The Identity Crisis of a Young Vietnamese American.

It’s hard to get it when I wasn't there.

It’s hard to understand my parents’ hardships when I didn't experience it.

It’s hard to empathize when I wasn't put in a re-education camp because I was a Southern Vietnamese citizen.

It’s hard to feel the sacrifice that my parents made when they stepped optimistically onto that fishing boat to escape the Fall of Saigon.

It’s hard to know what it was like to see your country destroyed and completely lost; the only thing left being a distant memory.

It’s the identity crisis that I, and many of my fellow Vietnamese Americans, experience on a daily basis. I hear story after story after story about the terrible and wonderful things that arose from the war. And yet, I cannot understand the true emotional impact that it made on my family members.

My grandfather served in the Southern Vietnamese army. He watched his fellow soldiers die by his side. He spent 13 years in a re-education camp after the Fall of Saigon in April of 1975.

My mom had to erase all that she new about her country at the age of 15. She was also re-educated under the communist rule. She eventually escaped in 1979 on a fishing boat, where 15–20% of the people on her boat died from disease and starvation. She landed in Malaysia and eventually flew to America without her parents.

My dad escaped on a tiny fishing boat as well. He spent 30 days on a cruise ship (he now really hates cruises) that rescued him before landing here in America. He came with only 5 cents in his pocket.

My uncles were caught trying to escape and thrown in jail in their mere teenage years.

My grandma witnessed her father being kidnapped and executed.

But one by one, my family members eventually made it to America. A lot of them reside in Westminster and Garden Grove, where the Vietnamese have made a small community called “Little Saigon”. The rest of them live in San Jose, where many Vietnamese live as well.

I have spent the last couple of years trying to piece together my identity as a Vietnamese American. I eat Vietnamese food, I listen to Vietnamese music (well sort of), I even listen to the Vietnamese radio when I get the chance. But I still struggle with my identity as a Vietnamese American.

My parents came over here with nothing. They know of Vietnam with a yellow flag and red stripes. They know of a Vietnam that is different than the one today. They understand what it is like to lose a huge part of your identity.

I grew up extremely privileged. I never knew the old Vietnam. The only Vietnam I know of is the “communist one” run by “bastards who destroyed everything.” I only know of the Vietnam “that [I] should never visit” because it is not the same Vietnam my relatives knew. I don’t understand what it’s like to lose such a huge part of my cultural identity.

This is the crisis that many of my generation struggle with. But day by day, we immerse ourselves further into our culture to understand why we are who we are. I hope I can someday bridge the gap between myself and where I come from. And I hope to share with all of you my adventures in bridging that gap.

Till next time,

Victoria