"same same but different"

I rubbed my feet quickly over the hot dry dirt just feet away from the foundation of the house. I looked at the beginnings of a home, taking in the rice paddies in the background, the smell of green everywhere, and the vision of the entire community looking on as we began our work on the first house. As I gazed at the beauty before me, a sight that I really could not have been prepared for, I realized how much it took for us to get to that point. This journey started a long time ago, with Dr. Vernon meeting with Thai last year to talk about details for the trip. Then came the support of the Miller Center, and all of the student interest, and interviews that seemed to last for days. And somehow it came down to 10 of us. Not to mention the travel to Vietnam itself. A bus to Little Rock. A flight to Dallas. A flight to Tokyo—a 14 hour flight, that is. You can find out a lot about yourself on a flight that long—for me, I could probably drink cranapple juice till the cows come home, fall in love with jazz music every time I listened to it, and be absolutely incapable of falling asleep without a pillow. Anyway, following another 6 hour flight to Ho Chi Min City, a 6 hour bus ride to Rach Gia City, and a 30 minute boat ride to the village, we made it. It was an overwhelming feeling to be standing there, to be standing in Vietnam. I still can’t believe it happened, I am still trying to piece everything together and figure out exactly what I am taking with me from that trip, and what I was able to give. It’s not easy, and even after a week of being back home, I am still struggling to find the right words to describe the experience. It was so much more than words could even describe.

Vietnam is a place far greater than what textbooks, travel guides, and even what Google image will portray. It is a place that I think is best experienced when there are no expectations. When you expect the unexpected. I had notions of what Vietnam would be like. But deep down, I really had no idea. I didn’t know what it would feel like to be there, what it would be like to be on that side of the world. I felt it the minute we stepped off the plane. First, it was hot. More than that, once we got into the city, it was entirely different from anything American. And once we made it out to the village, the aura of Americanism was so far removed that we, as a group, seemed to be the only remnants of anything American. One of the best experiences was this actually, because we got to witness and experience how life can be lived so differently and yet so beautifully. Sometimes I think Americans assume they have a monopoly on how people should live, but once you step outside that constriction it is very clear that other ways of living should not only be accepted, but whole heartedly embraced.

Being with the kids was where my heart fell in love, where my deep gladness was met completely. Running around with no shoes on, holding the hands of beautiful young boys and girls, and laughing was perfect. I didn’t feel as though I was there to help them, they were helping me. The kids were reminding me of what it feels like to just live. To just laugh and smile and appreciate the hot sun on my skin. It was glorious. Tam, Kao, Lee, Aun. The best part was that the language barrier didn’t even matter, in fact, it made things even better because we had to rely on our body language and facial expressions to communicate. It was okay that we couldn’t really have a conversation through linguistic abilities, we compromised by teaching each other how to count to 10 in Vietnamese and English and by learning new words. My head hurt so bad after our first day in the village—I spent so much time with the kids laughing that I had a headache. Some of the kids go to the school close to where we were working, while others attend school in other villages and areas in the Kien Giang province. The school we were near was small, rustic, and in very much in need of care. There was dirt scattered across the classroom floor, the desks were cramped together, but when we walked by and heard the earnest voices of students learning, the physical structure hardly phased me. The first time I had to use the school bathrooms though, was an experience that I will never forget. The smell, the sight, my senses came alive after my first bathroom trip back there. There is a little nook, behind the yellow school that you go in and can find two “stalls”. You sit. You squat. And you go. If you need to wipe, bring a piece of graph paper with you, otherwise you are out of luck. I learned pretty quickly how spoiled I have lived my entire life, and I can’t help but wonder what my life would be like if I didn’t have the luxuries that I am surrounded by. Going to the bathroom in a pan-like bowl makes you think about things like that.

Our time at the village was spent running around with the kids, talking with people in the community, working on the two houses, and helping to prepare lunch with some of the women from the women’s union. I had this amazing opportunity twice during our trip, and it wasn’t exactly like cooking with mom. The women with other family members squeezed into one of the huts to cook the meal. The women spend the entire meal cooking and squatting simultaneously. Their squatting ability is unbelievable, and it hurt my knees just watching them! We didn’t contribute that much to the actual cooking of the meal, but I think more important things were accomplished. With Ngih we were able to communicate, and we discussed beauty, womanhood, and other cultural differences between America and Vietnam. Our cultural differences are so bold and so obvious at times—what beauty is to society is drastically different, what relationships mean to the Vietnamese are sometimes different, and how women are looked upon in society can be different too. What I liked best about watching the women cook was watching them create and nurture a love so strong that it expounded throughout the entire community. They take the mealtimes very seriously—this is a time for bonding, building relationships, and enjoying each other’s company. Of all things, I think this is what seemed most important to the community—they love each other, and everything they do is to ensure service to others in the community. With all the children running around we couldn’t really tell whose parent was whose—they were all responsible for the kids, for each other, and for the stability and success of the community.

I don’t really know when it was, when it happened, or how it happened. But there was a point mid-week when I was in the village that I literally forgot where we were. I didn’t forget that I was in Vietnam; rather, I forgot that I was in what we might deem a poor community. Yes, Vietnam and the rural area we were in is a poor area, especially by American standards. But that is because our standards are measured differently, our notion of rich and poor is greatly different from that in Vietnam. The thing is, when I forgot where I was, in the sense that I was in poor area, I realized that POOR is and should not be the defining factor of this community. Support, strength, love, loyalty. That is what is in this community. The bonds between families and children and parents are stronger than much of what I have seen my entire life; this community has inspired me to come back here and create stronger communities with my family, friends, and other people that I have connections with. This community, like my whole experience in Vietnam, has encouraged a journey of self-discovery too. It’s incredible how you can travel halfway around the world and learn more about yourself than you ever could at home. I think that is why I love to travel, why I want to be a traveler. In Vietnam I felt alive. I felt I was more myself than ever before, being a woman who loves to laugh, loves to eat, and loves to be with other people. I loved connecting with people I would never before have had a chance at knowing, and also being able to take this journey of self-discovery and integrate it with a spiritual journey. When I held the hands of a mother of one of the families on a boat ride back to the village, I felt utterly and purely connected to God. God is alive in Vietnam, in this village, and in the people we met. I am reminded of how big God really is, how He transcends every notion we hold. This journey helped me understand a little more about myself, and experience God in a new way. When I mean God, it’s in the most the divine yet personal way. God flows through places, nature, and people. I may not understand much about God, but I think I understand this. I have witnessed this, I have felt it. God is just magnificent, beautiful, and so interconnected with humanity and our entire sense of being.

I want to go back. It was hard to leave, harder than I could have ever imagined. Saying goodbye was felt by my entire body, my heart, and my mind. In 10 days I immersed myself in a place so different from anything I have ever known, but it was still so similar to everything humans spend their lives looking for. I found companionship in the Vietnamese students, and I felt that some of the students we were with understood me more than people who have known me for years. I found acceptance in the village, particularly with the women, who embraced our journey as women similar to their own existence as women. I found peace and serenity deep in the delta of Southern Vietnam, where the trees surrounded my entire vision, and where the sounds of bugs nature swooned my heart. The sounds of the forest were like a song, and I think it was like that feeling of finding a song on the radio that you just can’t stop listening to. The song, though in ways unlike anything I have ever heard, was also somewhat reminiscent of the sounds I hear on warm late nights in Arkansas. It reminded me of everything I love about home, of why I am completely taken by living in the American South.

Oh, the South. Our group spent much of our time at reflection discussing community, and how community is so different in diverse contexts. At the end of our time in Vietnam though, we did make the point that communities that work for each other and are inclusive can actually be found in America, despite popular opinion that America is solely a country with exclusive communities that only work for themselves. These communities, in my own personal experience, have been found in the South. I try writing this without idealizing or romanticizing the South, but I don’t know if I can be completely practical. It’s in the South where I found the group of friends that made my heart whole, where I found a community in Pascagoula that had the strongest and most communal-like attitude that I have ever witnessed, and where I met Roslyn, a homeless woman in Birmingham who has encouraged me to love, and to stay true to my heart. Can you find this in other parts of America? Of course. It’s in Colorado. It’s in California. It’s everywhere, when you look hard enough. I just know there is something about the South, and at times in Vietnam, I was reminded of the communal experiences I have had there.

Of everything I learned and experienced in Vietnam, there are a few things I know I am taking with me, and forever will change the way I live my life. I am motivated to take more seriously the communities around me, and to be willing to value these communities more and more, contributing by helping those around me in whatever way they need. I am ready to try to live a more simple life. I don’t think simple is always more beautiful, I just think that when you take out the clutter, when you remove the things that are merely distracting, you can find God, find love, and even find yourself. I am forever carrying with me the faces and laughter of the children. They are why I want to do what I want to do. I am determined to see the world after Vietnam. I want to see how other people live, how other people feel God, and how other people see the world. This world is big. That much is clear. Another thing that sticks out in my mind is realizing how different it is to be poor in America and to be poor in Vietnam. I have heard over and over again how global poverty is much worse than poverty in America. While this stands true from a material and hunger standpoint, it was Mother Teresa who noted that poverty in America, poverty from her experience in New York City, is a deeper poverty. They might have more “things” than the poor in other countries, but in America, they are often ostracized. The poor are not always welcome in America; they are even ignored, putting them on the margins of society. I am certainly not promoting the idea that the global poverty experience is easier, I just am reminded from what I have seen in Vietnam that poverty is not a concrete word. It means more than one thing, and it isn’t the same for our world, different countries, and even individuals.

It’s so Hendrix-Lily. It’s so PFC. It’s just so typical. On paper, we were the ones bringing the help. We were the ones materially, physically, and emotionally supporting this small little village in rural Vietnam. And of course, it became much more. The relationships we built were reciprocal. We may have brought some physical help, but I think the more important thing we were able to give to this community was just showing them that we cared. That we value the Vietnamese people as people, as equals in this great world. I think they might have expected to see a sense of superiority with Americans coming into their village, but they didn’t. We treated them as the same, because they are. When it comes down to it, we are all the same. In return, they gave us so much more than we could have imagined. They welcomed us with open arms, with great hospitality. They taught us their language, their beliefs, and their ideas about life. They opened their hearts, and this instigated a relationship, a bond. We got so much in return, so much more than we could have ever provided, and I know that everyone of us has been changed by Vietnam. We aren’t the same people anymore, and I have enjoyed the ride and know this has altered my worldview forever.

One day as work came to an end, I came back to our meeting place in the village holding hands with Tam. We sat under the tarp they put up for us to eat meals under and we chatted away like old friends. Like everyday during the rainy season in Vietnam, the rain came like clockwork. Just before 4 o’clock the clouds shifted a little and it began to rain. The rain fell from the sky in a trance, for just a few moments I could do nothing but stare at the rain around me. The sun didn’t move an inch, it was glowing on us just as before, only now we were surronded by the harmonious sound of rain hitting the soft soil of Earth. We looked at each other, and like an obnoxious 5 year old, I raced towards the opening of the sky to catch a few raindrops to throw on Tam. We had a rain fight, and before I knew it, we were all dancing in the rain, throwing water at each other, and laughing like crazy. Even Alex Vernon managed to sneak up on me and get revenge by dumping a bowl of water on me. We were soaked. We were drenched. We were happy.

Happiness is like the old man told me

Look for it, but you’ll never find it all

But let it go, live your life and leave it

Then one day, wake up and she’ll be home

Home, home, home
-The Fray, “Happiness”