I am a child of immigrants. My mother and father are from Vietnam, and I was born in Holland. My parents moved there in 1979-1980 to escape communist rule and poverty. My father, once a South Vietnamese government official, was forced to escape with my mother in a make-shift, poor excuse of a boat on a one-way trip to anywhere but Vietnam. I can go into details about the conditions in the concentration camp that drove my pop to escape, the days spent lost at sea, the month living in a shitty refugee camp, and the 10 years surviving off of the European welfare state. I can go on, and on. Life for them was always moving too quickly.
We moved a lot so my parents could afford my two sisters and I better chances at life. Reconciling all the values we picked up along the way was one of the most difficult challenges growing up. We didn’t have a tough time picking up on American ways and understanding American customs, but we did have a tough time picking and choosing what ways and customs were appropriate in our house. It was like we lived different lives at school and at home. At school, I did my best to fit in with my classmates; at home, it was like I had to repress everything I had picked up at school.
At the time, I felt like my secondary schools were a playground for middle class (predominately) white kids from liberal families to socialize and show-off while my conservative Vietnamese, old-school Roman Catholic home was an isolated monastery whose junior inhabitants were coerced into taking vows of poverty. My sisters were pretty good with all the filial piety and obligatory Vietnamese mannerisms. Me? I acted out. I needed to become every-bit American. What made it difficult was that I was the minority. I was among the less than 10 or so Asians in my graduating class of 550+. I was Asian, so I was expected to “act” Asian. The slanted eyes, the tiny dick jokes, the nerdy obsession with math – all of it was expected, and all of it was grudgingly embraced. You’d think that any self-respecting person would be able to stand up to it. But I was young, and I wanted to be liked. In an ironic twist, the desire to become American was supplanted by the expectation to conform to the American impression of an Asian.
This was an on-going struggle even up through college. It led to a lot of bad mistakes that I’m not too proud of. I was pleasing my friends, but I was disappointing my family, and I was disappointing myself. I think it took me a while to understand that I was mistaking finding identity with finding popularity. I mentioned that I was Roman Catholic. My family comes from a line of Vietnamese converts as a result of the French missionaries to Indochina. In college, I always viewed the Church as something as oppressive and hypocritical. Afterwards, I realized the Church and my faith were the only things able to reconcile my identity-crisis, and fill the hole in my heart. Could I have done this without Her? Maybe, but what She taught definitely helped.
Moderation. Moderation helped me temper my bad boy habits. It gave me the discipline to do what was right, but more importantly, it gave me the discipline to do what was good. I desired righteousness and I wanted to be set apart from the careless fratty mold. If anything, I wanted to care more. When I moderated my personal desires and habits, it helped me think more of others. I decreased, so that my neighbors could increase. Moderation helped me internalize my struggles and made me more aware and sympathetic of others’ struggles. It led to compassion.
One good thing about my rebellious, identity-stricken years was that it helped give me a worldly view. When I finally got my act together, I could understand and feel where people were coming from because either I had already done something similar, or knew of a person that had gone through the same thing. I would feel for that person, and that led me to greater acts of charity. This word can usually be taken out of context. It’s not just giving things away like as with Good Will or the Salvation Army, but more of a call to greater acts of beauty and goodness for all. Charity is the good vibes or love that you impart on your neighbor out of the goodness of your heart, regardless of who they are or where they come from.
I always struggled with who I was growing up, but I came to a crazy realization: the more of myself I gave away, the more wholesome I became. The more I concentrated on virtue, the less concerned I became with who I was – in nothing, I became something. I suppose in some respects I’m still finding my way, but I know for sure that I am getting there.
Comments
Le is a Syracuse native. He graduated from the University of Rochester in 2010, and moved down to the Atlanta Metro area to attend The University of Georgia. After receiving his graduate degree in 2012, he started his career as a public servant and is planning to settle down in the Peach State. You can find him cheering for the Yankees at Braves games, passionately [and hopelessly] discussing ACC and Cuse basketball in front of SEC football fans, and longing for good wings and pizza from home. You can contact Le at ldoan88@gmail.com
Leave a Reply