Class Blog

This year, me and my fellow students will be keeping a class blog.  Every month each one of us will write a new post.  Go here to check it out: http://syav.blogspot.com/. I'll be posting my monthly blog on here as well.

Here's my first post. Hope you enjoy!

Smothered by the midday heat, pineapple woman squats on the grimy sidewalk behind her basket of fruit. A conical straw hat shades her eyes from the angry sun. Her stick straight, graying hair is pulled into a tight bun at the nape of her neck. A few strands of hair fall into her face; she swats them away, irritated. Her eyes glint with frustration. She hasn't sold enough pineapples today. Her floppy plastic sandals are broken. Her knees ache from squatting like a frog for so many hours. She's drowning underneath the lazy afternoon sky.
A boy is squatting behind her, poking at a burning pile of trash. The bitter smoke of flaming plastic licks her back, intensifying the already unbearable heat. She grimaces, resisting the urge to tell fire boy to take his matches and mischief elsewhere.

Two American tourists, one man and one woman, walk down the street. The young woman is fair skinned and willowy, with blonde mermaid hair and an inquisitive step. Her husband is tall and built, with scruffy brown hair and glasses perched on his pointy nose. He fumbles with a map, craning his neck to look at a street sign. The woman clicks away with her camera, desperate to have evidence of this dilapidated place. Together, they attract many curious stares.

As soon as mermaid woman and her husband come into view, pineapple woman forgets about fire boy. As if a light is switched on in the attic of her mind, her face lights up. Her eyes are rosy now, gleaming with hope. She is sure that these foreigners will buy her fruit. She scrambles to rearrange her pineapples, putting the freshest, ripest ones on top.

When mermaid woman and her husband are closer, pineapple woman beckons the two over, friends, come here, and smiles kindly. She points at her fruit, encouraging them to take a look. The two Americans are surprised. The woman looks to her husband, unsure of what to say to this little wrinkly woman gazing up at them with her soft brown eyes and crooked smile. The man simply waves his hand dismissively, avoiding eye contact with pineapple woman. Oh, friends, come here, she invites them. But the man pretends not to hear her, and continues walking down the street. Mermaid woman hesitates with her step, feeling a pang of remorse for the old woman. But her remorse is short-lived; she walks away quickly to catch up to her husband.

Hope extinguished, pineapple woman is ablaze with loneliness. Her knees begin to ache once again as fire boy makes another small pile of trash. She turns around to watch fire boy light the match. The reflection of the flames flickers in his eyes. Feeling her eyes etching into him, fire boy looks up at pineapple woman. They make eye contact through a sheet of black smoke. It dances between them, mocking their existence as it rises higher than their reach. Together, they look up to the sky, as if the remedy to their ailments is hidden in the fleeing ashes.

Saturday Afternoon with my Cousins

Police, Peace, and an iPhone

It has been an eventful week.


I had my first experience with communism.  At 9:00 pm last Friday night, a policeman in a green uniform made a personal visit to my apartment, asking about my passport.  I was shocked, a little bit frightened, and very confused.  My mom sat in the living room with the policeman and they made small talk, looking at some paperwork and drinking tea.  My mom didn't seem concerned at all; she was laughing and smiling.  Meanwhile, I was watching them, and seriously concerned that the policeman was going to take me away.  I kept imagining me sitting in a dark room being questioned in Vietnamese by more men in green uniforms about why I am in Vietnam and yelling, "I don't speak Vietnamese! I don't understand!"

Thankfully, that didn't happen.  After an hour of talking, the policemen left.  A few days ago my mom went to the police station to sort things out.  I still have no idea why.  The exact same thing happened to my friend Jaya on the same night, and she is equally as confused as I.

***

I started my community service project this past Thursday.  Along with three other girls, Annaleah, Julia, and Nan, I'm volunteering at Peace Village.  Peace Village was started by American veterans about 20 years ago for children suffering from the effects of Agent Orange.  The first Peace Village was in Ho Chi Minh City, but now there are 12 different villages scattered throughout Vietnam.  The one that I am volunteering at in Hanoi cares for 150 children, around ages 3-20.  About half of them spend the nights there, and half come for the school day and return to their families at night.  The children's disabilities range from mild autism, to crippling deformities and severe mental retardation.

My first experience at Peace Village was very moving and eye opening.  I spent my time sitting with a 13 year old boy, working on beautiful needle point.  One of his hands was deformed and he had some sort of mild autism.  But instead of me helping him, he helped me.  He threaded my needle for me, showed me where to sew, and tied the knots.  He laughed at me when I sewed in the wrong places, and showed me how to fix it.

To be honest, it didn't really seem like he or any of the other children desperately needed our help.  There really wasn't a whole lot we could do for them.  My friends Annaleah and Julia just ended up sitting in a classroom with kids while they drew pictures.  They said it was very disorganized, and that there was not enough teachers to handle the many kids.  But it almost didn't seem to matter, because most of the children didn't have the cognitive ability to understand what was going on or to speak coherently.

I was very confused when I left that afternoon.  If I couldn't make a difference, what was the point of even going there?

But, as I thought about it in the cab ride home, I realized that I could make a small difference to the children.  I can't fix their disabilities, or repair the broken down building, but I could become friends with them.  I can form relationships with them, and hopefully brighten their day.  Making friends is always great, but in this situation, I think it is especially important.  Most of the children do not have the opportunity to make friends from outside Peace Village.  I am really looking forward to spending more time at Peace Village.

***

While riding back home in the taxi from Peace Village, I noticed something shiny stuck between the seats.  A candy wrapper? A quarter perhaps? Nope, even better: an iPhone.  

Immediately, a little devil popped up on my right shoulder, and a little angel on my left shoulder.  The devil said, "FREE iPHONE! HELL YEAH!" The angel said, "Somebody is really upset that they lost that iPhone.  You should return it."  

Of course, my guilty conscience listened to the little angel.  When I got home, I charged up the iPhone, and called the contact listed as Home. Miraculously, the woman on the other end spoke perfect English.  I explained to her how I found the phone in a taxi and how I wanted to return it to her, and she was so surprised.  She laughed, telling me she was sure that she had lost it. 

We agreed to meet up the next day after I finished school.  At 4:00 pm, a cute little Vietnamese woman pulled up to the curb on her motorbike in a white blouse and red shoes.  "Sarah!" she exclaimed.  

She told me her name was Ly, and thanked me a million times for returning her phone to her.  I told her it was really no problem at all, but to show her gratitude, Ly gave me a huge bag of qua nhan and qua chom chom (which are my absolute favorite fruits.  I'm pretty sure half my body weight at this point is qua nhan).  I thanked her and gave her a big hug.  Ly said she wanted to talk to me more, and get to know me, so I gave her my email.  I can't wait to get to know her more too! 

This brings me to my next point: the Vietnamese are incredibly friendly people.  On numerous occasions, people who I have just met have invited me to play games with them, go out to eat food, or go to the movies.  One girl asked me to come travel with her family this winter to Sapa to see snow.  On the plane ride over here from Hong Kong to Vietnam, the man sitting next to me struck up a conversation and we ended up talking for the entire flight.  He told me all about his family and job, and asked me many questions about where I live and why I was going to Vietnam.  He gave me his phone number and told me I was welcome to come stay with his family out in the countryside anytime that I wanted. I was completely taken aback. He truly wanted me to meet his family and give me a tour of the countryside.  A stranger would never extend their hand like that to someone else in the U.S.  Before we stepped off the plane, he gave me a pen that he bought in Canada.  He said he saw me writing in my journal earlier in the flight and knew that the pen would be useful for me.  I thought that was so kind of him.

I am having an incredible time.  My host family is finally starting to really feel like my family.  Earlier today, my mom taught me how to make fried egg rolls.  They were delicious! 

The people here are so delightful.  I love answering and asking questions.  Random people on the street will ask me where I am from. Here's what that conversation usually looks like:

Where are you from? New York?

No, Virginia.

Vargeena? 

Yes. It's close to Washington D.C.

Oh.. Okay. 

Then one of my friends will mention that they are from New York, and the person will get all excited.  Yes, yes! New York! It is so beautiful!

I'm slowly getting accustomed to the food here as well. I'm a little less shocked when I see a restaurant advertising dog meat, or a fish head in a bowl of soup.  I avoid making faces when my mom puts a plate of chicken organs down on the table for dinner.  I even tried caterpillar and pig stomach (I don't recommend either).  Once, I was eating a bowl of soup that had a huge chunk of unidentifiable meat in it.  My mom told me it was pig knee.  There was still hair on it. There's also a small village nearby that specializes in  snake meat; I might have to go check that out sometime.  Rumor has it that they serve a drink with a beating cobra heart in it.  Any takers?

Sometimes I feel like I'm living in a dream.  I still cannot believe that I am here.  Everyday, there's something new to learn and something interesting to see.  I'm halfway around the world! How insane is that?

Bat Trung

Today we took our first field trip.  At 9 am we all piled into a public bus, on watch for pickpockets, and took the 10 km trip to Bat Trung, a small town just outside of Ha Noi.  Bat Trung has specialized in handcrafting beautiful pottery since the 14th century.  It was a fun, tiring day.  Take a look:

Woo with his pink umbrella

beautiful persimmons

more persimmons!

qua nhan (longans), my favorite fruit.

Come on, Jaya, smile for the camera!

Waiting for the bus.

Nan!

Protect those backpacks. 

Annaleah, Woo, and Abby squished together on the bus.

handcrafted pottery

clay paintings

so much pottery!

even more pottery

I love elephants! Only animals besides humans that mourn for  those who have died.

so colorful!

Incredible hand painted vases

Coconut spoons! What are these doing in a pottery village...?

Max, Andrew and I.  

What would you put in a vase this big? 

Hey, look! It's me with a giant vase. 

So, so, so beautiful! It's incredible that they have been doing this for  600 years!

Add caption

Taking a break.

Making pieces to decorate the pottery.

So detailed and precise.

Huge pile of clay (not dinosaur poo, as many of us assumed)

The beginning of a clay buddha 

HUGE vase, 1 of 18 that are being made for the restoration of an important temple in Viet Nam.  In the spring, they will have a huge ceremony that will be broadcast on live television as they unveil the vases (we, being the important teenage diplomats that we are, were personally invited by head honcho to attend the ceremony). 

Working on the huge vases

Thay Chuck checking out the mold for the vases.

dinosaur poo

Just messing around with my camera a bit..

More coconut spoons!

What are you doing Maddy?

Lunch time!

We got to make our own pots! It was a lot harder than it looks.    I squished my pot on accident at least a dozen times.  The women who were helping us made it look so easy! 

Elliot and Thay Chuck's daughter, Molly, deeply absorbed in their pottery.

Watching them spin to wheel so quickly and move their hands so gently around the clay makes me want to do more pottery.

Working with my clay

Thank you so much for being so patient with us and our awful pots!

Nathan