made a quick stop in the middle of nowhere it seemed. Standing there in the pitch black, it triggered the memories of my travels in Vietnam just last year. During those grueling bus rides from South to North, countless pit-stops to a restaurant deserted by civilization. As I stood there, trying to look into the distance--fogged by the darkness--an old, black Mercedes-Benz came screetching into the graveled parking lot. Four young Kosovar Albanians exited the vehicle, like a scene from some gangster movie, only to greet me with warmth, exhalting "Welcome to the State of Kosovo!" An exchange of smiles and handshakes between us was all the interaction.

From my knowledge most fighting took place within this region during the Kosovo War. Like Belgrade, I expected a dilapidated, rundown city in Pristina. The city itself is the largest city in Kosovo with close to 500,00 inhabitants. The cold, drizzling rain greeted the three of us as we walked through the gates at four in the morning. Ten seconds later, with no actual place to go, we turned back around and slept in the bus station until about nine. My expectations were met as the sights of the buildings, cityscape, and other surroundings appeared to be those similar to a third world country. The visibility of an undeveloped location points to the realities of the region today. Stricken with racial/ethnic tension, political corruption, social and economic decay, underdeveloped is an understatement.

My plan for this trip was to speak to some locals of the area, to see what everyday life was like. Although many people do speak English here in Pristina, and in most other parts of Kosovo, they seem to keep the personal, the current political and social problems to themselves when dealing with foreigners--the very few who visit the region. With our travels to the Balkans, we really were not interested in the typical "see all the tourist spots", but rather, walk around as the locals do, shop at the market, sit at a coffee shop, and observe and take in what life in this region of tension is like.

We met one man, whose name now escapes me, who has returned to the city of his birth after twenty-five years. He moved to British Columbia a quarter decade ago due to unknown reasons. His story is an interesting one for me, mainly because it reminds me of the so many diasporic groups of Vietnamese in places like the U.S., France, Austrailia. I came into Kosovo with a very limited view on the atmosphere, the culture. I knew few foreigners came to visit; those who reside are NGO workers. This particular individual dived into the topics which I was most interested. He spoke of the ethnic tensions between the Serbs, the Kosovar Albanians, the Roma. His best friend during his days in Kosovo lives in a region where such ethnic tension is blatantly visible; he advises him not to come to this part of Pristina because death might ensue. He also highlighted the lack of any economic development. The rate of unemployment soars beyond the clouds. With no job, no income, people simply cannot move upward. The political group is apparently renown for its corruption. The money goes into who's pocket? The people or the elites? These tend to be the ongoing problems within Kosovo today.

As we departed ways, I gained a somewhat better understanding of the present social, economic and political situation in Kosovo. Looking around this dreary city kind of validified this man's words. Poverty and unemployment seemed to be an issue, and clearly through mass media, the ethnic tensions are obvious. As we moved on, touring the city by foot, we arrived to a few interesting places, one of which was an open air market. Compared to the markets of Budapest, this would be considered primitive. The products were obviously knockoffs--tons of clothes which resembled the knockoffs in South-East Asia, bootleg CDs and DVDs. I really enjoy these types of markets mainly because it is very local and possesses a cultural feel to it. Yet at the same time, I cannot be blinded by my own personal enjoyment as the ones selling are working hard for every cent. Many of these vendors were extremely friendly to us--inquiring our roots and nationality and what we were doing here--some of which asked us to take their picture.

As the market faded into the distance, we came across a building which was quite distinct from all other buildings erected. Glass, reflective windows, perhaps ten to twenty stories high, and gated with security. Kosovo has been U.N. adminstered since the late 1990s, and I was standing right in front of this global governance organization's building. On the gates of the U.N. building read a large sign in red text, "We Are All Missing Them", referring to those who lost their lives in dark times of war just one decade ago. The faces of individuals who I only know through images hang on the fence. Faded by time, some photos are nearly unrecognizable. As I stood there for awhile, examining these images, I sense the pain and the sympathy for these people, for their familes. The sad reality of war.

As our journey continued through the winding, narrow roads of Pristina, I observed the lack of investment, the lack of commitment in development of this city. Throughout the entire metropolis, many buildings tower, half finished, appearing to be a forgotten project. Development of edifices tends not to develop the society or economy. With this constant visibility of constructions, I began to think that development planning is heading in the wrong direction in Kosovo. Structures do not bring income, do not bring jobs, do not develop much when they are unfinished, and more importantly do not contribute to the human development. From my travels thus far, Kosovo appears to be one of the poorest regions within Europe. The 2 Euro meal for the three of us gives evidence of the feeble economy. I really do not know what is being done in this State in terms of development, but even under U.N. administering, there seems not to be much upward movement.

Wandering for a few more hours, we eventually decided to head back to the bus station to catch our train to Sarajevo, Bosnia. As we walked in the general direction, we were somewhat lost. I asked a women for directions to the bus station, and luckily for us she was heading there as well. I took this opportunity to ask her more about Pristina, and Kosovo in general. She mentioned her sadness and demoralization when it came to the present and future of Kosovo. The post-war period has brought an end to the manifest oppresion by Serbia, but what remains are countless issues which are unresolved. She works for a bank, which gave her the opporunity to train in two other European countries. What really amazed her were how developed these other countries are; Switzerland and Austria respectively. The comparsions she drew between Kosovo and these states, which I view as incomprable, tend to be a widespread view amongst those residing here. When a Kosovar Albanian watches Western films and witnesses this highly developed, technologized society, how can they not compare? Their reality is a harsh, cruel, scrapping environment. As this woman said to me, "It will be years before Kosovo reaches such a stage."

I wished I had more time in Kosovo, perhaps to see a different city, to speak to some NGOs, to understand the locality, but unfortunately, time did not permit. We jumped onto another night bus, which would bring us to Sarajevo, Bosnia--another destination rich in history.

Bosnia, like Kosovo, faced war in the early to mid 1990s. Conflicts between Bosniaks, Croats, and Serbs plagued the country for three years, where genocide was a reality--mass rapings, ethnic cleansing, resulting in over 100,000 deaths. Apparently, there are still many landmines up in the mountains. Arriving in Sarajevo and seeing the views of the city, there is much contrast between the war-torn Kosovo. The infrastructure of this city appeared to be much more developed--physically and economically. The individuals living here, through mere observations differed greatly in their everyday life than that of the Kosovar Albanians. Well-dressed, high-class dining, frequenting fancy coffee shops, the Bosniaks seem not to face the same struggles as their neighbors westward. Of course, with every society, there are social, economic and political problems, but when comparing one country within the Balkans to another, the association is justifiable.

Tired from walking around the previous day, we checked into a hostel. Dropping off our goods, we decided to explore our surroundings. The city itself is really beautiful, especially the old town part. Walking through these brick roads, I felt as if I were passing through a 19th century city. The constructions still resemble such a time period, as do the businesses and everyday life of these individuals--the aura captivated such an impression. We simply walked, drank coffee, climbed up and down hills, examining the architecture, landscape and people. One of the very interesting things about Sarajevo was the diversity of religion. Predominantly Muslim, there are also synagogues and churches established. The strange coexistence of these conflicting religions in Sarajevo intrigued me greatly. Within other parts of the world, such a coexistence is impossible--especially in what is present day Israel. One can witness such coexistence in parts of the U.S., but the difference here is that within such a small proximity, the contact between these various religions is to a greater extent. There appeared to be no religious conflict as individuals went on with their everday life, interacting with one another.

Kevin and I ate at a Gyros plate, each purchasing a Cevati sandwich, a typical Bosnian dish--Bianca sat salvating, refusing to eat. Following our meal, the three of us had a drink at Guiness Pub, where American football illuminated the widescreen television--Detroit Lions versus Tampa Bay Bucs. American culture has even reached the depths of the Balkans it seems. Fatigued by lack of sleep, and constant travel on night buses, we entered complete comfort in our warm, homely hostel room. The minute I rested my head onto the pillow, I feel into a deep slumber.

As the sun rose and the three of us headed towards the train station, our Balkans tour had come to an end. On the train, we ran into Harry and Joe, two other Corvinus exchange students. After twelve hours, we arrived back in Budapest, starving due to lack of food. We all headed to Kinai Bufe (Chinese fast food restaurant) for a delicious dinner, where we discussed the sights and sounds we had just witnessed.

Trần, Qúy-Hạc

Diaspora, Acculturation, and Reality.

2007-10-13T16:33:00.000-06:00

Diaspora
Running late, as the Vietnamese do, I jumped onto the #173 bus to meet my friend Hà at the last and final stop of the route to enter what is known as the "Asia Center." Both excitement and curiosity overcame me as I would be entering something familiar. Hà, mentioning to me of the Asia center, brought up various thoughts in my head. One of which was the development of an Asian community here in such a homogenous society. Diaspora is seen everywhere, especially within countries like France, Britain, or the United States. But being a child of Vietnamese refugees, Vietnamese Diaspora intrigues me most. Few weeks prior, I ventured off and visited the "Four Tigers Asian Market" with a few of my friends. That experience showed me only one aspect of the Vietnamese Diaspora here in Budapest.

Hà arrived a few minutes after I and everyone else dispersed off the bus. From a distance, I could see this massive, dome-like structure which was the Asia Center. The both of us walked towards it in the gushing winds of autumn in Budapest; contrary to the climate in Việt Nam. I asked her when the building was constructed, to which she replied five or so years ago; not that very long ago. The establishment or even recognition of an Asian and Southeast Asian community here in Budapest has only been a recent phenomenon. As we entered the center, it somewhat reminded me of Saì Gòn Square, the newly enhanced one. Inside where a bunch of clothing, perfume, and gift shops run by mostly Vietnamese or Chinese immigrants. What I really wanted was a bowl of phở. My expectation in comparison to that of the "Four Tigers Market" was much higher. 600 forint later, I received a relatively small bowl of phở tái. It satisfied me mainly because I have not had any phở in over a month and a half. We walked around for a few hours, talked, had some gelato and I headed back to the dorms.

Many of these Vietnamese I saw at the Asia Center seemed at a higher socio-economic status than that of those in Four Tigers market. According to Hà, most of these vendors purchase the goods from those at the Four Tigers market wholesale and sell them for a little higher price. Vietnamese people seemed to be the dominant, or rather, the majority of the vendors here. Many of the customers were the Magyar population. Within Diaspora, there is this struggle of integration, or acculturation. Even being in the States, I witness so many struggles and eases of integration into society. What springs from the lack of integration is often times discrimination, racism. Walking on the streets of Budapest, it seems as if the Magyar place themselves above other ethnic minorities. Walking through the Asia Center, the two groups seemed to interact quite well with one another. Within that point in time, my view of the Vietnamese Diaspora within this city and country was that of inequity, economically, like that of the Gypsies.

Today, running only three minutes late; an improvement from the previous day, I met Hà and a few of her friends -- Nhung and Khánh -- at the Astoria red-line metro. We were going to see an exhibit on WC -- toilets -- at this exhibition hall near Mammut shopping center. There four other friends of hers -- Hiếu, Hại, Qùynh, and Dũng-- were waiting for us. As we entered there was also a photo exhibit on Chicago; nothing new to me. The WC exhibit was quite interesting; a mixture of art and history. Most of the art displayed was going for quite a high price of over 100,000 HUF. After thirty minutes, the group of us entered Mammut shopping center for a drink. We gulped down our ice teas, ginger ales, and sinh tó's and headed over to Dũng's home.

As we arrived I was somewhat in awe at the size of his family's home. It was magnificent and beautiful -- mansion like. An indoor swimming pool, an elevator, two balconies, and four stories. My previous perception of the Vietnamese here in Budapest was smashed to pieces as I realized that the Vietnamese here are simply not vendors but are also successful. Perhaps I was just being naive when I thought that all Vietnamese in Hungary were in the lower level of the socio-economic ladder. As in any country, there will be a disparity in income, class, and status. Within the States, amongst the Vietnamese diaspora population, there are filthy rich and those that are scrapping for money. But what I find perhaps a difference between the Diaspora in Budapest and that of the U.S., in socio-economic terms, is that of refuge and starting off on the same foot. Here in Budapest, during the 1980's, while the country was still under Soviet control, many Vietnamese from the North arrived due to politics. They remained and perhaps had some leverage in success in terms of economics. Those who arrived later did not have those same possibilities. This is also the case in the U.S., with refugees being able to acculturate into society much easier than that of later immigrants who came, but the only difference between the earlier Diaspora groups was that one was already integrating within politics and the other had to start from the bottom up. This is only my assumption and guess of course.

As the night went on, Dũng's family generously offered all of us dinner. How wonderful, my actual first Vietnamese dinner in over a month and a half. Bún chả, nem rán, nộm, and canh chua; a fullilling and full meal. Dũng's family had some type of dinner party with a very large group of Vietnamese-Hungarians over. It somewhat reminded me of the dinner parties I used to attend back when I was young. There were Vietnamese adults sitting at the dinner table, speaking loudly as ever, the karaoke machine blasting Vietnamese tunes, the group of youth sitting in the bedroom playing PS2, and us playing card games in one room. I am half away across the world, and I feel the same culture of Vietnamese Diaspora as I do when I am at home. Outside of economic differences in Vietnamese Diaspora, the social and cultural elements tend to be exactly the same as in the States. Overall the night was great and I enjoyed my time a lot.

Acculturation
As I said my goodbyes to Hà, I slowly walked to the bus stop, which would bring me back to the university. It was nearing five in the afternoon, just two hours before Bianca's dinner party. She invited Roldan, Kevin, Elena, Caroline, and I to share her delicious cooking. It was some sort of Hungarian Goulash, which was not exactly Goulash -- according to Bianca herself. Within the stew, there were vegetables and sausages, not meat (Bianca says that sausages are not meat). After two servings and two rolls of bread, I no longer could suck in my stomach to hide the blub. We all sat there talking and playing some games -- Uno and Bluff -- and began to drink a little, only one beer for me. As we stepped outside of Bianca and Sebastian's flat, this one really mean Hungarian woman stared and screamed swear words at us. In a way I suppose both this Hungarian dinner and the negative words projected at us reflects our own personal integration within this society; being a foreigner. To be here but to not fully be accepted; an important factor in acculturation within any society.

Following the dinner get-together, we headed to this really local Hungarian bar where we were the only foreigners. Arany Aszok, a Hungarian brewed beer was only 280 forint, but the Hungarian bartender kept on giving us 20 forint short each time. This of course is not a custom of Hungarian culture. Maybe it is more in Việt Nam where the vendors will give you incorrect change and you'd just have to accept that; being ripped off. The night was edging on and Roldan and I were mighty tired. We said goodbye to the rest of the crew and jumped on the night bus back to the dorms. Goodnight long day.

Acculturation within Hungarian society for me is much harder than that of into Vietnamese society. I now feel how it was for those who I studied with just last year who were not of Vietnamese descent. There is that border between you and the rest of society. The possibility of obtaining a taste of what it is like by frequenting pubs or eating the food is seen, but a full acculturation, integration into such a society takes many years of learning and adaptation. In just one and a half months here, I feel that I have become aware of some of the customs and cultures, but to only a certain extent. Two and a half months remain and who knows how much more I will learn. I do enjoy Hungary and the culture that I have been exposed to -- much different than that of both Việt Nam and of the States.

Reality
I walk several times to various stops on the blue-line metro. In each of these subways, there are always homeless people trying to remain warm during the changing seasons. It is now in the early stages of autumn and the weather is becoming much colder during the days and even colder during the nights. I see the same people, lying on the cardboard sheets, wrapped in the worn out sweaters, sleeping. They shake their cups, clinking with little change, as the commuters pass by in their daily routine. These people live in a life where there appears to be no upward mobility. I often wonder as I pass these individuals if there are any types of social service programs which help them. In the States, there are many homeless shelters where the homeless are able to sleep in a big room with a bed, pillow, and blanket and a free plate of food. Although these services exist within the U.S. there is still a high visibility of homelessness throughout the city of Chicago.

(google image)

Homelessness of course has countless roots -- inheritance (born into poverty), job loss, lack of education and inability to find work, amongst others. I have yet to speak to any of the homeless here in Budapest as my Hungarian language skills are poor as can be. As I pass them and sometimes put a few forint coins in their cup, I am filled with a dozen thoughts. The forint I put in their cups may be used for food, water, or for alcohol, cigarettes. But I seldom ever judge those who are homeless because their circumstance cannot be imagined by me. Aside from these thoughts, thoughts of inequalities in society and throughout the world emerge. I feel so uneasy that such a reality is existent. I can understand how they might have reached this point to succumb to begging for money, but I cannot fathom why this happens and why there is not more focus on elevating these individuals from their current status.

(google image)

Walking past the sidewalk across the street from the Main Building at Corvinus, homeless men are lined up against the wall, lying, wrapped up in their warm blankets, sleeping like those in the subway stations. In the morning I pass them, in the evening they still remain there. A life where one lives on the streets, inhabiting this little corner of the world for who knows how long. I sympathize with them. I feel that all individuals should be given the opportunity to progress. Society, it tends to be, has forgotten about these people. They are invisible, yet visible. Too much trouble, too much work to help these people perhaps; they remain stuck, cornered in such a reality. In my Human Development in Transition Economies class, we discussed poverty and its impact to human development of a society, especially one that is in transition. This element creates a sense of dualism where one group succeeds and the other remains at the bottom. The continuance of such a system stagnates a society's human development, which in turn negatively effects the nation as a whole. I feel that human development, especially through the medium of social service work, really tackles many of the main problems within society. Working with the poverty, eradicating homelessness should be taken into consideration and emphasized greatly. A reality without such problems would progress the world.

Trần, Qúy-Hạc.

hai mươi hai.

2007-10-11T17:19:00.000-06:00

This is the second year where I celebrated my birthday abroad; last year was in Việt Nam. Having a birthday overseas is really special and exciting because you really do not know what to expect. Although it would have been great to have spent it with family, my twenty-second here in Budapest was still spectacular.

The dorm gang went to dinner at Pink Cadillac, this Italian place on Ráday Útca, near our dormitory. I ordered a Dreher beer and Risotto d'Occa -- goose liver, cheese, and rice. For the past couple of times eating at this restaurant, I have ordered risotto. Probably not as tasty as risotto in Italia, it still satisfied my stomach. After chit-chatting away, the clock hit quarter to ten, fifteen minutes before my meeting at Szimpla, a really bohemian type pub here in Budapest, with who knows how many Erasmus students.

Earlier that day, I texted messaged everyone I had on my contact list in my cell phone to meet at around ten at night for my birthday. As I arrived, there were about ten to fifteen people. As the night grew on, more and more started to emerge. It was really great to see everyone come out and wish me a happy birthday. My friend Bianca presented me with a gift wrapped in hot Hungarian women wrapping paper, inside two potato chip bags --paprika flavour and onion flavour. Others presented me with birthday shots and sors.

Following these generous gifts, there was spillage onto the table, into a glass, cup, and tea plate. My friends and I arrived back to the dorms later that night. I was sound asleep by one in the morning and the destruction began. I awoke at eleven the following morning, with half shaved eyebrows, shaved legs, and drawings over my body. O what fun. These are how birthdays are supposed to be as they say.

My twenty-second was a memorable one, with great company in a beautiful city. Who knows where I will be when I turn twenty-three.

Until next time.

Trần, Qúy Hạc

Slovensko

2007-10-08T10:43:00.000-06:00

The previous night, I stayed up not sleeping one bit watching The Rebel, a Vietnamese American film about the colonization of Viet Nam by the French. It is a very interesting film, action packed, but lacking in the "acting" area. Johnny Tri Nguyen, I would have to say, has the worst pronunciation of Vietnamese I have ever heard in my life. Despite the terrible acting on his and Dustin Nguyen's part, I would have to say the film was quite interesting as it underlined and highlighted a lot of issues which the Southern Vietnamese people fought against.

The film ended at about 3.45 in the morning, so I decided to just stay online and google and youtube a few things here and there. Our train to Bratislava, Slovakia departed at 5.50 AM, so I figured there was no point in sleeping for an hour; there was no way I'd want to be late. Kevin and I left the dorms at 5:10 and waited for the metro, which seemed like forever. It was getting really close as the clock hit 5:40 and we were two stops away. Getting out of the train, we ran as fast as possible to the train stop where Bianca and Caroline were waiting. We arrived on time, right on time as the train was leaving the station. We missed our train to Bratislava.

The next train was at 9:50 AM, four hours later. What to do this early? Sleep? No. We walked around for an hour and eventually ended up in McDonald's for breakfast. I had this McSomething, which tasted like artificial food; garbage. We boarded the train and I fell immediately asleep.

We arrived in Bratislava at around noon. I felt lost in this city, even though it was tiny with a population of 450,000. Soon enough I realized that the capital of Slovensko was actually quite navigate-able. The four of us decided to eat lunch at this cafe. I had a really tasty dish--roasted goose, crepes, breading, and red cabbage. It might sound like some medieval meal, but it was delicious. Afterwards we went to the castle and essentially walked around the entire city three times snapping away on our cameras. Everything seemed to be closed in the largest city of Slovensko, so there was absolutely no window shopping. A few stands were open and I purchased a Slovensko t-shirt.

The city, although small, was very interesting. The city centre appeared to be the gathering place for its inhabitants. Narrow brick, winding, hilly roads, colourful old buildings, and friendly people. What I found particular about this city was that the youth seemed to have disappeared. We walked around for hours upon hours, but seldom ran into any people our age, besides a group of American students touring the city. As the four of us were waiting at the train station for our ride back, a huge group of Slovak youths suddenly emerged. It seemed as if they were on some weekend religious trip as there were two nuns with the group. It makes sense now, being such a religious nation, probably very conservative, the children are either locked up in the house to be protected from the social evils which exist outside or are on religious camps for the weekend.

Overall Bratislava was a relaxing trip outside of Budapest. The food is good, the people are friendly, and the air clean. Considering I have seen everything within seven hours, I would probably say I would not return to this city in the near future. But I do advise those of who are interested in a break from their hectic lives to visit this area. Of course, it is not simply a little exotic area to release all one's worries; there are most definitely social issues that exist. Quite invisible within the city, most likely visible in the countryside. If I do return to Slovensko, this is where I wish to visit.

tran.quy.hac

A bit of motherland culture in Budapest.

2007-10-05T23:50:00.000-06:00

As of late, I have been hanging out with a lot of internationals from all over the globe. It has been very fun and quite interesting learning from them with such different backgrounds. Tonight was a little different though. Last week I met a girl, Ha, in the ISC computer lab whom I believed to be Vietnamese. After speaking Vietnamese to her, my doubts erased. She invited me to this Vietnamese student social event to which I accepted.

I met Ha at Kalvin Ter tonight and we headed to the end of the line. The event was held at this hotel, or should I say khach san? As I entered the room it felt as if I was in Viet Nam again with over one hundred Vietnamese students--both living here and from Viet Nam. I received the curious stares like I did in Viet Nam, probably because I look Korean. My hope of looking more Vietnamese with my “fu man chu” mustache apparently is not working. The activities included Karaoke, dancing, and eating. It was nice having some Vietnamese food again--banh khuc, banh bao, banh phong tom. At first, I would have to say I felt a little out of place, but as I started speaking to them more, in my now broken Vietnamese, it got better. I followed Ha's group of friends to a karaoke room where we sang a lot of American oldies and few Vietnamese songs. I sang "Hotel California", "As Long As You Love Me", and part of a Vietnamese song I forget the name of. Afterwards, we went upstairs to where the festivities were being held and danced a little to some American hip-hop and some European electronica. I would have to say I enjoyed the former over the latter.

Ha and her boyfriend drove me back to Kalvin Ter which ended my night. Having an itty-bitty taste of the motherland culture here in Budapest is nice. I hope to practice my Vietnamese and hang out with them again while I am here in Budapest. Who knew, an American-born Viet Kieu would actually be hanging out with a bunch of Vietnamese international students in Budapest. Tomorrow I head to Bratislava, Slovakia for a day trip. It should be fun.

Until next time,

Tran, Quy-Hac

Croatia

2007-09-24T06:12:00.000-06:00

This past weekend, a few of us international students decided to go south of Budapest to Zagreb, Croatia. Although I am not sick of Budapest yet, it was a nice break from the life here. We jumped on a train departing at 8:05 AM. Six hours later we arrived in a city I have much wanted to see for a long time. We had nine in our group--Me, Roldan, Kevin, Anais, Isa, Gianluca, Giovanni, Laura, and Balmeet. Once we arrived to Zagreb, we walked around the really small, clean, quaint city of one million.

After eating cevap, an oily fried bread with fried sausages and onions, we began the hostel hunt. Three hostels and an hour later, we arrived at Hostel Lika. We all threw our things down and headed out to explore the city. The main church was being reconstructed, but was beautiful nonetheless. City Centre appeared to be the main hotspot amongst both tourists and locals. A big fountain and statue lie in the middle of the centre. We all went to a restaurant close by where I devoured a delicious risotto frutti de mare. Following dinner, we all headed towards the bar area for a few drinks. The night ended at around midnight.

The next day, Gialucca, Giovanni, Balmeet, and I decided to head to Petrcane, a city near Zadar. The bus was a four hour ride. From Zadar to Petrcane, a thirty minute ride. As I stepped off the bus to Petrcane, the deep crystal blue waters took my breath away. The Adriatic Sea was the name of the sea which we would later all swim in. This sea was much different than the waters of Vietnam, and many other types of beaches around the world. It lacked sand and in place were rocks, some of which cut up our feet. Despite this particularity, the swim and view was amazing.

At Petrcane, the four of us met up with some other Corvinus students--Nora, Rafael, Michilaus, and Mafalda. According to their friend Cleveland, a guy from Wales, there was going to be a huge music festival at this beach side bar. Unfortunately, it was really not a music festival, but rather just one DJ spinning some electronica jams. But with good company, it made the night very enjoyable. I also met a really cool Croatian girl at the party. I've noticed that during my time here, the Croatian people are much more friendly than that of Budapest. According to a few, English is much more common in schools, and therefore their relations towards foreigners is much easier than that of the Hungarians. We ended the night on the outdoor beds of the bar.

The next morning was somewhat crazy as there was not one bus from Petrcane to Zadar. Luckily, Balmeet and Giovanni with an hours worth of putting up their thumbs, we hitched a ride with a really cool couple from Holland. I was pretty much sleeping on the ride so did not get to really get to know them. As we arrived in Zadar, we caught a bus to Zagreb. Four and a half hours--perfect time for sleeping. The four of us arrived back in Zagreb at around two in the afternoon. We grabbed some food at the same cevap restaurant as before and ate some gelato for dessert. The train back to Budapest, we believed, was scheduled at 5 PM. We arrived early at 4:10, and learned that the train actually left at 5 AM, and not 5 PM, and that we have also just missed the last train back to Budapest that day, ten minutes prior. Unfortunate for us and for the other five, we all had to stay in Zagreb for another twelve hours.

I had a brilliant idea as I was consumed with semi-anger of missing the bus. I thought about a nice way to suppress these ill-feelings as I remembered the "Free Hug" campaign. The four of us found some white cardboard box in the trash can, ripped it into a square and wrote "FREE HUGS" with black permanant marker. We left the train station with this sign hovering over our heads and with us shouting "free hugs!!!" It was brilliant.

We met the others across the street from the train station. While in the nice little park, mainly Balmeet was holding up the sign as locals and visitors passed by. We got a few hugs at first, but as the night went on, we reached around 200; I had hug 100. Overall, even though we missed our train back to Budapest, I felt that we used the time wisely--getting to know the locals through the mini "Free Hugs" campaign, understanding the life in Zagreb, and pushing our own limits by sleeping at the train station over night.

Zagreb is a city of one million, and is relatively small in size. In two days, I cannot fully judge what type of city it is, whether or not it is boring or fun, but the time I did spend here, I could say I extremely enjoyed the experience, especially getting to know the locals. Most of those we spoke to and even those who glanced at us, I felt were very curious about where we were all from and what we were all doing in their city. To meet someone just once and understand each other despite all the cultural differences is a really beautiful thing to see. Traveling allows such wonders to happen.

tran.quy.hac

District VIII

2007-09-19T10:15:00.000-06:00

(bbc news image)

Our sociology class: The New European Underclass took a field trip yesterday to district eight. The 8th district is just west of where our university is situated, and is known to be the poorer area of Budapest, housing most of the underclass and ethnic minorities, particularly the Gypsies, or Roma. I was quite excited about taking a few hours out of my busy academic life to see a different side of this city.

Before I dive into the discussion of living conditions of these inhabitants, the actually people who are in this underclass needs an introduction. Essentially, the Gypsy population is considered an ethnic minority within Budapest, and many other European cities. Another name for these people is Roma. Most of the Gypsies within Budapest are viewed and labeled as an underclass, but what was most interesting was the fact that not all of them view themselves as Gypsies. Out of one hundred, roughly thirty self-identify with this ethnic group. Unlike the States where race is a profound issue, here in Budapest racial lines are not very prominent, but the issue that must be highlighted is the social lines. They are not viewed as second class citizens because they are Gypsies, but rather their actions or inactions. But it is hard to really conceive which comes first, class or race.

(Radio C image)

Another intersting aspect of the Gypsies in Budapest is that of their music. On the trip, we visited a Gypsy radio station, "Radio C" 88.8 FM. What I found interesting is that these ethnic, social minorities are not left in the dust, but do have representation through the media, even if it is not as strong as the Magyar population. The director of the Gypsy Radio Station, a successful Gypsy mentioned that through the radio many issues are addressed to the general public. Sixty percent of the radio station is focused on speech, which particularly magnifies the social, cultural, and political situations of the Gypsy population. This tool--media--can do both wonders and horrors. As seen in the States, media has been highly criticized for broadcasting sometimes false, mostly bias information to the general audience. But with the Gypsy Radio station, I feel that the minority voice now can be heard.

(Gypsy musicians at the Metro station)

Compared to the U.S. the lower class communities here are more integrative, meaning both poor and middle class live in the same neighborhoods. Although this might be the case, I feel not many wealthy or middle class Hungarians actually live in the 8th district. My professor, in the beginning of the tour, mentioned to us that the actual architecture of the homes point to the inequality between the inhabitants. For example, the housing on floor one has much higher ceilings, more adequate living space, and fancier designs than floor two and up. Such can be seen in the image below.

Looking at the image above, one might assume that this home actually looks like a million dollar home, but of course, we cannot judge the conditions of anything by the outside. As we walked through the eigth district, we actually entered a few homes and spoke to a few Gypsies who lived there. As I observed my surroundings, I was quite shocked at the difference of these flats from the flats of the foreign friends I have made here in Budapest. The walls were somewhat filthy, dirty, rusty, and decaying. There seems to be no effort of reconstruction of these homes. Most of these places were from the 19th century, and from then until now, have had no real fixing. What is typical about the homes in Budapest--the more affluent areas within the city--is that there is open air within the building, with a four to five story square shaped balcony surrounding the open air. But within the homes of the 8th district, the balconies are normally "U" shaped, with garbage and other disposables piling up where that fourth balcony should be.

The problem not only lies with in the lack of reconstruction of these bulidings, but also the notion of gentrification. This is not special only to Budapest, but with every big city. Even in Chicago, during my freshman year course, we discussed and learned about this process. Development of new buildings in poorer areas, the hike of rent, forcing the underclass out. A spot which I sometimes frequent in Chicago--Wicker Park--has been completely transformed within the past ten to fifteen years. Now it is a spot for yuppies to go have fun on a Friday night. In the 8th district, there are small signs of gentrification, where new colourful buildings are being constructed side by side with these decaying buildings. It is an attempt to homogenize the population of the middle to upper class, and create a more beautiful city. It may seem though that I am very critical of gentrification, but I do realize that there are positive things with the process. But the effects are so large to not ignore. With this homogenisation, it pushes out the poor, both Magyar (Hungarian) and the Gypsy population. In turn, the concentration of Gypsies community completely becomes fragmented. With any ethnic minority population, a community is perhaps one of the most important factors in maintaining the culture and sense of identity. With gentrification, the erosion of community among the Gypsy is a reality.

We ended the day with a "langos" snack at a small market in the area. My professor stated this is the cheapest Hungarian Market all throughout Budapest. Walking through this market I felt that was much more local than the Central Market right next to the Danube. The prices are far lower and the foods and products are targeted not for the frequent tourist but the local citizen of this city. But the difference between this market and that of the Central Market is that it is by far less developed. This market is an open air market as opposed to indoor. After eating a greasty, garlic-y "langos" and a fresh, sweet peach, we headed back to our little bubbles in District V.

Tran Quy Hac.

Decrepit

2007-09-15T08:04:00.001-06:00

The market is known as Bốn Con Hộ, or Four Tigers. It houses the businesses, street food stalls, and other types of vending options of the Asian people living here. In Budapest, the population of Far East Asian immigrants does not exceed twenty thousand—a very compact number. As I entered this area, my expectations were not met by any means. Through a few blog posts I have read previously, the image of this Asian area somewhat paralleled those markets of Chợ Bến Thành in Sài Gòn. But what I was greeted with was a very dilapidated, dumpster like area. Trash filled the small alleyway paths, the smell of garbage and urine was so profound that I had to hold my breath. It is a very particular area in a city known for its beautiful architecture, scenery, and cleanliness.

I attempted to take a few pictures, but was stopped by what seemed to be security guards—individuals who appeared to be ethnic minorities themselves. The number of the majority Hungarians in this area was close to zero. Walking through these narrow, grimy passageways all I could think about was how distinct and different the Asian area was from the other parts of what I have seen in Budapest. Such disparity simply points to the economic problems minorities face in this country, or rather this city. I spoke to a few Vietnamese people in the market and asked them about their lives, when they arrived in Budapest. Many of those to whom I spoke stated they’ve been here since the nineties. Most of their income comes from the products they sell. I found what they cited to me to be quite interesting. In Việt Nam, there are individuals who are selling phở or fake Armani pants to tourists or even locals as a means of income, but these people were simply doing the same as in Việt Nam. Normally, immigration or refuge to another country during the nineties constituted a sense of economic migration, where individuals sought more opportunities to gain higher capital. Here in Budapest, it seemed as a complete replica.

Perhaps Vietnamese people and other South East/East Asian folks possessed false dreams. Many people believe arriving to a country with a stronger economy translates to a higher chance to make money. But this may not always be the case. Here in Budapest, the cost of living is much higher than that of Sài Gòn or Hà Nội. Selling these products as they do in Việt Nam really does not bring them that higher capital even if they inflate the prices 100% compared to the prices back at home. To be in a third world country for six months, I became accustomed to what Westerners would regard as decrepit, dirty, etc. Walking through Chợ Bốn Con Hộ, this sense of normality of decrepit was suddenly challenged as the sights and sounds which lay in front of my eyes magnifying the realities of how poorly the conditions of South East Asians were here in Budapest. In the near future, I will return to this area and observe in finer detail.

Trần Qúy Hạc

The man with red roses.

2007-09-14T08:00:00.000-06:00

One in the morning, I sit in a pub with a few friends, sitting back with a beer, laughing the night away. As I gaze around my surroundings, I see other international students—drinking, enjoying their youth. Half way into my watch, I see an old man, clothed in worn out, ripped attire. He is perhaps seventy five to eighty years old. In one hand he holds a bundle of roses, in the other, he holds a single rose—trying to sell this piece of nature to individuals who are completely separated from him in so many ways—class, economics, etc. Such a sight brings a sudden halt to my pleasurable night.

Thoughts rush through my head, which in a good way brings me back to reality. Being in Viet Nam the previous year, I saw this day in and day out; unable to really stray away from such inequities, but here in Budapest I have begun to live life with no worries, in luxury somewhat. I had a short discussion with one of my professors last school year as I mentioned my reasons for going to Budapest. I brought up that although the city may not compare to the inequalities of cities within Latin America or South East Asia, there are still poverty issues and other social problems that exist—for Budapest is in fact in Eastern Europe, a region where development is occurring. She said that if I really want to witness such issues, then I must really search deeply for them. Seeing that man with the red rose reminded me of my desires and aspirations here in Budapest—to observe and understand the realities of those less fortunate.

The old man walked around the pub for close to ten minutes, unsuccessfully selling his bundle of roses, besides a few. Vending these roses though, I feel, is somewhat of a temporary solution for his toils. It is a temporary solution which will probably give him food that night, or that week. But long term, selling roses does not lift him up from this socio-economic situation. Purchasing him a rose might do some good in the short term, but these problems of poverty are so deep rooted that simply buying a rose from the man will not change anything, but may even contribute to stagnation. Such thoughts reminded me of a heated argument I had with my cousin within the first weeks of Việt Nam, as we sat eating our oily Vietnamese food on the streets of Sài Gòn. My cousin’s remarks paralleled the aforementioned explanations. Despite this reality, I feel that being a student here in Budapest and in Việt Nam the previous year, I am unable to really create any concrete change to elevate these people from their socio-economic status, and by purchasing a rose from the man does more good than none.

Trần Qúy Hạc.

Difference and acceptance.

2007-09-13T07:04:00.000-06:00

I enjoy social issues. What intrigues me much in regards to this topic of discussion is perhaps the issue of race and ethnicity. Being a minority in the States, this matter is obviously relevant. But now being in Eastern Europe, I often think about my identity within a completely different culture, world. Walking through the streets of Budapest, I receive more stares from the locals than I do in the States. Meeting people is difficult—even when I do meet individuals, I feel as if a special treatment is given; perhaps based on my own ignorance. What goes through their mind, I cannot fathom. Perhaps it is simply the fact of seeing a person who looks so much different walking around the streets. Perhaps there is negative or even positive judgment. But what does this matter?

Tonight I had a very interesting, meaningful conversation with a friend. Him, being a Venezuelan studying in the States some nine years back, he expressed his experiences being in very uncomfortable situations, where complete regard towards him was non-existent. Often times, he was judged based on his political beliefs, his religious views, and possibly his race. He mentioned to me a very interesting point, perhaps even a new one to me. Often times, in the States, when I am glared at, treated differently, etc… I exert anger, hostility, misunderstanding, and perhaps even ignorance on my part. But what my friend stated reflected the response to such prejudices. Everywhere we go—my friend to Viet Nam, the States, Hungary; me to Venezuela, Sudan, New Zealand—discrimination is present, but how we respond to it is much more important. To feel anger and hatred simply does nothing, except replicate the feelings pushed towards us. To deal with such issues in an understanding way, we are able to really conceptualize why such hostilities are present. To understand their ignorance and learn from it is far more beneficial than to simply create a sense of hate.

Being a minority possibly everywhere where I go, and feeling a sense of discrimination wherever I am at, I often think about the minorities here in Budapest and Hungary in general. A brief discussion of Gypsies arose during class discussions today. They are often viewed as lazy, creating their own social problems due to not taking advantage of the opportunities given to them. But to view them in this light simply reiterates the notion of ascribing ethnocentric meaning to society—creating a hierarchal ladder of individuals. Comparable to my own experience and to my friend’s, this theory, or viewpoint translates the idea of cultural understanding or there lack of. We must look at not the reasons why people are different based in relation to each other, but simply through the lens of precedent perhaps, or rather history. We all are different than one another not simply because of the constitutive other, but perhaps because of our environmental situations. I am different than a Hungarian because I experienced a Vietnamese-American culture; them a Hungarian one. In the States, I am a minority, and the racial discrimination towards minorities is profound, but to feel hostile and become enraged by this leads to somewhat of a confirmation or even acceptance of the circumstance. To return to the discussion of the minorities of Hungary, we are able to really understand the reasons why people who fall into this category are viewed as they are—partly ignorance, partly comparisons to self.

Simply put, we all are minorities in one way or another, but to view it negatively; we lose the opportunity to learn from our experiences. We each learn from our own given situation. However bad it may seem, some positive will eventually arise. Yet this does not translate to tolerance.

Until later.

Tran.quy.hac

Being an International.

2007-09-06T09:39:00.000-06:00

My previous study abroad experience was a muchmore personal experience rather than an academic. Rediscovering my roots and understanding the lives of the Vietnamese constituted my entire trip to Viet Nam. But with this trip to Budapest, Hungary, there are varying degrees of differences.

There is esentially no program, simply a director here at Corvinus who assists us when in need. That makes it a lot less structured as far as being a student. We are in control of our own schedule, our activities and our academia. But perhaps the most interesting aspect is that of being only a fraction of the international student population here. There are so many people from various backgrounds.

My roomate is named Roldan, an international student from Venezuela. My neighors are both from Hong Kong. Thus far, the Depaul group--all three of us--and our roomates have integrated quite well--somewhat of a "salad bowl" as the term goes in the States. the wonder of this and other situations such similar is that through simple conversation, a whole new door opens up to us. In the past twenty four hours, I have learned so much about Venezuela--its political and social situations under Chavez--and the mindset of many Hong Kong residents in terms of career path, upward mobility.

Being in the States and often times being spoon fed two distinct views on issues--right or left--one often is enclosed within a box, regardless of how left or right one is. Roldan mentioned to me the other evening, as we were discussing social issues both in his nation and globally, that right or left really holds not much significance, or rather the importance is not simply right or left, but mroe on a matter of humanism, populism--the actual people. Essentially, understand the struggles, the circumstances of individuals rather than aiding them without acquaitance.

One of my greatest aspirations for this trip is simply not the eighteen hours I will be receiving as opposed to the sixteen at home, not the courses I will be enrolled, but more of a personal understanding of the lives of the minority, those forgotten. Here in Budapest, the Gypsies, although local, are regarded as second class citizens. I have plans to interview both Gypsies--to undestand their situations, their toils, and see how they view their place society. Likewise, as my cousin Hao suggested, to talk to the majority--the Hungarians--to conceptualize their persepctive on class and race issues within their own country. Equally important, I feel volunterring for some non-profit organisation here will give me an in depth look to these social issues.

Outside of this, I am greatly enjoying the life here in Budapest. The beautiful architecture, the food, the people, the beer, the relaxing lifestyle. It is really something else. Here are a few picture for you all who read my blog to enjoy.

tran.quy.hac.

Amsterdam.

2007-09-04T03:14:00.000-06:00

I have been sitting here at Schiphol Airport for a couple of hours now. I was to believe my flight was leaving here at 10:00 AM, 3 AM Chicago time, but for some unknown reason, my flight leaves at noon. What is going through my head now is somewhat of a mixed feeling. Just earlier today, I was sitting at home with my parents, eating some pho and some goi ga, now I'm in another continent half way across the world, just two hours away from my final destination.

Walking through Schiphol, I get a few gazes and glances here and there--perhaps because of the lack of many Asian folks. I've seen about five to six total. Other than that, the people here seem nice. I went to a coffee shop earlier, and people watched. In a way, I'm watching life pass through my eyes, here in Amsterdam, despite me being only in an airport. They seem to enjoy life. Walking through the airport in Chicago's O'hare Int'l airport, you get a lot of tense looking folks, worried about missing their flight, having all their luggage. The folks here, the ones I've seen seem to be a lot more laid back, as they sip on their coffees, puff their cigarettes, and laugh the time away.

tran.quy.hac

today

2007-09-03T08:25:00.000-06:00

Today signifies a few important things. First off, I'd like to wish my parents a very Happy Anniversary, 29 years. We celebrated with family two days ago at the ritual BBQ-King House in Chinatown.

Today also signifies my departure date. I'm leaving the U.S. for about four months at 4:20 PM Central time today. As I enter a new experience, I know for a fact I am going to miss my family. Busy with school, work, and my social life, I often do not spend much time as I'd like with my family. Sometimes I feel as if I'm trying to run away from my life here in Chicago, but at the same time, its for a good reason; to experience the world, and learn through travels and immersion.

See you all in January, and read my blog for updates. More critiques on society, class issues, political issues, volunteerism, etc this time around rather than going out and partying posts.

Until then.

trần, qúy hạc.

farewells

2007-08-31T23:42:00.001-06:00

So I leave Monday for Budapest. It is so soon, and I'm getting the pre-departure jitters. But I know once I'm there, those feelings will eventually dissolve.

Today was a good day. I met up some friends--Nik and Peggy, and their friends--for the critical mass bike ride. For those of you who are unaware of what it is, its essentially where bikers "raid" the streets of Chicago in an attempt to raise awareness for better modes of transport. Despite this effort, it seems like the distaste for bikers is magnified after such a ride like this. Those in cars are essentially stopped dead in their tracks, as hundreds of bikers pass on by.

I parted ways with the titanic group half way through and headed to my apartment as I had dinner plans. Jackie, Don, Paul and I had a little goodbye dinner for me at Cho Sun Ok, this Korean joint on 4200 Lincoln. Two big orders of Bulgogi and three big Korean beers later and I was unbuckling my buttons. We drove around a little bit, stopped by my apartment to pick up a CD for Jackie and headed back to the burbies.

There are a few more goodbyes before I head off for yet another adventure. Until then.

tran.quy.hac.

mark in time

2007-08-26T08:39:00.000-06:00

I.
After a nineteen hour flight, he enters an environment which seems so alien to him for only a brief moment. Walking through the terminals, he greatly misses his home of the past six months. But what can he do? On a brighter note, his parents and family must be ecstatic of his arrival. As he walks out the departure gate, there is absolutely no one there.

II.
Not many Việtnamese come to Chicago, or the Midwest. Surprisingly, he meets one from the motherland studying so close to where he lives. Connections, interactions, relationships with those who understand his situation is desired. She also misses Việt Nam, possibly even more. They talk about the beauties of the motherland, yearning to return in that instant. A beneficial friendship perhaps. They understand Việt Nam.

III.
Three males, connected in one way or another sit at a coffee shop, late at night. One studies his sociology readings--redundant and draining. Another reads Murakami's Kafka on the Shore. The last reads the same. In that particular moment, although tourists for a short week, these three exert a sense of belonging, of immersion in the life.

IV.
He exits a busy New York Airport, carefully examining the bus-metro schedule and map. After locating point x, he sits patiently, awaiting for the bus to arrive. Fifteen minutes pass, and finally the boxy construction on wheels roll up. He enters, sitting next to a pretty Latina. Ten minutes or so later, the two talk. From very different backgrounds, experiences, they click, even only for that short moment. She is from Columbia, recently emigrated to the U.S. We wish each other good luck, and part ways.

V.
Argyle is far from affluent. Many ethnic based non-profits reside in the Uptown area. One of which is CMAA. Working with children, youths receiving less opportunity seems far more worthwhile than working with those opposite. He's a stranger at first; the youths mute when he nears. Through time, he's like their big brother that is not mean to them. He sees great potential in each and everyone of these kids.

VI.
A Megabus ride costs only ten dollars. He takes it up north, to Milwaukee to visit some interesting people. In the recent years, despite the short distance between the two, rarely do they see each other. They "một, hai, ba YO!" They jazzy up the fish tank, creating a real ecosystem in a glass box. They hit up a few bars. They plan Việt Nam 2008.

VII.
He exits the bathroom and sees his cousin sitting next to a man of colour in a not so colourful place. We're probably the three that stand out the most. He approaches the man and begins conversing, not knowing how in depth and personable such a conversation will get. The man is from Nicaragua. He works a blue collar job. I voice my opinions, about race, class, inequities in this country. He acknowledges and voices his perspective. There is no pinpoint agreement, but they both understand each other. They both are people of colour in not so colourful country.

VIII.
Hours of driving and viewing a mundane landscape, they arrive in a bubble. This place actually has buildings, landscape, architecture. They meet a couple at Casa Cantina for a few drinks. He catches up with the couple, still adjusting to seeing them half way across the world. The past is brought up, the life led in VN. How we miss it so. But life moves forward, not backward. "Adjust to the culture and life of wherever you're situated."

IX.
Four people sit at a dining room table and ăn qùa. Grilled fish wrapped with veggies in rice paper. A classic Saigonese treat. Downing a few cold beers and some white wine, the four head downstairs for a fun game of Mahjong. All start with 1.30$. After the Phóng's and Ù's, there stands one clear winner--the one who plays the most, the one who's teaching us the rules. A Friday night with family is well spent.

X.
He sits here awaiting a new life he will lead for five months. He begins to feel sad he is leaving, but why!? He's going to a beautiful place to enrich his own experiences. Eight days remain and he has yet to pack a thing. From experience, he will not pack much. On surface level, life in the past eight months appeared uneventful, but with one through nine, he might be wrong.

trần.qúy.hạc

three days.

2007-08-22T22:15:00.000-06:00

one.

After a four hour drive, with a stop in Indianapolis, we arrive at Indiana University. My friend's apartment, similarly laid out like my own in Chicago is a spacious, comfy place. The campus itself is the epitome of a college campus, something I have never experienced being in an urban campus. So many attractive international Asian girls. Oi doi oi! I meet Roger, Kenny's roommate.

The three of us head to Sopon, a fastfood Korean joint. We all order Bulgogi, devouring every piece. Then we drive around, soaking in the crisp cool summer night air, then head back. Lounging around the air conditioned apartment, relaxing is what we do. Roger and I then watch hours of Korean and Japanese dance clips on no other than YouTube.

I sleep at 5 AM.

two.

With only five hours of sleep, I am fatigued as Kenny awakes me from my short slumber. What lies ahead is Cincinnati, Columbus, and Athens. All of which are located in Ohio. So the day begins. An hour and a half later, we arrive in Cincinnati. Realizing we crave Vietnamese yet again, we actively search for a joint. The food is quite mediocre. Nothing to boast about.

Cincinnati's downtown is only a mere fraction of Chicago's. Unimpressed, we head towards Columbus. Two and a half hours later, we arrive in C-Bus, Ohio's largest city. Kara and Chirag meet us. We tour Ohio State University. It seems like a very nice campus. Walking into Larry's Bar, we sipped on some slushy margaritas. Seeing familiar faces from Viet Nam is always an enjoyment. I have an appointment with Gerard, from EAP, in Athens and thus we part ways and Kenny and I are again on the road.

An hour and a half later, we enter a secluded area, appearing to be Athens. Tree-lined brick roads, the city reminds us of an old colonial town. We meet Gerard and Arata at a nice little bar, where they sell Tiger. How fitting. Memories of Viet Nam flood in. After a few drinks, and a couple of hours, we bid farewell. Kenny and I grab some coffee, two espresso shots. A five-hour ride from Athens to Bloomington feels more like two.

Sleep? No. Roger, Kenny, and I go to their friends' house. Sitting on the roof, we converse, enjoying the warm summer night. All hungry, we decide to go to Waffle House. Belgian waffles and hash browns hits that spot. Drive back and sleep.

three.

The alarm, Kenny's voice, buzzes at two p.m. It is much too early to be up. I snooze on for another thirty. Despite the Waffle House breakfast, we're still hungry. We head to Siam House for Thai. Pad Thai, decent, but not as flavorful and tasty as Noodles in the Pot. Supplies needed for their apartment, I drive them to Target. Like every other Target in America, this one is filled with attractive females. They buy tons of shit.

Six p.m. is soon approaching and what lies ahead is even more driving, this time by myself. Passing the redneck towns of Indiana, the downtown of Indianapolis, the cornfields between the two states, I arrive in Chicago somewhere around nine p.m. I much want to hang out in the city, but instead I speed home. Drained, I head upstairs, but first make myself a banh mi gio, with all the condiments.

As the day has come to an end, I now realize that despite how uneventful I feel my life is, the introductions with new folks, and the interactions with old ones brings forth a sense of enjoyment and excitement, even though they are short lived. Communication and discoveries, however minute they may seem, bring some new aspect to one's life, as they have within the past three days of mine.

end.

tran, quy hac.

aspirations: Budapest and thereafter.

2007-08-10T07:04:00.000-06:00

Upon returning from Viet Nam last December, I look back on the experience in both positive and negative light. It was a life-changing experience, indefinitely imprinting Viet Nam in my future endeavors. Yet at the same time, there are so many more things I should have done. I wish I had involved myself more in the non-profit field, offering any type of assistance and help to those in need. I wish I had visited children who lie victims to Agent Orange. I wish I had conversed with more locals other than xe om drivers about their struggles and toils within their lives. I wish I had done something more beneficial for my brothers and sisters who live half way across the world.

I view my future with great potential, where endless opportunities exist. I just need to take them when offered. Up next is Budapest, Hungary. A country in development, moving beyond the Communist political system and government controlled market system for almost two decades now, yet still trailing behind its neighbors just westward. There lies a great opportunity for me to look into non-profits and non-governmental organizations. My desire for Budapest is not only to experience the culture and inherit much knowledge through the contrasted education system from the States, but also to contribute to the growth and development of the country. I intend to involve myself into some sort of social based non-profit, working with the impoverished, the lower class who do not have the opportunities; the poverty. I am enrolled in "The New Underclass" at Corvinus, and I hope this assists me in pursuing an internship or volunteer placement in a non-profit or NGO. Help those in need and understand their situation.

Returning back to the States next year, I'll only have six months before I graduate. I hope to gain some non-profit, NGO experience for I greatly desire to return to beautiful Viet Nam and help my country through social development. There are so many issues in Viet Nam that need to focused on. I hope my experience in Budapest and in Chicago thereafter contributes in the long term of my endeavors in Viet Nam come summer of 2008.

living space

2007-08-03T00:17:00.001-06:00

Following an excruciating day of work at the Lego camp, I decided to head to the windy city to enjoy day five of the week. As I was speeding on the highway, I received a call from my friend, Lan, whom I will be living with, along with her sister Mai when I return from Budapest, Hungary. Upon answering, they mentioned that they were in the apartment, asking me if I wanted to come check it out. I did.

It is located on Harrison and Damen, near Medical District, and probably four to five blocks south of the United Center (Chicago Bulls games galore come beginning of 2008!!). As I neared the apartment complex, it was nothing I imagined it to be. The building probably stands twenty stories high. Our apartment is on the tenth floor, with a pretty captivating view, the entire city skyline to the right of us.

As I was entering the building, I noticed this particular living space was occupied by many minorities, which I am very excited about, very multi-cultural. As we got off at floor ten, we were greeted by a handful of little Indian youths rolling and tossing tennis balls in the hallway, and their two elder babysitters who happened to be a married couple. The husband seemed excited that we were moving in; new neighbors. He greeted us warmly and introduced himself. Gandhi. He said, "It's very easy to remember". Surely is. With such welcome, I am very glad that I will be living in this apartment complex. I'll be able to meet some very interesting folks of different backgrounds. Who knows, perhaps we'll have an international potluck in the lobby. That'd be fun.

tran.quy.hac

beautiful chaos

2007-07-31T15:01:00.000-06:00

my buddy Kevin's viet nam clip. so many memories.

yet another chicago summer day.

2007-07-22T21:56:00.000-06:00

On Saturday 21 July, 2007, again Kenny and I indulged in a photography adventure. Before this, I attended a friend's barbecue alongside the sea-blue Lake Michigan. Such a weather perfect day that day, Foster Beach was somewhat overcrowded. Families of many different backgrounds spent some quality time with one another; grilling, talking, laughing, sporting. In such an event, those who are not quite as lucky as these individuals enjoying their relaxing Saturday afternoon, were also out, selling goods desired by those who were. Mostly of Latino descent, from mere observation, many of these individuals were on their ice-cream carts, rolling down the beach path, ringing their bell in an attempt to acquire a hungry customer. Others appear to walk in a beleaguered manner carrying two dozen or more air-filled beach balls in various shapes, sizes, and colours. Surprisingly, these individuals did in fact sell most of their items. Those here on a less strenuous visit have the luxury to purchase them from the vendors.

Following such a privileged visit to Foster Beach, I bid farewell to my work buddies from the Jumpstart days and headed over to Devon, where Kenny currently resides. He mentioned of this grandeur temple near Evanston, IL which is a must see spot. After glimpsing at a few images of the temple, there was no doubt I had to see it. As we approached the towering structure, I was again reminded that things in reality are far better than images or photographs. The vivid details and architecture signified somewhat of an Islamic influence. Though such the case, the temple is of Bahai religion, which derived from what is now current day Iran.

According to the visitor pamphlet, the Bahai religion is one which recognizes all world religions, believing that there is one God, and those important figures in other religions are simply messengers of God; pointing to somewhat of a solution to religious conflict which is so evident in the world today. Bahai religion, like many others promotes peace and unity amongst all people, and emphasizes this on the basis of one human race. Very interesting. Though the temple is open to all peoples, the majority of the visitors were those of Middle Eastern and India Subcontinent descent. This is perhaps the case because of the religion's roots in the Silk Road region.

hac.

beautiful chicago.

2007-07-20T10:34:00.000-06:00

This whole summer, i have yet to really indulge in photography, abandoning my new fujifilm camera much too often. yesterday, i decided to utilize my fuji and capture what Chicago has to offer. unfortunately, i did not take many pictures at all. During this photography venture I engaged in, alongside my buddy Kenny, we unconsciously recorded, through the digital camera, the more well known, touristy hubs of Chicago. Initially, I preferred to wander into the more ethnic neighborhoods, such as Pilsen [Mexican area], Devon [Indian/Pakistan area], and Uptown [African/southeast Asian area], but alas, that plan fell through.

On this day, I myself felt like a tourist in the city which I consider home. Walking down Michigan Ave., it was quite difficult to not notice the affluence in economics between the dwellers of this city. Gucci, Prada, Armani were filled with the high class 'Hearst' type of people. I once decided to enter an Armani clothing store and was flabbergasted by the ridiculously inflated prices. "Made in Bangladesh" printed on the tag. How much to make, how much profit Armani gains? I feel that to many outside of this city, Chicago is this. Chicago is the Michigan Ave., the Millennium Park, the Sears Tower, the upward mobile landmarks, the high class life. Individuals parking their beautiful BMWs alongside their tree-lined brownstone homes several blocks away from the richness of downtown. Other than this societal observation, the physicality of the landmarks hold a different story.

tran.quy.hac

bia ba ba.

Mr. Lego

2007-07-19T22:02:00.000-06:00

This summer is perhaps one of my most uneventful summers of all. I am working full-time at a Lego camp. There are of course ups to working--making good money, gaining experience, and interacting with funny, not so funny youth. Growing up, I was fascinated with Lego's, or so I thought until meeting and interacting with a few of these kids. Some of the kids are adorable and say some outrageous things. One Lego camper yelped out something along these lines, "I think I'm in heaven right now; look at all these Lego's!" The camper is a red-headed seven year old the size of a four year old, making the comment even more humorous. Kids are very honest and joking around with them is often enjoyable.

Working in this camp, I have witnessed some amazing constructions. One of the sessions, we decided to focus on the Seven Wonders of the World. One of the children built the Taj Mahal; I swear it was a miniature replica. In another one of my camps, which had a "Monsters of the Midway" theme to it, we focused on building sports related things with the Lego blocks. As a group, we attempted to build a semi-life size Michael Jordan. Above one can see the head--we used yellow bricks because there were no brown. Each day I go to work, I feel as if I am regressing to my own youth. I did in fact choose a Lego pirate ship over Sega Genesis ten or so years ago for my birthday.

tran quy hac.

charles drive.

2007-07-16T21:13:00.000-06:00

nhà tôi ở, đường nhà tôi ở.
where i live, street where i live on.

venturing around chicago on thursday and saturday with kenny to capture the ethnic enclaves. hopefully something great will be documented. this is what i look forward to.

i finished reading murakami's after dark recently. i recommend this book to those who enjoy reading simply about situations and interactions between individuals. the novel captures the events which take place in Tokyo between midnight and dawn and magnifies the inter-connectedness of the lives of the "night" folks. its a story essentially about nothing, on the surface, but in deep thought, it reflects how we as people are so distinct, yet are drawn together in various circumstances. for a long time, i've been searching for such a plot and the realities this novel emphasizes. found it, read it, loved it.

hac.

passing the threshold.

2007-07-08T21:52:00.000-06:00

As of late, I have been critically thinking about my future. My final year of college is soon approaching. Five months in Budapest, five months back at DePaul, then my college years are over. Not only that, a few of my friends have recently graduated and are now entering what we call it as the "real world." Essentially these two factors got me thinking.

[..........]

On that note, I wanted to say congrats to my friend Julie Nguyen. She will be working for VIA, Volunteers in Asia, in Can Tho, VN for a year teaching English. It is often times hard to pack up your bags and leave an environment so confortable to us and enter what seems so foreign. It definitely takes courage to do such a thing. If you're reading this Julie, I also wanted to make a blog post, like Chris Ty, and write you a few words. This journey, different from the previous, back to the motherland is definitely bitter-sweet. But knowing you, and always enjoying your great, fun, happy personality, you will forge great friendships over there, as well as impact those who you work with. It will be yet another life-changing experience. You definitely have made my life a little brighter, always seeing you smile in VN, and NY! I know you'll do the same for those in VN this time around. I wanted to wish you the best of luck and if you ever need anyone to talk to you've got my contact info.

[..........]

But yes, with Julie going to VN and working for a year, I have also thought about my own future. My initial plans were to take an English teaching job in Korea, since it is so high in demand, I probably could land a job with ease. Likewise, I would have student loans to pay back, and they pay quite generously in Korea. My other half [i am bi-polar, jk] tells me Viet Nam. I want to work in Viet Nam in the future, as a career with development, politics, society etc. and going back to Viet Nam instead of Korea would more likely benefit me, especially with the graduate program I want to engage in at the University of Toronto. Two years in Viet Nam, then grad-school or one year in Seoul, then two years in Viet Nam then grad-school? Life choices; let things happen the way the do I suppose. I know for sure I want to go to U.Toronto though. Ahh!!!

Why am I worrying about this now? :/

tran.quy.hac.

let's celebrate hegemony!

2007-07-07T09:04:00.001-06:00

on the fourth of july, i celebrated America's independence, America's freedoms, America's righteousness, America's hegemony and positive influence around the entire globe. as i drove down main street, i was overjoyed by the sights and sounds i witnessed --upper middle-class white Americans sticking together like a pack of wolves. the american flag decor on every house empowered my sense of being an american, the best of citizens in this global world. i couldn't help but feel a sense of pride in my wonderful country, the beacon of supremacy on a global level, during this stupendous celebration.

wandering in my mother's imported korean car, a hyundai accent, to the more "ethnic" suburbs (where i live), i was awe-struck that such decor and "american" celebratory activities were no where in sight. the divisions in thought, in class, in relations, in race, in everything was magnified. how does a puerto rican feel of this day compared to those upper-class white folks, with their white picket fence? the prime characteristics of our multicultural society, yet also a projection of american position on a more global level. the same unconscious attitudes exerted during this celebration on the main street i drove past, and all other main streets in the nation point to the mindset in relation to other cultures, other ethnic groups -- non-recognition, and consumption of personal spheres.

on a brighter note, i did enjoy sitting in my ethnic suburb and chow down on some vietnamese ribs, mussels, pasta salad, bratwursts, and some la fin du mon beers with my father and sister. how multicultural!

tran.quy.hac

một đêm hà nội

2007-06-26T22:02:00.000-06:00

gần tám tháng sau,
tôi vẫn nhớ hà nội

một đêm mát mẻ,
đi ngắm cảnh hồ gươm
lái xe máy vòng quanh phố cổ
hình ảnh này chỉ còn là ký ức

trên thực tế tôi rời môi sinh này lâu rồi
tôi mong một ngày trở lại quê hương!

trần.qúy.hạc

minnesooota.

2007-06-23T11:23:00.000-06:00

congrats to my uncle huy; he's the new director of Save the Children Vietnam. his family will be moving to ha noi mid-july. the thought of them moving to viet nam excites me profoundly. just last year, i had the opportunity to live and study in viet nam's capitol for close to five months. i experienced wonders, and i know they will too. what is even more exciting is that my cousins will be speaking vietnamese next time i see them.

aboard a nwa airplane, my grandmother, aunt, and i sat in the coach class for about fifty-seven minutes, from chicago o'hare to minneapolis. chu huy, aunt jolee, and the two kids came to pick us up in their grey-blue honda minivan.

chinese brunch as usual; dimsum. the two days after the first were quite monotonous with ani and elliot going to summer camp all day, chu huy working, and us sitting around a very disorganized home; due to the packing and what not. though, after five p.m. on these days it became much more lively as ani and elliot came back, and everyone was around. i haven't seen my little cousins in a year--last time was when they were down in Illinois right before Hao and I left for viet nam. I won't see them for another year, i wonder how much they change in June 2008; probably a lot.

minneapolis' light rail metro is one of the nicest metros i've ridden within the continental U.S. yellow, black, fast, quiet, clean, boldly designed, it is comparable to those in thailand and singapore. as some of you know, one of my newest interests is the metro system. i hope to ride as many as possible, so riding minneapolis' was quite a treat.

we took the light rail metro to mall of america, and to the opposite end to downtown. mall of america is actually really boring. there is not much there besides shops i never buy products from. the rides are for younger children, so this time around it did not appeal to me as it did in '98. downtown on the other hand was delightful. there was a farmers market with tons of vendors outside. kinda reminded me of vietnam streets.

overall, the trip was worthwhile. being able to see family again is always a joy. seeing my cousins grow up in front of my eyes is somewhat odd, yet interesting at the same time. this trip marks perhaps my last visit to minesooota for a prolonged period of time. chúc chú huy và gia đình may mắn!

tran.quy.hac.

just north.

2007-06-14T01:58:00.000-06:00

Milwaukee, the city my mother called home after arriving to the States fleeing communist Viet Nam in 1975. I frequented this location thousand times throughout my existence, but within recent years, I have been absent. Aboard the Megabus--$8.50 ticket mind you--I sat listening to Vietnamese tunes, trying to reacquaint myself with my culture. Soft lyrics and soothing beats, I entered a deep slumber. Two hours later, awaken by the sudden stop, I stumbled off. My cousin Viet, in a VW Pasat, sit comfortably across the street. "Shotgun, no blitz" unnecessary to be mentioned for it were only us two.

Lunch at an eclectic cafe followed where cigarettes are permitted, and ice cold beers appear on the menu. Thuy, already seated, yelps, "Cousin Hac!" I order the artichoke dip, for I am in a struggling battle with myself to burn the fat. Talks of life, self, Viet Nam, jokes of the past dominate the conversation. To where my other cousin, Khanh, works; Whole Foods. Hoegarden, a German beer, we purchase, to return to the abode of my kin where Viet and I engage in a lopsided battle of a great mind game, chess. Six to two, advantage Viet; I ought to practice--I used to be a tough, feared opponent. Our other cousin Andrew arrives. He, a high schooler recently discovering the joys of higher education and social life. Enduring a drive which felt like hours, we arrived to Co Chau and Chu Steve's suburban home. Being Asian, we decided to order some not so bad Chinese. Feeling swell from the hoegarden amongst other beverages, I divulge the greasy, hardy meal--perhaps filled with ingredients not beneficial to my personal struggle of burning fat. Nonetheless, delicious. What ensues are irrelevant interactions and a lot of sitting on our bosom, eyes fixed on UFC fighting; pure violence.

Andrew drops us off. A local bar Viet and I head to where a very personal conversation surfaces. I miss these conversations; always triggering true feelings and thoughts. Turn right, walk straight, turn left, straight some more, we arrive to what my cousins call home. Sitting in the dark, we enjoy the nice cool, crisp Midwestern summer night. Complete silence, peace beside our monotone voices. This night forever will be imprinted in time; our existence infinite then? Just another experience up north.

Tran, Quy Hac

nostalgia.

2007-06-08T00:55:00.000-06:00

saturday evening, i lay on my back atop sea green patches encompassing a city park, soaking in the magnificent sounds of gospel, gazing into oblivion; i feel nostalgic.

on this midsummer day, dwellers of big city number three congregated, connecting in a realm advocating individuality, self. community finally visible, interaction.

blue grey skies linger above, humid warmth tightly hugs my body, flames blistering fibrous meats street side. motorbikes missing, otherwise equivalent.

such sights and sounds flood in memories of recent past. old quarter, swarmed of unhesitating burgesses, autumn airs remain musky, pho hue, ba trieu; doner kebaps, pho cuon dominate.

a friend who shared with me Viet Nam, sits beside. does he recognize these parallels? my curiosity authors en-puzzlement, wonder. shared elements, yet distinctiveness between the two.

twenty one north, one o five east, Ha Noi. here, me. unabbreviated, sheer nostalgia.

on the mind.

2007-06-04T00:28:00.000-06:00

as of late, weather in chicago has been quite pleasant. scattered showers here and there, but overall, rays of sun hitting my crisp yellow skin. kevin from california is here. we've engaged in a long list of activities within the past few days--wicker park, michigan ave., millenium park, chicago hotdog, yawps!'s untranslatable event, and peeping through a metal fence hugging Jordan's old house, the United Center.

a dilemma i was in earlier today. three short pages to write for my political science final. a simple three pages. haven't read one page for class, missing one book. topic: compare two books. fuck! luckily, i did one good thing all quarter: take notes, and another great talent of mine, find quotes. finally complete, at ease, relaxed.

tomorrow signifies freedom, in a sense. no more classes, just two finals the week after. that is what the weekend is for. four dollar martinis and a hopeful lively discussion on travels to southeast asia follows my long day of education.

money. i have 177$ in my bank account, with a 110$ credit card bill soon due. as one can see, i am in dire need of, what do we call it, green. maybe o'hare. my friend works there. 2-11 PM shift: duty free shop. no social life, or money? hello craigslist jobs section.

milwuakee, then minneapolis. family in both spots are heading to viet nam this summer. one for three weeks, the other five years. megabus, only 8.50$ total. northwest airlines, free. rarely do i see my extended family. ought to be delightful.

use of my legs. not walking, pedaling. i need a bike, now. i miss it so much. two years prior, my inexpensive mountain bike, stripped away from my legs, never to return. now, pedal-less. working bikes on western has decent bikes i'm told. limited cash equates no gas for da car. despite that, biking over hitting the accelerator without a doubt. in due time.

needs. as they say--water, shelter, food. is that all for me? companionship? seeing the world? happiness? all three i think. soon i'll meet one point five out of the three--glimpsing the world makes me smile. hello eastern europe. hello berlin. hello paris.

goodnight.

fuji.

2007-05-27T19:23:00.000-06:00

somali women . greasy asian food.

complete boredom . depression home.

tired . seneca . jack purcell .

simple observations: ride home.

2007-05-23T22:34:00.000-06:00

this is Armitage
half empty seats
lights flickering, air seeping

we sit patiently, emotionless
gazing at the nebulous cityscape
disconnected, somewhat

south we head, where to?
this is Washington & Wells
my ritual wednesday night ride

YAWP!

2007-05-18T17:38:00.001-06:00

YAWP--young asians with power had a spoken word performance on the 17th. Met some great people, and hope to get involved this summer.

Afterwards, I met with Chikara, my language exchange partner-a 32 year old guy from Tokyo. He wrote an essay on the 2016 Olympics-Chicago and Tokyo are the two possible sites where the games will be held. According to Chikara's writing, Japan has a much better public transport system, and safety isn't much of an issue as in Chicago. Who will be hosting the games?

Met with Mike from CIEE and Ryan, who lived in A2 with us while we were in Viet Nam. It was really great seeing some folks from Viet Nam. Quite humorous while Mike and I were picking up Ryan. He looked like a lost, confused tourist on Halsted. In VN he looks at home. Ha.

Check Box: White, Black, Other.

2007-05-06T08:02:00.000-06:00

Just last week, many cities around the U.S. held immigration rallies in light of the worldwide celebration of International Laborer's Day on May 1st. Being a big city as it is, Chicago had its own immigration rally. I arrived in the downtown area at around 2 PM, where I was greeted with thousands of individuals--men, women, children--of all colours, but mostly Latino/a descent. They were rallying for equal rights and citizenship rights of illegal immigrants. Illegal immigration is quite a heated topic in today's political discourse and many people who do not deal with the hardships that illegal immigrants do often times find themselves torn between what is right and what is wrong.

As I stand on the elevated concrete platform, looking down at the thousands of faces marching for the same cause--equality, I realized how unified people are, when it comes in time of distress, or empowerment. The many faces I saw in the sea of people belonged to individuals who were not white or black, but more so those labeled "other" by American society. Latinos, Asians, Asian-Indians dominated the rally. We were unified together to send the message across to the people of the U.S. that the "other" has a voice; not the invisible group getting by in society.

I walked towards the pavement and ran into a group of people I knew. CMAA, an organization which I volunteer for had a few people show up as they marched with an organization called YAWP (Young Asians with Power), CAI (Cambodian Association of Illinois), and another Asian-American group. I joined in with these people marching for, truly what I believed in. Watching these people march for justice is one thing. You get tingles down your spine and goosebumps on your arm, but the feeling of marching goes beyond that. It is very empowering as I join others of different backgrounds speak up of issues we agree on.

I often wonder though, those big cats in those giant buildings, in their white collared shirts, looking down at this site, what do they think of all this? Poor illegal immigrants calling for citizenship. People of colour speaking up against an intangible empire. What are going through the minds of these big cats that do not have to worry about such inequities? Are they inspired by all this? Do they agree with what is going on? Such a thought reflects the divide we have in this country. The individuals I joined in with marched for hours, let their voices be heard, and really advocated equality for those less fortunate in society. But at the same time, are the people they are speaking to listening? Are we going to resolve anything? We'll just wait and see.

Hac.

mode of transport: Metro.

2007-04-25T15:05:00.000-06:00

The Metro is a beautiful thing. Efficient, low cost tickets, environmentally friendly, a medium for observing individuals, and a passage way into the heart of any city. And also, it takes one from point a to point b. In this portion of the metro review, I will analyze and discuss my observations of Chicago's CTA "EL".

Attending university here in Chicago, riding the CTA "EL" is part of my daily routine. There are eight lines within Chicago, taking commuters from primarily north to south, and a little bit westward. The trains are divided into four to six carts--metal, boxy, rusty ones. Entering any line, one will notice the design resembles some 1970's film, where velour-like padding clothes the seats. Comfortable as the seats may be, I find it somewhat hideous, especially after riding other Metros. The CTA is extremely ear-splitting, as its rails are constructed of steel and wood, creating an unbearable, screeching noise on every turn and brake. And the train brakes often, too often. On several of the carts, one gets the feeling of simply sitting in a hollow tin can of some sort. When halted, the cart feels so empty and if one were to speak, an echo would follow. I've often compared it to one of those cheap Geo Metro cars; simply a protective case hugging the insides. What were to happen if that Geo Metro get in an accident? What were to happen if the CTA "EL" fall off the rail?

Unlike many other Metros I have ridden on, Chicago's lacks the technological advancements. There are no flashing, moving lighted text, signifying the next stop, but rather, a plastic sign, which more than not gets ripped off in a thiefs' attempt to collect each lines' maps. The voice of the conductor blares on the overhead intercom, announcing the next stop. An automated voice announces any delays. But one thing that surprised me greatly was that on few carts there are electrical outlets. Not until recently did I realize such a phenomenon where I witnessed a woman charging her cellphone on the Brown-Line. I may be a little too critical of the CTA "EL" since I have been riding it for over two years now, but its the reality when putting the "EL" into perspective.

As for the masses that ride the "EL", each line seems to represent a particular race or class. As Chicago is quite segregated; beyond belief, one will witness at certain stops, a particular class or race exits the train. One such example is the Red-Line. After the Roosevelt stop, there are virtually no Caucasian folks on the train; mostly African-Americans and Asians. That changes though when there is a Chicago White Sox game--white folks will venture into a dangerous area past Roosevelt to root root root for their home team. On the topic of individuals, there is not much interaction between commuters on the "EL". I have had some "EL" crushes--any cute person you see on the "EL" more than once--but of course due to the fact that no one speaks, I remain silent.

I have more than not pointed out the negative things about Chicago's Metro, but there are not many positive things I have got to mention. One thing I enjoy though is the diversity on the trains, even if the stops are segregated. One will see a rich white man sitting next to a recent immigrant from Ghana. Another interesting aspect of Chicago's Metro is the fact that is it both above and underground, unlike other Metros. One gets to enjoy both the scenery of Chicago while riding near the loop or the true subway experience. Just the fact that the CTA "EL" exists, I am grateful. Some cities do not even have Metros. I find that so terribly sad. But of course, after riding other Metros around the globe and domestically, Chicago's CTA "EL" needs to be updated and refreshed. Despite these complaints, I'll still be riding the lines I ride everyday.

Until next time.

Tran, Quy-Hac.

what lies ahead

2007-04-20T10:00:00.000-06:00

I find it unbelievable how fast time moves. It has been nearly five months since I departed from what I considered home for half a year. While in Viet Nam, I thought it'd last forever, and now, its been almost half a year from that experience. For some time now, I tend to look at the future more so than focus on the present. To some that may be seen as a negative thing, where all my joys and great experiences today are are glazed over; not appreciating. But what lies ahead?

Accepted into the DePaul study abroad program recently, this August, I'll be flying not exactly half way around the globe, but close to it, to Budapest, Hungary. The sights, sounds, and smell of Eastern Europe are things that exist in my imagination. What I associate with Hungary is goulash and one extremely confusing language. I am excited though. Strolling down the riverside of the Danube, viewing the beautiful structures lingering above my head, lounging along a streetside cafe, soaking in whatever life there has to offer. In due time, in due time.

In a way, I've attempted to forge this identity of being a globetrotter. Maybe that identity is visible, maybe its not. I can stay in one place for so long, unless present are those I love and enjoy the company of. A friend once said, home is where my suitcase takes me next. Mine brings me to Budapest.

Until next time,

Tran Quy Hac

reminiscence

2007-04-13T14:11:00.000-06:00

As my blog illuminates, my life tends to follow a particular schedule, day in and day out. Within this structured schedule, this monotonous one, I find myself on AIM and Yahoo Messenger quite often--to speak to those I befriended in Viet Nam. Chris Ty from EAP is one individual whom I often chat with. Vietnam tends to emerge from the waters quite often in our conversations. He showed me a bunch of clips he shot from Viet Nam that he posted onto youtube. After watching those, memories and images of Viet Nam just came flooding into my mind and thought process. O how I miss Viet Nam and those I met!

CIEE, EAP, HUFS Contemporary Society Class. Dec. 2006!

Couple of HUFS students from class (i'm not in this clip)
Borrowed from Chris Ty

Tran, Quy-Hac

tháng ba và bốn.

2007-04-03T19:53:00.000-06:00

Montreal is a quaint, comfortable, chilly, European (French) city. Hảo, Hiệp and I spent the 21st through 25th in Canada's European city. Although I am no where close to conversational in French, and it is somewhat necessary to be able to speak French to settle down there, I feel that I could live in the city for a time being. What is great about Montreal is the food and the European atmosphere. People walk everywhere and go about on the town. The choices of "formages" and "pates" are endless. Also the bread is much more satisfying than the bread baked back in the states. Essentially, when I travel with Hảo and Hiệp, we focus on sampling the cuisines of wherever that place is.

We visited downtown, McGill University, Vieux Montreal, Marche de Jean Talon, and much more. I also visited my mother's friend, Cô Như Mai. We also met her children, who are really nice and cool. She runs a Việtnamese joint which attracts the French Canadians. The place seems to be always busy, its probably because the French have instilled interest in VNese culture and food from the years of colonization. We also rode the Metro. I really like Montreal's metro. It is clean, fast, efficient, and beautifully designed.

Perhaps I'll come back to Montreal for grad-school. We'll see.

________________________________________________

New York City holds the status as numero uno in the U.S. for large cities, and I now see why it does. It has been a long ten years since I've visited NYC, so this time around can be considered the first. Julie Nguyễn and her friend came to visit a few of their other friends. Kim-Mai is working in Manhattan at Bloomberg. It was nice seeing those familiar faces from Việt Nam again.

I tried to not do too much of the touristy things while in NYC, for I often distance myself away from a totally touristy visit, but it is hard not to visit what is deemed as a main attraction of a city. I did get to see the Empire State Building, from below though. We went to Brooklyn and stood on this pier and had a breathtaking, captivating view of Manhattan. At that moment, I realized how fast one can grow attached to such a city. There are so many things to do--restaurants, venues, music shows, Broadway, etc. What I also like about New York City is the diversity aspect. There are so many different languages spoken. One can witness this by simply sitting on the metro for some time. It is definitely a fast paced city, and very bustling, and to some that is not their thing. I am usually drawn in by cultural, metropolis sites such as NYC, Chicago, or Sai Gon. The thing with NYC is though, there are many different boroughs, which are distinct from one another. If Manhattan is too much for someone, just go to Brooklyn, where it is much more calm and relaxing. Maybe, just maybe I'll go to grad school here!

________________________________________________

The Asian-American Film Festival is currently going on here in Chicago. There are a lot of appealing films within the showcase. I went to two films yesterday. The first one was New Year Baby, and the other, Owl and the Sparrow. New Year Baby is a documentary about one Cambodian Refugee family returning to Cambodia after 25 years of horror at the hands of the Khmer Rouge. Its a story of digging up the past, closure, and breaking the silence. Socheata Poeuv, interestingly enough, uses her own family as the main focus of the film, where the audience takes a step into the personal to be able to see how they have been affected by the atrocities of Angkar. Throughout the film, there were parts jerking tears within me. Poeuv's father's trip back really exposed the pains and horrors he felt twenty-five years back. To be able to return to what used to be "home" really takes courage. I definitely would recommend this documentary to those who haven't seen it. But then again, its hard to watch these indie-films, since they only occasionally show.

Owl and the Sparrow, I would rank one of the top films I've seen in my lifetime. I do so because it is a film about Việt Nam, its society, and the struggles people face today. I am drawn in by such films because I am Viẹtnamese-American. Thus, a connection exists. The film takes place in South Việt Nam, with three strangers who by the end of the story are strongly connected together, but in the beginning, remain as strangers in different worlds. The male figure, Hải, is a poor zoo-keeper, depressed because his fiance left him--probably because he is a poor zookeeper. His only friend is a baby elephant who is soon to be shipped off to Ấn Độ, or India for loads of money. The female character, Phương, is played by Cat Lý, an aspiring Việtnamese-American? actress. She plays a stewardess for what I believe is Việt Nam Airlines. She lives a somewhat secretive, "immoral" life by being a mistress of the Flight Captain, who is married to some woman and has children. Cat Ly's character is torn by this predicament of continuing such a life, or following her dreams of meeting a nice gentleman. The final, and most important character, I feel, is Thủy, a little ten year old orphan working in a factory for her tyrant uncle. She runs away from home and heads toward Sài Gon to find a better life. Working as a street seller of postcards and flowers, she runs into Hải and Phương separately. Throughout the film, these two characters are drawn together by the actions of Thủy. It is a story which reveals the realities of Việtnamese society and what it is to love in what is considered a very money-focused society. Love is often times associated with money. This story reflects how despite such factors dominating the "love" scene in Việt Nam, there still exists compassion, love, and kindness in a world where it is most important to get by.

This film, I feel, also reflects the realities of street children working right now in Sài Gòn. Visiting SG several times, I witnessed many children trying to sell postcards, flowers, amongst other things into the late hours of the night. Just like Thủy in the film, many of the young girls in SG working wear school uniforms, pretending to be students making money to go to school. But the reality is that it is merely just another trick to make individuals a little sympathetic so that they exchange their 10,000 đồng for a red rose. There is not much being done for these street children, and a lot of them times throwing them into orphanages may not be the right way about it. Though there are many organizations, such as Blue Dragon, which target and help street children, but the number of children on the streets are so numerous it is hard to help them all. Scrapping for money, getting by in life, finding happiness in a society moving so fast can be difficult as the film depicts. This film simply is not a love story set in Việt Nam, but a film that pinpoints so much more about Việtnamese society. I highly recommend this film to all. I am hoping it comes out on DVD. Also to note, this film is directed by Stephane Gauger, his first production. Executive Producers include Timothy Bui, who was behind Ba Mùa, and Ham Trần behind Journey from the Fall.

Coming up are two documentaries: Boliano 52 and Oh Saigon. Journey from the Fall comes out April 13th here. Very excited to see these works.

Until next time.

Trần Qúy-Hạc.

exhale.

2007-03-19T04:45:00.000-06:00

I've been holding my breath for the past 120 hours, and finally I can now exhale. This has been one of my busiest quarters yet. Four 300 Level courses really do keep students busy. Although I picked and chose which readings to do and not to do, I still fought for time. I only finished one book of leisure witin these entire three months, which is pretty sad if you think about it. So after 120 hours, four ten page essays, a digital camera recorded speech, an extra credit essay, and a project write up, my effort for this quarter has come to an end. Hello Montreal and New York.

pics and reflections of those environments will be posted in the distant future.

chao.

NY Times mentions Ha Noi.

2007-02-19T16:00:00.000-06:00

The Awakening of Hanoi...(click on image)

Enjoy.
Tran, Quy-Hac.

Chúc Mừng Năm Mới!

2007-02-17T21:50:00.000-06:00

Tết is here! I wish all of you who read my blog a Happy Lunar New Year! Wish you all good luck, prosperity, success and good health in the year of the pig.

Chúc tất cả mọi người một năm mới thật là vui vẻ, nhiều hạnh phúc, súc khỏe dồi dào, và mọi sự như ý!

I have a memory.

2007-02-16T19:12:00.000-06:00

Sitting at my friend's dorm currently, and we're talking about Việt Nam. He mentioned Clinton going to this phở joint called ~~Sài gòn 98~~ Phở 2000 for a nice steaming bowl of phở and it reminded me of Bush coming to Hà Nội for APEC. Here is a picture. Look at Bush's smile in that nicely stylized Aó dài. Talk about reverse colonization.

Trần, Qúy-Hạc

Top ten things I miss about Việt Nam.

2007-02-13T01:26:00.000-06:00

7. Beefsteak (Bò Bi Tết)
There was this joint, on a road right off of Phố Huế. Make a right and go down a little bit. The restaurant is always filled with people. When locals crowd a place, you know its good. I was introduced to this place by Jimmy, who was introduced by Quốc Anh. It is Quốc Anh's hangover joint, and it surely makes your headache go away, or perhaps distracts your mind from focusing on the headache because the bursting flavors from the dish rapes your tongue. Basically this dish is a sizzling platter with a fried egg, steak, meatball, french fries and loads of green onions on it. Served with freshly baked french bread. It really hits the spot. Back here, there really is no equivalent to such a "ghetto" meal. No pizza puff, hot dog or gyros can compare to this marvelous creation of beef steak. When I return next summer, I plan to make it my very first meal.

6. Exploring Hà Nội via Xe Máy (Honda Wave)
Although prohibited from driving motorbikes, most of the CIEE students rented bikes anyway--all Honda waves. Likewise, mostly all the EAP folks rented Honda waves too. Its the cheapest, and most reliable (well maybe not) bike for visiting college students. It is a possibility that we're just so used to ascribing Honda with "reliable" in the states that we rented the waves. One of the greatest things about Hà Nội life is being able to just cruise around the city. Take the side roads and get lost. That is one of the best ways to get to know Hà Nội. See new things, and learn new shortcuts. I miss the wind blowing in my air, and as December strolled along, the cold air scrapping my tender skin. In one memorable event, Kevin and I decided to be adventurous and circle the circumference of Hồ Tây, which is the largest lake in Hà Nội, at around 1 AM. In order to fully grasp one of the essences of Ha Noi life, one must join the thousands of drivers in the organized chaos we call traffic.

5. Hà Nội's Old Quarter, Sài Gòn's Quận 1
Phố Cổ, as a Vietnamese would call it, is a very booming area. Although its history traces back to the original borders of what used to be Hà Nội, it remains one of the hot spots for not only tourist and expats, but also Việtnamese locals, which makes it so interesting. Each street is designated to a certain item or good. For example, Hàng Bạc consists of many DVD stores, which I frequented often. Within this area one could find gift shops, cafes, eateries, cheap clothes stands, lively night joints, and of course DVD stores. Essentially all one's tangible neccesities can be found within the confines of Phố Cổ. Tree lined streets, bustling with vendors everywhere, this was one of my favourite spots in Ha Noi. O and of course, I cannot forget, Hồ Hoàn Kiếm--Lake of the Returned Sword, resides just South, merely steps away from Phố Cổ.

While in Sài Gòn, I remained mostly in Q1, which is quite developed. What makes this district so interesting and enjoyable is that one can find "western" culture embedded within this area, but also the essence of traditional Việt Nam. A mixture between Western and Việtnamese cultures creates a unique identity; a very appealing one. Chợ Bếnh Thành resides in Q1, but of course, that place is such a rip off. Only the food is worth buying. From paper stores, to shoe shops, to good cafes and eateries, to lively night life spots like the Jazz Art jazz club, it really digs deep into your sense of appreciation for a place. Despite all the negative judgements of it being too commercialized or westernized, Sài Gòn comes in as second after Hà Nội on my list.

Trái Táo To, The Big Apple.

2007-02-10T15:28:00.000-06:00

So it seems my spring break this year will be even more exciting than it already was planned to be. I bought a ticket today to go to NYC to meet up with Julie, who I studied with in Vịêt Nam. Also, Ms. Kim-Mai is living and working in Manhattan. Danielle, a Queens resident, hopefully will be around during that time. Khánh is thinking about coming to NYC too! It is a semi-small reunion, which is exciting, not only because I get to see my friends again, but because I feel that this time to NYC will be a better experience than the last.

Two years prior, my three cousins and I jumped into a Dodge Neon and hit the road for a Canada, East Coast tour. As many folks know, driving in New York City is not the brightest idea. This proved true for us. Lost for over two hours, and stripped from our wallets, 28$ from toll bridges, we arrived in Chinatown close to midnight. The Chinese food was mediocre at most and extremely expensive. Disappointed with our meal, we set out to find a hostel at close to 1 AM. No luck with the hostel, we went to this shady border town in New Jersey, where the office of the motel had bullet proof glass. That tells one something. Of course, it might not be New York City's fault, but rather our inept ability to plan our travels.

This time around, I hope to see all the well known sights and entice the nightlife there. From the Statue of Liberty to Central Park. Bagels, New York style pizza; all the good stuff. March might be my best month since December in Vịêt Nam.

Until next time.

Trần Qúy-Hạc.

Power-monger.

2007-02-07T12:36:00.000-06:00

Vietnamese Association of Illinois has been representing, aiding, and providing services for Chicago's Vietnamese-American community for close to thirty years. Now it is about to dissolve to nothing. Thanks to a power-hungry bitch. Four employees who have been part of the organization for close to twenty years were "released" for inadequate work. Now the services have stagnated and the place is completely empty, consisting of probably at most, 3-4 people running the whole place daily. An interim ED was hired, some 22 year old puppet who, wait this needs a grand introduction, ***~~.... interned for the White House. This minx (Jimmy's word) left immediately after she fired these people. With the way this organization is being run, soon enough VAI has no future, and no longer will I be able to attend the weekly Vietnamese Language class. So for the sake of all of us, step down Mrs. Hitler.

the constitutive other.

2007-02-03T23:53:00.000-06:00

Years ago my father would always say on the car ride to some destination, "không có người sấu thì làm sao biết được người tốt?", which loosely translates to the inability to identify a moral person unless present is an immoral. In society today, language, linguistics, lexicon, which are essentially one of the same, help individuals identity our surroundings and ascribe understanding to situations that exist before us. Often times it is this dichotomy of good versus evil which individuals look upon to forge this understanding. But by viewing our surroundings in such a dual way, a chunk of grey, the ham and cheese of the ham and cheese sandwich, is left out. But this claim of constitution is an interesting one.

What is man? Can we define man without defining woman? What is beautiful? Can we define beautiful if we do not know what is ugly? These questions can be asked the opposite way likewise. The ways in which we use to identify what is man is dependent on what is not man; woman. Thus, we must look at the qualities which fail to describe man in the forging of a woman's identity. What is for one identity is a consequence of what is not for the other. Thus we can view dichotomies such as this as co-constitutive. What derives from this idea of man and woman is the applications of masculinity and femininity. Although these are different dichotomized ideas, they often run parallel to one another. Man; strong, protector, breadwinner, leader. Woman; fragile, protected, housewife, supporter. Now does that not sound awfully familiar? Why it should!, because that's how the world, well America (damn the ethnocentric thinking!), views it.

The problem of this dualism of man-woman and masculine-feminine fails to recognize the possibilities of man-feminine, woman-masculine. Without a reasonable doubt, in society there exists individuals who possess both masculine and feminine traits, but such a dichotomized stereotype/label denies the recognition of these possibilities. Essentially, this idea can be seen with any dichotomies existing in society today. Viewing a woman as either gorgeous or heinous leaves out all the cute girls! (reference from picture above)

Qúy Hạc

Top ten things I miss about Viet Nam.

2007-01-24T10:59:00.000-06:00

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.

2007-01-22T17:45:00.000-06:00

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.

2007-01-21T21:07:00.000-06:00

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.

2007-01-20T02:06:00.000-06:00

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.

2007-01-16T20:45:00.000-06:00

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.

2007-01-02T23:14:00.000-06:00

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"

2007-01-01T03:58:00.000-06:00

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.

weighing the odds.

2006-12-29T06:56:00.000-06:00

Coupled with my depression, there is also this distraught pressure to find housing in Chicago. Initially, I felt living at home was impossible, but come to think of it, is it really? As I laid in my bed a couple of hours ago, trying to sleep, I decided to weigh the odds of living at home versus finding an apartment for five months in Chicago. Here is what I came up with.

Pros of living at home:
1). saving tons of money, which I need if I wish to travel.
2). I will have good food on my plate.
3). I will get to speak Vietnamese on a regular basis so that I can improve.
4). I get to see my sister more after not seeing her for a long ass time.
5). I can hang out with a possible new Vietnamese friend who lives near me, who is from Hà Nội.

Cons of living at home:
1). Restrictions
2). Possible arguments with my mother
3). less freedom (this includes, not being able to cook for myself)
4). commuting time kills, but I can always read on the train.
5). Doing whatever I want all the time (but this really just means at night, cause i'm busy all day).
6). having a place outside my parents house (for what though really? I can always stay at my friends place if i need to go for a drink or what not).

After looking at these two lists, I see that saving money is far more important that having a little freedom for 5 months. I prefer to travel the world and experience new things rather than spend that money on a place in Chicago. Whichever decision I would make, I figured that I'd still be depressed about Vietnam, its people, life, and everything about it.

Hạc.

Those scholars and their culture shock theory.

2006-12-28T22:18:00.000-06:00

So I arrived home to the states a couple of days ago. I informed my excited, anxious parents it would be the 28th. As I walked passed the International Arrival exit at O'hare airport, I was suprised to see no one awaiting my arrival. How strange, how unusual? My parents, yearning to see me after six months in Vietnam, not to show up, not to be awaiting with huge smiles on their faces?! O yes, that's right, Vietnam is 13 hours ahead of the U.S. and thus, I arrived on the 27th, not the 28th.

Speaking of strange and unusual, walking off the plane, the sight of people can be described as such. You must realize, the past six months, the majority of people I have seen were Asian folks. Mostly Vietnamese. Coming off the plane, most of the people where, well, not Asian. It somewhat felt as if I were seeing aliens for the first time, which I have not, but I now can understand what it feels like. Could it be what those folks in prestigous research institutions refer to as reverse culture shock!? Maybe, just maybe. With this notion of culture shock, somewhere in there the individual begins to feel depressed all of a sudden, not only because life is so different back at home, but also because he or she is too accustomed and misses what he or she has experienced for the past x months, years. For me, this growing depression may be a result of perhaps both.

I drove a car today, and it felt odd. I don't like to drive cars anymore. I prefer motorbike because I am not in a damn confined box. The traffic here is also not as enjoyable to drive in. Too many rules and regulations. I wanted to weave through traffic but couldn't, because one) my father's car is a giant box and two) i'd hit someone and get ticketed. I also miss the honking and noise and just seeing motorbikes dominate the roads, rather than big ugly boxes doing that. Also, I miss everything about Vietnam, even the people calling me Korean. I don't have any eyelids so they think I am Korean. I miss my friends and my way of life there. As Americans say, home is where the heart is, and it just so happens, from where this saying derived, is not where my heart is.