Week 24: Food/Book Binge and Language as Power

Going on my second week in Saigon. The craziness of Tet faded into a routine--eating, sleeping, watching TV, repeat. I don't want to eat "thit kho tau" (pork simmered in coconut juice) for the rest of my life, and the idea of Vietnamese pork sausage has me feeling woozy. As much as I love Saigon, I'm itching to return to my books, colonial documents, and the perverted sense of Hanoi privacy. I need to work! Have posted pictures of a typical Tet meal at my aunt's house.

Went on a crazy book buying binge in Saigon. I've always loved browsing the used book stalls down Nguyen Thi Minh Khai Street, searching amongst the dusty tomes for nuggets of rare book goodness. I actually believe in serendipity when it comes to rare books. In most of these stores, the proprietors stuff the shelves from the ceiling to the floor in no particular order, rendering systematic scanning and searching absolutely impossible. Most of the time, I've found books for the only reason that my eye just happened to rest on that particular title at that particular time. Bought all these books by various Tu Luc Van Doan authors like Nhat Linh, Khai Hung, Hoang Dao, Thach Lam. Most of the novels dated before 1975, but I found a few first editions from the 1930s. However, the piece de la resistance of my book rampage was a complete set of Nhat Linh's Saigon newspaper, Van Hoa Ngay Nay, published in Saigon in the 1950s. Nicely bound, the set remained in great shape after half a century--no mold, no bookworm burrows, no missing pages, just a little yellowed. Finding it propelled me to higher levels of geeky bliss. Possession and acquisition never seemed so sweet.

My time in Saigon has me thinking about language. While at a live music club with my cousin Nhien (where I bought my first 5-dollar beer in Vietnam--INSANE...what is this world coming to?), I took a quick trip to the ladies room. While standing at the mirror adjusting my fabulous coiffure, a couple of scantily-clad Viet Kieu girls came in. I could tell from their trashy dress, overdyed hair (When will misguided people realize that blond hair makes Asian skin look completely washed out? Blech), and Shanaynay nails that they had only recently left the motherland. One can tell at first glance the various generations of overseas Vietnamese in the U.S. I divide them into three general waves of immigration: 1975-1986, 1986 to 1995, and 1995 to present. Those who came to the US in the first wave (like my parents, who immigrated in 1975) left for political and religious reasons. They actually had viable ideological reasons to leave their country, and hold strong views on "Vietnameseness". Second-Wave Viet Kieu Vietnamese who left in the immediate Doi Moi period have had a fewer years to adjust to life in the US, so they espouse less sophisticated/strident view of Vietnam, its culture and politics. And lastly, third-wave immigrants comprise the "nouveau riche" of Viet Kieu--that is, they come to the US for purely economic reasons. They embrace their American culture completely and without question, and never following any concept of the aesthetically pleasing. (A caveat: of course there are exceptions to this schematic.)

OK, so I digress. Where was I? Ah, yes, nearly-naked Viet Kieu girls. So judging from their dress and mannerisms, these girls fell into the category of "third wave" overseas Vietnamese. But the most striking thing was that these girls spoke to each other in a heavily accented, spotted with Vietnamese, broken English. I had to strain my ears to hear them. "Wehr ahr u? Du u hap a khan? I neet tu was my han." It seemed as if they wanted to set themselves apart as "foreigners," showing off the fact that they spoke English. Growing up American, I never thought of language as a status symbol, as a sign of power/difference. When I started spending long periods of time in Vietnam, I found that people treated me differently when I spoke English. Suddenly, my foreignness placed me in an entirely different social norms and criteria. Reminds me of Vu Trong Phung's reportage Ky Nghe Lay Tay (The Industry of Marrying Westerners), in which even badly-spoken French represented some level of social mobility in the colonial context. In a postcolonial context, political circumstances may have changed, but language as a sign of movement between geographical, national--and by default--economic paradigms still looms large. I think the trashy girls, in their own way, understood this dynamic--that's why they insisted on speaking English.

Anyways, enough about the nature of language and postcolonial dynamics. Went out on the town with my friends N, K and B. Fun times. I must admit, Saigon nightlife kicks Hanoi butt anyday. At this point in my life, going out should only be a treat after an enormous amount of work well done--never a lifestyle. Especially in such a stagnant late-night social scene such as Hanoi, a person would quickly tire of the limited nightlife choices (all two of them). Have posted pictures of B, K, and I at Lush, a fabulous new bar in Saigon.

R.I.P. Betty Friedan.