Shocked. Of the Culture Nature

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*I wrote this last week when I was feeling pretty blue, but I decided to post it anyways.

Sept 23, 2012 

Shocked. Of the Culture Nature

“The only real failure is the failure to try, the measure of success is how we cope with disappointment. And we must.”

I posted this quote when I first arrived to Vietnam. I came across it again today and had a think about it. School has been hard. I have definitely had failures. And so I thought, how have I been dealing with disappointment? Not the most eloquently. I often find myself going over the flops in my head, trying to figure out what when wrong. I become pessimistic and grumpy. I with draw from people and complain. I guess I was failing at the coping with failing, an culture shock. My awesome dad sent me a link to this positive teacher pledge. I read it every day, several times a day. I have highlighted the phrases that are most relevant to me. It helps me refocus during the day. http://www.jongordon.com/documents/PositiveTeacherPledge.pdf

For the first month and a half or so, I didn’t have any culture shock at all. I was loving this place! Then about last week the newness and ‘honeymoon’ phase wore off. I now am trying to find a way to make Ho Chi Minh City my home. I need to settle in. 90 percent of the time the noise and the trash and the masses of people don’t bother me. The other 10% of the time, I’m like this place is so dirty, there is piles of trash every where, I haven’t heard a bird chirping in months, I can’t stop sweating, WILL YOU PLEASE QUIT HONKING, and where is the FREAKING TARGET/WALMART?!?! Then it passes and all is well (mostly) again. I guess these are all phases of culture shock that we go through. I don’t think I believed in culture shock until now. It’s a real thing.

This week has been a hard week. I’d say it started last weekend. On Saturday, Michelle, Darren and I went to the Reunification Palace. I couldn’t really tell you anything about it as we didn’t take the tour, we just walked around and took pictures. I’d go again and take the free hour-long tour so I could at least learn something about the place. Then we met up with Alex and went to the War Remnant Museum. I was not prepared for what I saw. Shamefully, I don’t/didn’t/still don’t really know a whole lot about the war in Vietnam. But wow, that place was heavy. My heart broke for this country. The pictures of birth defects from the Agent Orange were so intense. So many of them were things that you would think you could only see in films. Just bizarre. I can’t bring myself to describe it, Google it if you are interested. I realize this is vague but, it’s all I can do right now. I realized that every story has different vantage points. I was floored at the brutality forced onto the Vietnamese from the US. But then I also thought, this is a communist country, how can I know to what extent this stuff is true. I have no doubts that wrong had been done, but just how much of this was exaggerated. I see people on the street that are missing limbs, or their knees bend the wrong way and their feet are permanently stuck to their hips, and I hurt inside. No matter what stories are true, the Agent Orange and other toxins brought over by the US could possibly be the cause of that person’s state. I am so thankful for 10 fingers and toes, and two legs that can hold me and arms that are functional. Wow.  I’m struck with the thought, “How can I not spare some ‘pocket change’ for these people. They can’t actually get a job, save for begging or crawling around and selling lotto tickets. I have been blessed to make so much here.”  As my dad would say, I’m blessed to bless others. It may not always be in the form of money, but I need to find a way to give to Vietnam.

Ok. Then my internet went out at home and couldn’t Skype my sister Kayla. The next morning I was supposed to Skype my whole family for my brother Kade’s birthday, so I hopped on my bike at 5:15 am to head to school to try and use the internet there.  No internet at school either. L I sat on the giant beanbags at school and cried for a minute. Then I called my family for a little bit. It was good to hear their voices, but I really wanted to see their faces. I love and miss you guys (guiltily) way more than I thought I would. I want to be there for the cross-country games and the band performances at high school football games, and singing and dancing with my sisters at ISU. I miss having chats with my dad, and coming and going throughout the day and talking to my mom. I’ve never been homesick before. It’s weird.

I’ve also read a few heavy books that break my heart all over again. While I love to gain new perspectives and read things that are more than fluff, I find it hard to separate myself from the literature. When I read a book, I really involve myself with the characters and their issues and their heartbreaks. Maybe this is why I am so somber today. I just finished a really good book, The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian. I don’t know much about life on Native American Indian reservations, but this writer puts you there. You are seeing and feeling what he is feeling and wow, it really makes you think. He talks about how laughing and tears are basically the same thing. He laughs when he should cry and cries when he should laugh. I related with him in the way that he processes and he copes. I usually cope with humor. The way that he is so heartbroken that he laughs is almost worse to observe than crying. Crying, you at least know they are coping or feeling the pain. Laughing (in my observation’s eye, in this particular context) appears to reveal an even deeper lever of pain that you can’t even feel it. That’s just how this book struck me. Awesomely witty, yet deeply thought provoking. 

Today is more of a somber/reflective day. It’s a tough day. I feel like being honest with myself, honest with you, helps release it. I’m not holding it in too much, I’ve let a little out…

As I'm feeling stupid being in the pool of self pity, I'm looking around in the coffee shop and wondering what the others are feeling. I’m left with the really random thought that no matter what someone looks like, they have a soul, they have feelings, they have pain. Everyone has a story.

Everyone has a story. What’s mine?

Everyone has a story. What’s yours?

9 Million people in HCMC, 9 million stories…