Huong's space

I picked up this book on an Amazon book splurge. I picked up a few other books about Vietnam ( Story of Kieu and a book of poetry by Ho Xuan Huong ), but this is the one I picked out to read first. In a way, it's subject matter is a spiritual continuation of the Namesake, which I had read earlier last year. Where the ending of the Namesake left me uneasy, reading Catfish and Mandala ( shortened to CaM for the rest of this review ) left me feeling hopeful and more at peace with the idea of moving forward with my life.

PLOT SPOILERS BELOW!!!!!!

Semi-autobiographical story of the author's past, with arrows pointing to his future. It covers alot of the same well tread territory as the Namesake, but the narrative structure is different. He covers the present and the past by taking turns, with the two narratives often related to each other, but as often as not simply continuing the thread that interrupted by the other. Present precedes the past, which is also prologue to the present. Its a handy structure for the book, and keeps the ideas fresh in the mind of the ready by never leaving one for too long.

The event the precipitates everything the the apparent suicide of this older sister, Chi. This devastating event causes him to just leave it all and begin traveling. In a way, it is similar the Forrest Gumps run, or the feeling of "running away" that people feel. In the monotonous repetition of the physical self, one begins to feel the oblivion of the conscious self. Of course, like any good bildungsroman, his decision to bike out on his own has him meeting people and seeing places that give him the opportunity to grow and accept the things that has happened to him.

The Namesake left me nervous, since it was a book deeply rooted in the past, with loss and regret permeating each page. A classic tragedy, the character acts normally and watches as his world falls apart around him. Only in the last few pages do we see a gleam of hope as the main character begins to understand the events and people around him. CaM picks up in the nadir of the main character. His sister has just died and his family is still struggling to cope. But the remainder of the novel is dedicated to his healing process. In a way, his coming to terms with his Vietnamese culture is similar to what he wishes for his sister. You see, his sister committed suicide as a man, not as a woman. We see that she is always prone to boylike behaviour from the start, but the stress of like in Vietnam and then the subsequent immersion in American culture has her changing sexes. She does so, but while she gains comfort in the change, she loses her family ties, and is thereafter burdened with this secret that she must keep. This is revealed only at the end, but to the author, he feels ultimately it is not the sex change that drives her to suicide, but her inability to resolve the conflict between her Vietnamese and American sides. In the same way, he feels dead inside, and the this journey is a way for him to not only understand himself, but to understand his sister in a way that he never did in life.

Surprisingly, a great part of the novel doesn't take place in Vietnam. His journey winds along in the U.S., then takes a detour through Japan before finally dumping him in Vietnam. At first he feels more strange her than anywhere else, a by product of his self consciousness and the way the people single him out as a returning native. Slowly though, he begins to see that fitting in isn't a matter of meeting all of the external measures that are imposed on you by others, but to be comfortable with one's state on the inside. It also doesn't mean placing an impossibly high standard that others must accept before they can accept you, but being at peace with one's status at the moment.

I think its hard to explain this concept, but I definitely understood it. As someone struggling to learn Vietnamese and fit in to both cultures, I often felt the tugs of both sides as they pulled me into their orbits. My failings and foibles in one were always remarked upon and I would despair of ever "fitting in". But slowly, as I immersed myself into the Vietnamese culture here in Seattle, I began to feel at ease. Part of it was definitely the learning, and the knowledge that I was working towards learning the language and the culture. I think that created its own anxiety though, because I feared that I would never reach "fluency" in the language or the ways of the culture. Over time though, along with some helpful words from people along the way, I began to grow at peace with my progress. Yes others would mock my halting words, or my terrible accent, or my 2nd grade  ( or worse ) grammar, but some of these same people also encouraged me to go on. They pointed out that what I was saying was funny to them, but they could also tell my improvement, and what else was I to expect from myself? I realized that all this time, the person making me feel weird was me, and that to finally "fit in", I had to accept that my place in fitting in wasn't that of a native speaker who grew up immersed in the culture. It was that of an immigrants' son who had grown up trying to fit in with the white kids, never thinking he'd ever want to learn Vietnamese.

Great book, highly recommended to anyone interested in the ways immigrant children try to fit in. Not really a good travel guide per se of Vietnam. Too many picaresque stories and near apocryphal tales to be taken literally, but a great picture painted with broad strokes of Vietnam and its children living abroad.

Have you ever come across something that you've never seen before, but somehow are intimately familiar with? That is the feeling that was borne in me the moment I began to read the book. Many of the stories and ideas in the book have been scavenged and utilized by Hollywood many years over, removing some of the freshness of the book. That is why it was so surprising that the main novel would still pack such a strong punch after all these years. The book itself is an anthology of short stories, but the center piece, the piece de resistance,  is the eponymously named story. I started reading this story, but for whatever reason, I stopped during the first quarter and began reading the other novels in the collection.

I'll leave it as an exercise to the reader to figure out what crappy hollywood movie is based on some of the stories, but they really are just loose, ephemeral nuggets of ideas. After I finished reading the short stories, I could scarcely believe that they'd be the central idea of a novel, while some of the un-dramatized films are so short as the bear reading twice, if only to make sure that you caught the story at all.

I Am Legend makes up for all of that because it has sufficient length and imagination to rise above the rest of the stories. Erstwhile the most translated of all of the stories, I Am Legend is the basis of The Omega Man starring Charleton Heston,  a new adaptation coming out with Will Smith, and a few other films of minor note. But what all of these films miss is the essential idea of the title. The main character is the last of the human race in the wake of a horrible pestilence that ravages the each. Higher order mammalian creatures are turned into walking virus carriers with many of the characteristics of vampires. Legends of old come to life again to walk to earth. The protagonist stands unafraid, not from courage, but from an unshakable will to live that not even the unbearable loneliness of his existence can extinguish. In his mundane struggle, as he spends each day fortifying his home, you really get a feel for his situation. Not a hero, but a man who has endured in the face of an impossible situation. His bleak days are punctuated by the numbing assault of the evening which brings the vampires. They know that all that it takes is a few mistakes on his part to succumb to them. They prowl outside his home, alternately taunting and tempting him outside.

This situation lasts just long enough in the story to make you begin to feel the sense of hopelessness. To offset this, we are given privy to his thoughts as he goes over the past and contemplates the future. What hope does he have except to find a "cure", or perhaps a way of controlling them. In actuality, we begin to understand that he seeks not to destroy the vampires, but to save them. To him, it is a worse fate to eternally be alone than to die. He speaks not of destroying the vampires with glee, but with melancholy and weariness. Each vampire he destroys he sees as a failure on his part to find a cure.

SPOILERS

The end comes not in the form of one of the legion of vampires that awaits outside his house, or even in the form of his nemesis, a former neighbor who somehow still remembers him, but in the form of companionship. Still a vampire, this woman is closer to him than she is to the rabid vampires. In her, his hope is dashed to find redemption. They have found a way to cope with the cause of the vampirism, but not a way to cure it. He finally realizes that there will likely never be a cure, because this is "good" enough, and this knowledge makes him feel truly alone. She begs him to leave, since the number of this new race grows, and she knows they cannot tolerate him. The closeness between them only magnifies their differences so that they become insurmountable. He represents something so close to what they are, but that they cannot have it becomes intolerable. In the end, he is destroyed by them, a flip flopping of what we know to be legends. The vampire to use is something very close to us, but twisted and filled with dark promises that we long for: eternal life, power, mystery. In the same way, the protagonist represents the same, and in his destruction is immortalized as only legends can be. Something greater than us, but like us as well. Great novel, and highly recommended.

My sister gave me the Namesake for my birthday. She had originally read it shortly after my father died, and had identified strongly with the themes of parental loss and immigrant displacement. She also noticed a strong similarity in its narrative to my and my brother's life. Unfortunately, Loan never a chance to read the book, at least that I'm aware of ( pour some liquor for you dude ). I finished it over the course of a few longish sittings on the bus and before going to bed. It's not an overly long book, but it seems jam packed with detail, the narrative never resting for very long before propelling forward. If you don't read any further, then here is a summary assessment: Excellent. If you are a first/second generation immigrant to America, this book is highly recommended.

SPOILERS BELOW! I'm going to discuss some specific sections of the book here:

The narrative plot of the main character is scarily close to my own. In fact the similarities are so close that I often didn't feel emotionally close to the character, but rather I felt a ghostly sense of deja vu. Is it truly tragedy that precedes immigration? My own parents lived through the Viet Nam war, and the father survives a horrible train wreck. In both sets of lives, the event forever colours the parents perception. Future events are always to be perceived through the cracked eyeglass of the past, bringing caution and suspicion of these new things. But it also gives energy and motivation to move and improve: a concrete sense of death and mortality prevents any waste of time. I don't think I ever realized this about my parents until I had finished reading the book. I never could stand the overbearing and overzealous caution and fear with which they viewed things out of the ordinary to them. Recently, I broached the subject of going to Malaysia for a Vietnamese youth conference regarding establishing democracy in Viet Nam. Before, her instant fear of the Communist government giving me a hard time would have mad me angry, and irritated at her knee-jerk reaction. Now, I paused for a minute and remembered how her entire life turned upside down because of these events.

For as long as I could remember, I have had problems with my name. Similarly, Gogol struggles with his name. Not an Indian name, but a name of an obscure Russian author, he never truly understands why his father gives him the name. In the novel, his father explains to him that the name isn't meant to remind him of the tragedy, but the salvation, and subsequent life of success and blessing the family has in the States. Did my parents feel the same way? Shortly after I finished the book, I discussed my name with my mom, and confirmed that I was named after the Vice-president in the democratic government's regime. So what's in a name? My name is nigh-unpronounceable by English speakers, often crudely contracted to "Hung", but the name is little better in Vietnamese, a girl's name through and through, its excessive beauty only serving to provide sharp relief against my unusually large body and mannish features. Was it all a cruel joke? Or was it a way of my parents to embed a shard of hope in their greatest hope. I see now that my parents always hoped the government would return, that the rights would be set anew. Even as they exist along with the rest of the Vietnamese diaspora around the world, they cannot completely give up this hope that events 33 years ago would eventually right themselves. Why didn't I see this sooner? For all these years I would shrug my shoulders and roll my eyes when asked about my name, (purposefully?) blind to its meaning.

Gogol dates a string of white girls, before marrying an Indian girl, and sadly, divorcing her later. Her betrayal struck me as the falsest note in the book, but maybe it did so because I innately refused to believe it. My disbelief was driven by the sharp sense of fear I felt at the event. Was this book my future as well as my past? Would I too come to love a Vietnamese Girl, only to be betrayed in the most demeaning, trivial way? Her betrayal comes not during storm and stress, but during plodding normality. The march of life towards inevitable marriage, compromise, and muddled satisfaction. I don't know. Nothing is certain, that is one of the few things that is certain, but one cannot exist in a state of protection, under a veil of fear. My sister pronounced that the feeling of inevitability is what drove them apart. The conceded to the feeling of expectation, rather than follow the tumults of love. Did they ever truly love each other? I think his lack of participation in her friends lives, and her own secret French life is what drove them apart. What is it to love someone? Is it sacrifice? I guess I always associate duress with sacrifice: the gift of the unwilling. If you told someone you would give everything for them, and they demand it, did you really love them? And could they have ever really loved you? Gogol enters into this relationship shortly after his father dies, and the plot barely concerns itself with the rest of this family during the courtship. Perhaps this is his escape from his duty, his pretence that a marriage will heal his grief and ease his burden of sadness and (new) duty, now that his father is gone. If he had truly loved her, he would have let her go on her fellowship rather than letting her make the silent sacrifice. I think the silent sacrifice of the fellowship provides the seeds for her discontent. A friend of mine told me that marriage was the ultimate sacrifice. Maybe really loving someone means never letting them make that sacrifice.

Having just taken yet another day off of work to complete work on my house, I just wanted to take a small assessment of the insanity that has possessed me of late.

Step #1: Weed the lawn

All the houses in my development didn't come finished. That means there is a little oasis of grass in the front, but everywhere else is barren dirt. Well, it will start out barren dirt, but pretty soon they were all teeming with flora of the weed variety. In addition to that, I had a giant black berry bush on the back edge of my lawn. More on that later, but to paraphrase Dave Chappelle: "Bush, you are the goddamn devil."

I spent a few weeks of backbreaking labor weeding the lawn. I'd made a few desultory attempts before, that this weeding a very important prep step to putting in grass. I live in Seattle, so the shovel was nigh useless, so another tool was needed. Enter the pickaxe. I have grown to love this tool and its wonders never cease to amaze. The sharp point enters the same ground that is highly resistant to shovel entry, and additionally, its a great weeding tool. If you want to pull out the weeds by the roots, just strike the ground with the point and wiggle the pickaxe. The entire ground around the weed will be loosened, greatly facilitating removal. Additionally, if you're in a hurry, the mattock end of the pickaxe will speedily hack off weed tops, and is even good for completely uprooting shallower weeds. I must admit at this point though, that after a few weeks of working at this, I was probably only 2/3's done with the yard. So onto step #2.

Step #2: Buy Dirt

I had 19 yards of top soil delivered to my house in order to spread around, fill in the low spots, provide a good bad for my sod, and also grade out some of the elevation on the property. Before I continue, if you don't know, 19 yards is a FUCK ton of dirt. Its enough to completely cover a large tarp and have dirt spilling off the sides. 19 yards of dirt provides approximately 4" of cover on 1100 sq feet, and gradually reduced cover for another 300 sq feet, which meant I was slightly short for my yard. Don't skimp on the dirt, you'll always have some use for it, and if you are short, your lawn is going to suffer. I actually over-ordered and ended up with just slightly less than what I needed. If you live in Kent, Carpinito Brothers is where I got my dirt, and as much as I can care about dirt, I liked the dirt from there.

Step #3: To Grass or to Sod? That is the question

I went with sod. It cost allot more ( approximately $500 for ~1400 sq ft ) than grass versus grass seed ( ~$100 for seed, tops ), but in the end, a few things swayed me.

1. Faster: You can't be instant grass.
2. Somehow more familiar: It just seemed easier to find advice and help for sod.
3. Timing: I put the sod in at the end of August, which is not ideal grass time, but it was ideal sod time.
4. Weed preventative: The sod could compete much more competitively with the weeds than brand new seed. Additionally, it also compete very well with the blackberry, forcing the rhizomes to run under the grass.

I think seeding is a great low cost alternative, but I just felt more comfortable doing sod.

Step #4: Hire good help

I initially had this idea that I'd do most of the work myself over the period of 2 days. Don't make the same mistake I did. I initially hired my friend Sean to help me with the dirt, and by the end of the day, we'd moved maybe 40%. By 12:00 PM a day and a half later, I was done. I was also contemplating the pure insanity that I was drinking beer on my front step with a day laborer I had hired before to celebrate the conclusion of the work!

In the end, I ended hiring 3 day laborers for 1 day, with 1 of them coming back the following day for 1/2 day. Total laborer days was 4.5, not counting my labor, although I helped everyday. A few hints for getting help, since this was the most confusing and scary part of the whole process.

1. You get what you pay for: I offered around $100 for the day, and that seemed to go over well.
2. Know where to look: If you live in the greater Seattle area, the words Home, Depot, and Lowe's are a good starting place. If you put Seattle in front of the works Home and Dept, you'll be even better off.
3. Work with the help: Not only will you be able to supervise, but at least in my case, this seemed to help morale quite a bit. And I'm being serious when I say that morale is an important factor when hiring complete strangers to do your bidding.
4. Don't be scared, and treat them like people: I think this goes without saying, but if the prospect of having your car mobbed by a crowd of strangers, most of whom have only a passing acquaintance with the English language, don't ever do this. They'll know it, and will probably lead to general unpleasantness. Which leads into this part: EVEN IF THEY ARE DAY LABORERS THEY ARE PEOPLE!! I can't believe I even need to say this, but apparently its common practice to fuck these guys over. Here is a little list in case you need it spelled out:
   1. If you pick them up, you drop them off.
   2. If they are working at your house, they get to use the bathroom! You of course are entitled to hang out while they do so, and I'd recommend that you monitor strangers in your house ( do I really need to say this??? )
   3. Be firm, but don't be a dick. Unless its time to be a dick. Like if someone jumps into your car and pretends to not know that you are telling him to get out, its alright to say ,"Get out of my car. Right now. Get out of the fucking car."
   4. If you buy them lunch, like most people, they'll be pretty grateful.
   5. Providing little things like water helps out.
   6. Pay in cash, and pay at the end of the job.
5. It might be good to let someone know you are working with these people: I knew the builder's people, and my sister also stopped by. I didn't plan it this way, but if shit ever went south, it was a good idea on my sister's part to check in periodically.
6. Don't answer anything you don't feel comfortable with: Don't go all silent, but if they ask what you do, feel free to fill in something vague. Same goes with any questions. You are there to get your work done, and being nice helps get that done, but to quote Dave Chappelle again ,"Where am I from? A little place called none-of-your-goddamn-business."

I never would have gotten done without them, and they helped me out by providing not just labor, but allot of experience in doing things that I had never done before.

So the grass got put in and everything was dandy. After that it was just laying down some sod starter, water every day, and not cutting it for as long as I can stand ( for the record, grass was done Aug 16th, and its still hasn't been cut ). Next post will be about putting in the fence...

so these are the final selection of shots from the wedding from OVER 2 Years AGO!!! After I moved here, I pretty much lost all motivation for anything besides videogames, so these never got done. But that is neither here nor there, about the pictures!

All were shot with a Nikon D70 w/ SB800 flash. I managed to lose a great deal of the photos, all the junk ones, but I felt pretty bad about that. I think I sent Helen and Marty a CD with the series of photos I had picked out as "better", that thankfully weren't lost. I narrowed that down to these nine. I hope guys enjoy these. My photoshopping isn't amazing, but I think that a little judicious cropping and whatnot really has brought out the beauty in the pictures.

Enjoy guys!