Finding Home Wherever I Go
Upon arrival in any new city, I gravitate towards two things: Vietnamese food, and the beach. Where is the best phở place in the area? Also, how close is the ocean from here? But beyond comfort food and relaxing sunset views, what I always crave is to find some connection to the people that make up the town’s Vietnamese community.
It could be anyone. The woman selling vegetables outside the grocery store. The friendly butcher at the meat market. The international student at a networking event. There’s an intense magnetism in my body that pulls me towards the one other Việt person in the room. One moment we’re strangers. Next thing you know, we’re chatting it up like long-lost family.
My favorite interactions are with older Vietnamese folks. They’re not afraid to zero in on you — especially if you’re the only other person in the room who looked remotely Asian, and 99% definitely if they find out you’re a Nguyễn. Scary? Maybe, but I love when it happens.
They’re also not afraid to interview you on the spot. Where is your house? Were you born in America? What do your parents do? What do you do now? And for some reason it just feels safe to give intimate details of my life to these people who don’t feel like complete strangers.
Once while on a business trip to Tampa, I found myself standing next to an elderly Vietnamese couple right outside the airport. As I waited for my Lyft, I couldn’t help but notice they seemed to be the same age as my ông bà nội. They were wondering where to stand for their Uber, and then I felt their eyes on me. Before I had time to react, the woman asked me “Con ơi, are you Vietnamese?” With an awkward smile and timid “chào”, I respond and offer my help.
From there, it began. The feeling that you both share some part of a larger story makes it irresistible to wonder where you may have crossed paths. How long have you lived in Florida? Wow, since before I was born. How did you come over to America: by boat, or by plane? Ah, that’s the same trip my grandparents made. Where is your quê hương, your hometown: in the south, or central? If the south, which province? Hey, my family is from that province, too! Then came my Lyft, and we said our goodbyes. I left feeling bittersweet, knowing I might never see them again. But they left me with so much warmth, and I hope I did the same for them, too.
These coincidental encounters often grounded me during times I felt alone and lost in my travels. In the same way that I seek comfort by finding a body of water that connects back to home, perhaps I do the same with people of my cultural heritage. Perhaps it is in our nature to find a piece of home wherever we go.
