WP1: A daily routine
Revised Version:
John Wimber has once said, “Show me where you spend your time, money, and energy and I’ll tell you what you worship.”
Without a doubt, your daily occurrences, from your habits, the people you spend time with, to your thoughts and behaviors, play a very important role in shaping who you are. My name is Huong Nguyen, and I am an Asian-American immigrant, and what shaped me is growing up 18 years in a household full of women that are artists, humanitarians, and innovators — inspired in me flowing freedom to engineer whatever piqued my obsessive curiosity. In my definition, a matriarch is a family where the women make up the majority of important decisions, and have an impact on supporting the women within the circle. Having been raised in a matriarch of strong women, an intersection of three vastly dynamic generations in one 1,000-square-foot home, I was raised and encouraged to pursue what I am interested in.
I.
Six o’clock: Open your eyes, breathe, and pray.
Six o’ four: “Alexa, play Chopin classics.”
Six o’ five: Take some time to review and study.
A typical day in my life can be characterized by the bustling movement and energy of my 81 years old grandmother, working mother, and Gen Z sister in our house. Each morning I woke up to the smell of ramen and the chants of the Rosaries. She would also tackle all other household chores, such as cooking us ramen for breakfast, cleaning, and even pulling out the trash cans with knee arthritis. Though this may seem like traditional, perhaps even antiquated, female roles, my grandmother carried my household on her shoulders and gave my sister and I the freedom to learn. As she always told me, “Open your eyes, breathe, and pray,” I tried to wake up every morning following her advice, making this habit a part of my daily routine, because Grandma’s words are never to be taken lightly. Living in a multigenerational, multi-dimensional family means living with constant reminders — where women are the one disciplining and also the ones you can depend on to follow these reminders.
II.
Twelve o’clock: FaceTime lunch with Mom
Unlike others, I grew up with a mom and HER mom. I was raised by a single mother who took the job of a cafeteria lady for a well-known high school in the area — all for the sake of me, the daughter of an employer, to be able to go to a better school than the one that serves my neighborhood and to receive the best education I could find.
Each lunch, instead of sitting in the high school’s cafeteria, I would sneak out to sit with her in the kitchen while eating my lunch. Occasionally, that would mean practicing English with her while eating, or wiping my friends’ tables with her after they are done with their meals. Mom always told me that because women are often more sensitive than men, we are better at nurturing and taking care of others. Living in a matriarch also means always checking on others, showing that we care, according to her. Despite having already graduated from high school, lunches always start with my call to her as a way of checking on her day, but also a remembrance of my biggest lesson — serving and taking care of others, whether that is serving them a meal or wiping their tables. My mom was the “breadwinner” of the family, taking from others in our family and for a living without ever needing approval for her job.
Until now, I was constantly reminded of the two sides of who I am — a scholar and an academic, but also just a girl from a humble family, who grew up with homemakers that are breadwinners and slightly broken English.
III.
Six forty-eight: Set Google Maps for the USC Library.
Six forty-nine: Never forget where you came from, and how you got here.
Finally, six-fifty…
Begin your night.
I tuck myself in, as the Chopin classics blasts my room, cascading healing and homesickness in my empty dorm. At nights, I would FaceTime them while my roommate is not here.
It is eighteen years later, and this routine, the rhythm of my family, has not skipped a beat. There are no words that I can describe that after a strenuous day of studying, I get to come home and be taken care of by my mother and her mother, while simultaneously getting to experience the love of a child as I take care of my younger sibling.
Identity is an experience, and a distinct pathway of how unending factors affect your life. I am unique because of my background, growing up with strong women, immigrants with a flowing history, and feminists that are breadwinners and homemakers. I am unique because I am a part of them.
Sources:
A Poem: The Butterfly & the Matriarch — One Heart — One Heart Yoga & Social Change Melbourne. “One Heart.” One Heart, 31 Oct. 2019, oneheartyoga.com.au/one-heart-yoga-blog/poem-the-butterfly-and-the-matriarch. Accessed 7 Dec. 2021.
Gloria Anzaldúa, “How to Tame a Wild Tongue,” in Borderlands: The New Mestiza — La Frontera, (San Francisco: Aunt Lute Book Company, 1987), 53–64.
“I like to Think You Are the Oddness in Us.” Live in the Layers, live in the layers, 9 Apr. 2016, nataliejabbar.wordpress.com/2016/04/09/i-like-to-think-you-are-the-oddness-in-us/. Accessed 8 Dec. 2021.
“The Family Matriarch~ by Mike Hauser.” Hello Poetry, 2021, hellopoetry.com/poem/1933666/the-family-matriarch/. Accessed 7 Dec. 2021.
“The Death of a Matriarch. | Elephant Journal.” Elephant Journal | Daily Blog, Videos, E-Newsletter & Magazine on Yoga + Organics + Green Living + Non-New Agey Spirituality + Ecofashion + Conscious Consumerism=It’s about the Mindful Life., 25 Oct. 2018, www.elephantjournal.com/now/the-death-of-a-matriarch/. Accessed 7 Dec. 2021.
Old Version:
John Wimber has once said, “Show me where you spend your time, money, and energy and I’ll tell you what you worship.”
Six o’clock: Open your eyes, breathe, and pray.
Six o’ four: “Alexa, play Chopin classics.”
Six o’ five: Take some time to review and study.
My name is Huong Nguyen, and I am an Asian-American immigrant whose time orbits around her education. In my definition, a matriarch is a family where the women make up the majority of important decisions, and have an impact on supporting the women within the circle. Having been raised in a matriarch of strong women, an intersection of three vastly dynamic generations in one 1,000-square-foot home, I was raised and encouraged to pursue what I am interested in, no matter what salary it will garner nor what degree of success I will gain. Despite the fact that we are a low income household, my mother took the job of a cafeteria lady for a well-known high school in the area — all for the sake of me, the daughter of an employer, to be able to go to a better school than the one that serves my neighborhood and to receive the best education I could find. Nevertheless, though my family summoned all their strength and then some more for my sister’s and my education, I can’t help but sometimes feel at odds at the two sides of who I am — a scholar and an academic, but also just a girl from a humble family, who came to the US with nothing but spirit and slightly broken English.
Amidst a divided society, there is a growing gap between the upper class and middle to low class, and with it comes the wall between the urban and the rural, the elite and non-elite, and worst of all, the educated and the uneducated. As Tara Westover had captured, this gap between our experiences as citizens has turned into a lack of empathy for differences in any and all aspects of life, such as academia. It seems that if you were born into a certain state of living, only then can you receive an education, and I was on the opposite spectrum. However, I am here to say that is a myth. Not only am I fortunate enough to be a living, breathing testimony of pursuing an education beyond all barriers, having been intimately influenced by different generations, cultures, and classes during my childhood have not been a barrier to my education but have largely helped mold my view of the world.
Outside of university, a typical day in my life can be characterized by the bustling movement and energy of my 81 years old grandmother, working mother, and Gen Z sister in our house. While my sister and I can now say that we have been raised more or less equally in the United States and Vietnam, my mother and her mother have spent the majority of their lives, even going so far as to having lived through the Vietnam War, in the Southeast Asian country. I have witnessed how parochial areas can take one look at my mother, see her race and hear even the slightest hint of an accent, and be lightning-quick to chew her up and spit her out. Yet, day after day, my mom showed up to work as a cafeteria lady and endured heavy manual labor, slurs, and low pay for my education. Even though I knew as an immigrant child and the first in my family to go to college, I didn’t necessarily have a path paved in front of me to follow, my mother instilled in my head the simple idea to “do whatever makes me happy.” She also passed on to me her strong working mentality, which she developed when she was eighteen years old, teaching me the value of both education and experience. I hear her words echo in my mind, her wisdom planting its seed inside my head, when I had to learn to cook for the first time at age 10, and when I was taking care of my sister while she was away at work, when I was self-studying because my school — though great it may be for this area — didn’t offer certain courses.
After a while, when I was at school, going to internships, or in my room studying, my grandmother began to take over the cooking in the house. She would also tackle all other household chores, such as laundry, cleaning, and even pulling out the trash cans with knee arthritis. Though this may seem like traditional, perhaps even antiquated, female roles, my grandmother carried my household on her shoulders and gave my sister and I the freedom to learn.
It is seven years later, and this routine, the rhythm of my family, has not skipped a beat. There are no words that I can describe that after a strenuous day of self-studying, though I may love it, I get to come home and be taken care of by my mother and her mother, while simultaneously getting to experience the love of a child as I take care of my younger sibling. This has pushed my informational research and design to be more humanitarian-based, advocating for the virtue of altruism especially in academics. Moreover, the melting pot that is my family is the driving force that stimulates my intellectual curiosity, encouraging to research the barrier-breaking niche of how art, engineering, and science relate to one another. Even though it seems like each of my family’s different personal histories would yield us no similarities, the common thread that ties us most of all, aside from merely blood, is our journey as immigrants, and the mentality to keep moving and pushing through high stakes. The privilege of having this in my life growing up gives me hope that we can build a bridge of empathy in academia as well — connecting the upper class and middle to lower class, the urban and the rural, and the elite and non-elite, making sure that no one is forgotten in the pursuit of education.
Six forty-eight: Set Google Maps for the USC Library. Make sure to check out those books on the Vietnam War like Grandma had told you to.
Six forty-nine: Never forget where you came from, and how you got here.
Finally, six-fifty…
Begin the day.