vietnamese karaoke machine RETURN OF A NATIVE DAUGHTER

by:Winbridge      2020-01-02
vietnamese karaoke machine RETURN OF A NATIVE DAUGHTER
1995-07-PDT, Vietnam 04:00:00UNITED STATES --Ho Chi Minh City-On a wet Saturday in June, at Tan sennhart airport, I walked through a group of unfamiliar faces and met my mother for the first time in 20 years."Where is she, where is my child?She cried and ran to me with open arms.Under her control, I cried tears I was worried about not coming.But they came -In the end to see her joy and regret for the decades lost.I haven't seen my mother since I was 5, when she sent me to the United States before the fall of South Vietnam.From the shape of her face and mouth, I can still see the traces of the woman I remember.But I was surprised by her new features: a pair of sunglasses and a few white scars on her left cheek.Behind the glasses, I can see the crumpled hollow her left eye was removed two years ago because of skin cancer.The 68-year-old mother motioned for a burly man with gray hair and a black baseball cap."How come you don't know your youngest child?She walked past you at the door, "she said to him.My father is 67 years old and has hardly changed.Except for a distant glow in his eyes, he looks like the stern man who hit my ass when I skipped school a few years ago.I walked up to him and looked forward to a hug, a handshake, or a hint of approval.He just stood there in an awkward silence.However, in the later pictures I saw his eyes wet with tears as well.For me, go home this time.Three weeks before President Clinton decided to normalize relations with Vietnam in July 10It was finally broken by the war.Since I fled Vietnam by boat, I first set foot on the red dirt road to my parents' home in tan fu town, about 80 miles northeast of Ho Chi Minh City, formerly SaigonAfter a three-Driving an hour from the airport, my parents, two brothers and two sisters and I walked along a path lined with bamboo and banana trees.In the sultry weather of the monsoon season, I had an open season.The pitaya and the dried squid vendor stared at my jeans and shouted, "Hey, cover me!American girl!"As we go to the house near the edge of the Lotus, the neighbor children with dirty, expectant faces follow --filled pond.Seeing the tin-Along the way, I know that I don't expect much in a country with an average annual income of about $230.But somehow, I don't think my family will be affected by poverty.Walking into the house wearing my $60 sandals, I immediately felt ashamed of these expectations.The kitchen and dining area are made of cement.The top of the house is a wall of aluminum plates, and the roof and ceiling are twice the original.The stove is a pile of stones and there is water in the dirty well."Our lives are much better than a few years ago," My mother said ." She added that the neighborhood was just powered up last year.By local standards, my family is considered comfortable, received money from five children in the United States, bought a color TV set, video recorder and unique features of Asian families, a karaokeThe living room hangs a picture of my brothers and sisters in the United States, 5 of the 10 children.This is a gallery of important moments.My sister's wedding, her son's baptism, my college graduationIncluding my trip back to school.On the first night, at a simple rice and bacon dinner, I found out why my family had never been in the US with me.During the days of chaos before the fall of Saigon, my family fled on foot and their property was confiscated along the way.Just before they reached Saigon, a collapsed bridge forced them to turn back."If it weren't for that bridge, we would be in the United States ."year-Old brother, Damm, wants to escape three more times."I never thought I would see you and the rest of my family again."You are all dead to me," he said, telling me why he carefully kept old photos of his home."Now you're back and keep the photos so you'll remember."The next day, I visited my brother Do's noodle shop, a pile of small tables in his living room.I looked at him for about 18 cents per bowl of 2,000 soup.Later, we went out and showed me the four little pigs he raised to make more money.Cement stands are cleaner than dirt-He shared the first floor with his wife and two young daughters.That night, as I lay on the straw mat under the mosquito net, I thought of the hard life my family had here and wondered what would happen if they crossed that bridge.My parents asked me and two sisters to go to Saigon ahead of schedule in the spring of 1975.We were in a truck carrying pigs into town.From there we went to the fishing village of Phuoc Tinh and my uncle provided us with space on his boat.On April 29, 1975, the day before the North Vietnamese occupied Saigon, my uncle's boat sailed to the high seas like thousands of others.However, my sisters and I were left behind because we didn't get to the dock in time.We ran to the beach behind our uncle's house in spite of everything.A passing neighbor recognized us by chance.He carried us into a big basket and rushed to my uncle's boat.A week after drifting, as the water ran out, the United StatesS.Navy ships saved us.We were taken to a refugee camp in Guam where we stayed for several months.After a short stay at Camp Pendleton in Southern California, my sisters and I were sponsored by an Oakland engineer who helped us relocate and rebuild life in the Bay Area.We will continue to go to St.Cyril's school in Auckland and later St. Name High School.I will get a degree in sociology from the University of California.Davis and the allamida Times Star started their journalism career together.But now, 20 years after we sailed, I returned to the beach where I left my hometown.From the mini-Bus window, I can see a pile of salt, collected from the sea water, dotted with roads to Phuoc Tinh.This town, which is dirtier and smelly than I remember, has now turned into seafood.Trucks transporting anchovies to the large fish sauce factory were packed with processing centers.I walked through the narrow streets of the town, through the fishermen's nets, and came to the beach where I was once trapped.Today, the wooden fishing boat fleet jumping on the waves is not a refugee fleeing the war, but a variety of gains.I tried to think of the name of that neighbor who changed my life in 1975 with his random act of sympathy.I am full of gratitude and awe.I realized that in the United States, the life I take for granted is based on the closest phone, the luckiest phone."Come on," cried my sister Soi, interrupting my reverie."Let's go."Twenty years ago, I left this place, my parents and my motherland, and gave up an uncertain future.This time, I turned my back to the South China Sea and headed for my hometown.Macquarie in AucklandA newspaper reporter based in Vietnam spent the year in her home country, Vietnam.Mai, Lien Chan, D
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