In My Eyes: Returning to Vietnam

As told by Thuhang Pham

In this essay, Thuhang Pham shares her first trip back to Vietnam, where she buried her grandmother, met her father’s family, celebrated Tet, and was so affected by the poverty that she decided to make a change.

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The plane bounced on the runway as we touched down in Ho Chi Minh City. It was midnight, and I felt excited but also nervous. I left Vietnam 30 years ago as a baby, and this was my first time back. I came back to bury my grandmother, who had passed away last month. She had lived with us in California and had helped raise me. Her final wish was to be buried next to our grandfather in Can Tho, Vietnam, where they raised five boys and five girls before the war.

It was two weeks before Tet, the lunar New Year celebration, and I could feel the excitement as I stepped off the plane into the heat and humidity, spotting my mother and stepfather in the eagerly waiting crowd. I was finally here! I knew it would be an emotional week. Like many Vietnamese families, my parents, sisters and I fled the war in 1979, when I was one year old. We survived the boat trip to Indonesia. During our year in Indonesia, my father passed away and my brother was born. A year later we came to southern California.

This would be a week of ‘firsts’ – my first time back in Vietnam, my first Tet in Asia and the first time seeing my grandparents’ tomb. It would also be the first time meeting my father’s family -- people I knew only through letters, photographs and my mother’s stories. I thought about Vietnam’s poverty, and the scars left by war, and wondered what I’d see.

A positive energy seemed to follow us from the airport to Ho Chi Minh City where swarms of people zipped around on motorbikes. I watched them drive up to street cart vendors and buy late-night snacks like banh bau, a steaming dumpling filled with ground pork or quail. They city’s vibrancy amazed me, as did its gleaming high rises and expensive retail stores.

But the next day, I saw a different side of the city. Mothers with babies and the elderly begged for food in the streets. When a child with big black eyes and dirty clothes asked me for money, I made the mistake of giving him 5,000 dong – about 30 cents, or enough to buy a meal. Within seconds every child in the area swarmed me. I didn’t know what to do. How could I look these poor children in the face and then just walk away? Mesmerized by their need, I gave them all the money in my purse. But I vowed not to do this again. There had to be a better way to help them.

We left for Can Tho after a week of traveling through Central Vietnam, where we took in the Chinese-influenced architecture in Hoi An, the Buddhist temples in My Son’s densely green valley, and the imperial city of Hue. During the five-hour drive from Ho Chi Minh City to Can Tho, we sped past small shacks with tin roofs that doubled as homes and restaurants. It shocked me to see children playing outside, so close to traffic. I wondered if they went to school, or if they had enough food or adequate health care. The further we traveled, the more intense these concerns became. I started thinking twice about my life. The things I thought I needed – a new summer wardrobe, or a new handbag -- I really didn’t need. The problems I thought I had weren’t real. I felt my mind and my heart opening.

When we arrived in Can Tho, the Mekong Delta’s largest city, my mother showed me the place that was once my grandfather’s jewelry store. A family lives there now. We visited what was my grandparents’ home, where my mother grew up. Strangers live there, too. Then we got on our motorbikes and sped down a dusty road towards my grandparents’ tomb. I had missed the actual burial -- I couldn’t get my visa in time. But standing at the beautiful and peaceful site, I knew my grandmother would be happy here near my grandfather.

The following day we visited my father’s sisters. They greeted me with wide smiles, and looked at me as if I were a figment of their imagination. They knew me as a baby, and here I was a grown woman standing in their modest living room. That afternoon, over a lunch of cured fish, rice and soup, we shared memories, laughs and stories. More cousins joined that afternoon, including my youngest cousin, who’s only eight years old. He goes to school, does homework, and is healthy and happy. I wished all children in Vietnam could have his opportunities.

After the emotionally charged trip to Can Tho, I treated myself to a relaxing few days on the beach in Nha Trang. I stared out at the emerald-colored ocean and tried to sort through my feelings. I became determined to improve the lives of the families here, to create lasting opportunities for the children.

When I got back to New York, I started speaking to people about my new-found passion. A friend recommended I visit VRE’s website. I did, and have since become a dedicated VRE volunteer, working on multiple projects. I know that by working with VRE, I’m helping children like the ones I saw by the side of the road – do they go to school? Do they have adequate healthcare? And I know that because of VRE, and the help I’m giving them, more and more of these children can answer ‘yes.’