Parlez vous Vietnamese?

A few days ago, I tried to write in Vietnamese about the situation in Myanmar, and I couldn't do it. The words "political unrest" completely stumped me. I read, write, and speak Vietnamese, but as I age, my ignorance of advanced Vietnamese confounds me. I have no vocabulary to write about important things, things of substance, things that matter in the world, that matter to me. I cannot find the terminology to talk about politics, economics, sociology, psychology, literature. Ah, literature. Poetry, novels, essays -- I have no words to say what I mean. I talk like a middle school student in Vietnamese. In this second language, my words don't nuance, they don't arch, and they don't taste, feel, or sound like what I want them to taste, feel, and sound. I want to rant and rave against the frustrating experiences in Myanmar, and what I end up saying are trivial, meaningless words equivalent to nothing but feelings.

I saw in an episode of House, or some other medical t.v. show, a story about a young musician who loses the ability to speak. Whenever she wants to say something, another word comes out. To say "yes," she says something completely different, such as "applesauce", because her brain isn't able to make the connections.

In some ways, I feel the same. I can read and understand the newspapers in Vietnamese. I love the poetry and the novels. I love the idioms, the proverbs, the slang. But I only know, understand, and appreciate them when I see them written/produced by someone else. But, when asked to translate, or even to think of those on my own, I am at a loss. French is much the same way. I can understand Les Miserables. But for me to construct those magnificent sentences on my own? Never. Create those rhythms and wordplay on my own? Impossible.

This may be strange, but I am afraid that my children will forget the Vietnamese that I so love. Their knowledge and understanding of Vietnamese will be an even smaller percentage than mine. Their retention rate perhaps even less. They will know conversational Vietnamese, but to debate the merits of Nguyen Du's "Truyen Kieu," they'll never be able to do it. Or, perhaps, they might? I can only hope.

I fear that their worlds will be even smaller because of their limited language skills. I am afraid that their understanding of the world will be restricted because of their limited linguistics skills. I hope they will want to learn to be multilingual, and hope that they'll recognize the importance of being a polyglot. I pray that they'll recognize the responsibilities they will carry and appreciate opportunities they will have when they broaden their horizons with different languages. I pray that they'll learn to love being able to switch back and forth like Ilan Stavans' "linguistic chameleon", being able to click from one phrase to the next, having at their disposal multiple modes of communicating their imagination, their hopes and their disappointments.

For now, I continue practicing my Vietnamese, one word at a time.

"Sau rieng, rieng mot ta sau..."

Monks on New America Media

Prayers for and letters about and spreading the news about Myanmar. Go here to see what happens "When Monks Get Mad."

By the way, I love that I'm just now discovering ethnic media from New America Media.

scrabbling Myanmar

My recent obsession with scrabble makes me see scrabble in everything. While I do not wish to make light the situation in Myanmar, I feel as if the hundreds of protesters are scrabbling to write the largest words, the loudest words, the heaviest words onto the "board" so that everyone can see. The letters they have to work with are difficult, and sometimes they are arranged in an order that I do not understand, or perhaps in a different language and context that I will never understand, but still, I think they are writing their texts. One letter at a time. And I am in awe of their work, and want to contribute one of my letters too.

http://www.agi.it/world/news/200709270933-pol-ren0003-art.html

too far to care

Recently, news radio and news stations and newspapers have been rather silent on the cases of the Jena 6. And they have been silent on what is happening in Burma. And they have been silent on what has happened in Sumatra. And they have been silent on many other things. Even though horrific injustices are occurring in the midst of our very own "democratic free land", despite the fact that there are 6.1 billion people in this world living their daily lives, I have only heard of these news broadcasts twice on the radio and read about them once on the online news bulletins for the masses.

Is it possible that we have been silenced by our horror, disgust and anger at such atrocious, gross civil rights violations and social injustices that have been committed in Jena? Or have we been simply ignoring the situation -- turning a blind eye to what is happening because we have no immediate stake in the outcome. Is it possible we are appalled by the U.S.'s weak response in aid to the earthquake disaster in Sumatra? Or do we think it is so far away that it does not affect us? Have we been shocked into non-speech by the situation in Burma? How is it possible that US News is so quiet. It gives new meaning to the phrase All Quiet on the Western Front. A friend recently wrote about the silence of VN news in regards to Burma. We are hearing silence everywhere. And it is deafening.

poetry project snafu

So, the Bade Museum is not giving us the flexibility that we need/want in order to do this hanging installation (of which I have not written on this blog), and it appears that we will have to drastically modify our site proposal. What really frustrates me is that we were given the impression that they could accommodate us. Now, it seems we either have to change our concept or find another venue for 2009. Aaaarrrgh.

by yourself?

Just last week, I heard on NPR a very smart and sassy psychologist who very eloquently commented on the phrase/question "just one?" that is often asked by the waitstaff at various dining locations. I was not only very impressed by the humor, irony, sarcasm, and wit of her commentaries, but I absolutely agreed with her on all counts. Listening to her, I too wanted to share my woes as a single diner. But, I hesitated to tell you all these things, because as you know, there are bigger fish to fry and more worrisome causes to consider.

But, just today, I read over at Kudzu Jungle something that inspired me to return to my original musings on this topic. So, here they are ...

Last Friday, finding myself suddenly alone on a perfectly wonderful evening preceeding what promised to be a fantastic weekend, and feeling decidedly too lazy to cook a full 3-course meal, and detesting the idea of washing my own dishes, I ventured to restaurant X. With nothing more than a slight hesitation, I pushed open the door and entered into the warm candlelit restaurant.

Hostess: "How many?"

Me, out loud: "One."

Hostess: "By yourself?"

Me, in my head: "No, while I say one, there are actually 10 more of me coming right through this door, because when I said one, I wanted 10, really, because I just wanted to test your arithmetic skills."

Hostess, in her head: "Another one, dining alone on a perfectly wonderful Friday evening, preceeding what promises to be a fantastic weekend... so, so sad..."

Hostess, out loud: "This way please... In the corner ok?"

So she ushered me into a dark corner squeezed between two couples, at which I shook my head no and asked for a different table. As she removed the second placesetting, I remembered the Perspectives piece I'd heard on the radio, and tried to think of how many times I'd been asked "just one?" or "alone?" or "by yourself?".

I have no problems dining on my own -- I do it often and I don't feel sad about it. It is the state of things for (some) independent young persons in the 21st century. I enjoy it: the convenience of not having to cook and clean up, the idea of having a nice glass of wine on a cool evening just because and not having to purchase an entire bottle, the silence of being in your own thoughts, the peacefulness of being at ease with your self, etc.

However, there are many who do not enjoy dining alone. In fact, they may feel embarassed doing many things alone. Some even feel empty, lost, even destitute at the notion of going anywhere without a man by her side (why don't we say man on her arms?). I think the waitstaff that I've met -- many of them look at single diners and cannot help but judge, wonder, imagine what the reason why this person or that person is eating by herself. I do marvel at the ability of some to intone at just the right pitch the two words "by yourself?" -- every conjecture, every assessment is injected into the slightly inflected question mark at the end. But of course, there are some who think nothing of it. And those folks are probably the ones who would dine alone, too. Just one. Just like me.

accidents

This morning, my dad got into a car accident. Poor pops. He was stuck between two trucks on 360 during traffic jam, leaving Arlington, and was rammed by a truck. He's ok, not seriously injured, slightly sore. Neck hurts. Chest pains, a bit. Tomorrow will be doctors' visits. They've met w/ the lawyers who will work things out. The itty bitty Hond Civic is totaled. I know he was shaken up a bit, especially since the airbags didn't deploy. But, he was more saddened that the car was destroyed; he said he'll miss it, becuase in driving it to work, he is reminded of my brother (who used to drive it before coming out here). Of course dad would think first of the car. Everything else is insignificant.

I'm stealing this:

"Lord God, our Protector and Provider, we give thanks for the presence of your angels in the midst of our daily lives. Continue to guide us with your grace and love, that we may live to serve you with our utmost. Amen."

virtual reality, really

Just last week, a friend commented that I spend too much time in virtual space, and chastised me for not cultivating real-life relationships. Am I online that much? Sigh.

just like an American

A recent conversation with Ms. X led me to blog once again, and think hard, about what it means to be "an American". During our very casual and friendly discussion, she noted that I sound "just like an American" without an accent or anything.

How do you respond to that?