April 1999 -- August 1999
How did I get here? A skinny kid in Saigon of many dreams ago. A backyard with the golden stupa. Chances. Changes.
I was a very sweet child who had lots of friends and was loved by my parents. A child with spiritual inclinations and a gift for, or maybe an inheritance of, poetry. But I was an old soul even then. My mother taught me to be unconventional, to care not what others think of you, and to above all else be beautiful. Actually, she didn't teach me all that, but I learned from her all the same. And I had my first blessing, this I know from God: I simply loved her. The love I had for my beautiful mother was pure and simple. I wanted to grow up to be like Mom. My innocence made me believe that if I wished hard enough I could turn into a girl. So for a while, the first thing I did in the morning was to reach down there and check. I was absolutely convinced that I had the power to will my sex change. Many wigs and high heels later, I'm still me, everything intact.
I don't remember how I imagined what life in America would be like. It's easy to forget that we risked our lives coming here. We were boat people in 1978. We survived a one-month ordeal on the open sea, no rape, no death, no cannibalism. In the refugee camp, we requested entry to any country that would take us. Just before our departure for the States, Mom bought me a Seiko 5 watch, and for some reason, I got a hair perm.
The fact that we left our homeland, paid a dear price for freedom distressed me whenever I am in I'm-such-a-failure mode. I dropped out of college. I don't have a man. I'm poor. My job sucks! Whatever. I came back to Vietnam only once. The experience alienated me from my own people. My perfect Vietnamese had a "foreigner" accent to the natives. Now, the Vietnam of my almost perfect childhood lives in my memories. If you can't go back, go within, I guess. thai ta