Away
I left Saigon on a hot day in April, 1975. I didn't have a suitcase full of clothes, travel guides, or even a passport. But then again, I wasn't going on a vacation. My family and I were escaping communism; it was our second attempt to leave the country.
The first time we tried to leave, we had been much more prepared. My mother had packed all of our clothing along with other items we had cherished in large trunks; the photo albums pressed upon our clothes provided the weight that enabled my mother to close them. I had no idea where we were heading. All I knew was that I was going on a long trip. I thought it would be fun. I guess I didn't noticed the frightened and worried expression on my mother's face as she frantically paced back and forth in our home trying to collect things deemed important; things we couldn't part with.
When the time came to leave, we went to the port of Saigon and boarded my father's ship with the captain and his family. They were also close friends of my parents, and their children were our friends. And then we sailed. I don't know how long we were at sea, but I do remember that I never got seasick. I find this fact very interesting since I am always seasick whenever I find myself on a boat these days - whether it is whale watching off the northern coast of Maine, or fishing on a charter boat in Sheepshead Bay, New York. I am balled up on a bench somewhere, my jacket over my head; my husband shoving crackers down my throat.
A few days after we left Saigon, the head stewart announced that the ship was getting ready to dock. I looked out the little window of my cabin. It was night. In the darkness, I saw specks of lights flickering at us from afar. Years later, I learned that those lights had been a harbor in Singapore.
However, the next thing I knew, our boat was turning around and heading back to Saigon. It didn't seem strange to me. To me, the whole trip was a magical adventure where my friends and me got to nibble on sausages and sucked on mangoes in the middle of the ocean. But my mother looked strickened at this news. Years later, I learned that we had been denied entry.
Word had gotten out that Saigon would fall to the communist North; that its citizens were trying to leave to seek shelter on foreign soil. No one wanted to take us on; no one wanted more mouths to feed.
And so we were home again - back in our own house; us three kids running like crazy in the backyard. The jackfruit trees were heavy with seed pods; ready to produce sweet, succulent fruits in the coming weeks. Through the open windows of our bedrooms at night we would breathe in the pungent aroma of the jackfruits when they were in season (imagine the scent of the most riped pineapple and then multiply that fragrance by 100) We were home, and we were happy.
When the moment came again and we left Saigon for the very last time, we hardly had any notice. I recall a family gathering; my mother's side. My grandmother, some aunts and uncles; everyone semed serious and solemned. I knew it wasn't a party because there were no elaborate trays of foods, no sweets, no laughter. They seemd to be waiting for more words or maybe they were waiting for Thanh, a young man who worked for my father. When he finally came through the door, all eyes were on him and all talking ceased. Thanh had come to take my mother and us kids to another ship for another voyage. We had to leave that very minute. When he said these words, my mother cried.
I remember my mother urging my grandmother to come with us, but she could not be persuaded. She did not want to leave this special place; she would wait there for us until we came back. Time was running out and we had to go. Everyone was crying now; everyone was embracing one another. Years later, my mother told me that her heart was broken that day when she had to leave my grandmother behind.
And so we left in an opened top Jeep. We drove hurriedly down the street passing many places that I didn't know I would never ever lay eyes on anymore. The importance of the moment was lost on me, but I knew it would be a long time before I see my grandmother again, and so I began to cry too.
This time we were fortunate enough to get on an American ship along with hundreds maybe thousands of others. That ship took us to Guam, and miraculously to where we are today- safe and sound, and happy!
I have been on many journeys since that summer of 75'. From Arkansas (where we were processed when we arrived in the United States) to Pennsylvania to New York City and finally to Connecticut , where I have made a home with my husband and our three children for the last seven years. And I have been away to many places as well much farther than that in between. Places unreachable by planes or automobiles; places deep in my heart and in my soul.
I am going away on a short vacation with my family in the morning; our bags not yet packed; tonight's dinner dishes still in the kitchen sink. We are heading up to Prout's Neck, Maine - a place described simply as "where Winslow Homer fell in love with the sea." We will spend the next five days playing, swimming, kayaking and biking with our kids. We will tote along watercolors and papers for in case inspiration hits us. We will lazily enjoy its rocky coasts and New England fares (we love lobster; we have been known to have lobster meals from the same lobster pound every day in a row for an entire week. I'm serious, ask the Trenton Bridge Lobster Pound people.)
You never know where life takes you. Going away sometimes really means GOING AWAY. As many times as I've GONE AWAY or BEEN AWAY, I have always learned that you must always go back to where you've come from. Whether physically or in your mind. That you should never let go of all the essences that makes you who you are. Like a spice that sits too long, its flavor becomes bland and unrecognizable.
The first time we tried to leave, we had been much more prepared. My mother had packed all of our clothing along with other items we had cherished in large trunks; the photo albums pressed upon our clothes provided the weight that enabled my mother to close them. I had no idea where we were heading. All I knew was that I was going on a long trip. I thought it would be fun. I guess I didn't noticed the frightened and worried expression on my mother's face as she frantically paced back and forth in our home trying to collect things deemed important; things we couldn't part with.
When the time came to leave, we went to the port of Saigon and boarded my father's ship with the captain and his family. They were also close friends of my parents, and their children were our friends. And then we sailed. I don't know how long we were at sea, but I do remember that I never got seasick. I find this fact very interesting since I am always seasick whenever I find myself on a boat these days - whether it is whale watching off the northern coast of Maine, or fishing on a charter boat in Sheepshead Bay, New York. I am balled up on a bench somewhere, my jacket over my head; my husband shoving crackers down my throat.
A few days after we left Saigon, the head stewart announced that the ship was getting ready to dock. I looked out the little window of my cabin. It was night. In the darkness, I saw specks of lights flickering at us from afar. Years later, I learned that those lights had been a harbor in Singapore.
However, the next thing I knew, our boat was turning around and heading back to Saigon. It didn't seem strange to me. To me, the whole trip was a magical adventure where my friends and me got to nibble on sausages and sucked on mangoes in the middle of the ocean. But my mother looked strickened at this news. Years later, I learned that we had been denied entry.
Word had gotten out that Saigon would fall to the communist North; that its citizens were trying to leave to seek shelter on foreign soil. No one wanted to take us on; no one wanted more mouths to feed.
And so we were home again - back in our own house; us three kids running like crazy in the backyard. The jackfruit trees were heavy with seed pods; ready to produce sweet, succulent fruits in the coming weeks. Through the open windows of our bedrooms at night we would breathe in the pungent aroma of the jackfruits when they were in season (imagine the scent of the most riped pineapple and then multiply that fragrance by 100) We were home, and we were happy.
When the moment came again and we left Saigon for the very last time, we hardly had any notice. I recall a family gathering; my mother's side. My grandmother, some aunts and uncles; everyone semed serious and solemned. I knew it wasn't a party because there were no elaborate trays of foods, no sweets, no laughter. They seemd to be waiting for more words or maybe they were waiting for Thanh, a young man who worked for my father. When he finally came through the door, all eyes were on him and all talking ceased. Thanh had come to take my mother and us kids to another ship for another voyage. We had to leave that very minute. When he said these words, my mother cried.
I remember my mother urging my grandmother to come with us, but she could not be persuaded. She did not want to leave this special place; she would wait there for us until we came back. Time was running out and we had to go. Everyone was crying now; everyone was embracing one another. Years later, my mother told me that her heart was broken that day when she had to leave my grandmother behind.
And so we left in an opened top Jeep. We drove hurriedly down the street passing many places that I didn't know I would never ever lay eyes on anymore. The importance of the moment was lost on me, but I knew it would be a long time before I see my grandmother again, and so I began to cry too.
This time we were fortunate enough to get on an American ship along with hundreds maybe thousands of others. That ship took us to Guam, and miraculously to where we are today- safe and sound, and happy!
I have been on many journeys since that summer of 75'. From Arkansas (where we were processed when we arrived in the United States) to Pennsylvania to New York City and finally to Connecticut , where I have made a home with my husband and our three children for the last seven years. And I have been away to many places as well much farther than that in between. Places unreachable by planes or automobiles; places deep in my heart and in my soul.
I am going away on a short vacation with my family in the morning; our bags not yet packed; tonight's dinner dishes still in the kitchen sink. We are heading up to Prout's Neck, Maine - a place described simply as "where Winslow Homer fell in love with the sea." We will spend the next five days playing, swimming, kayaking and biking with our kids. We will tote along watercolors and papers for in case inspiration hits us. We will lazily enjoy its rocky coasts and New England fares (we love lobster; we have been known to have lobster meals from the same lobster pound every day in a row for an entire week. I'm serious, ask the Trenton Bridge Lobster Pound people.)
You never know where life takes you. Going away sometimes really means GOING AWAY. As many times as I've GONE AWAY or BEEN AWAY, I have always learned that you must always go back to where you've come from. Whether physically or in your mind. That you should never let go of all the essences that makes you who you are. Like a spice that sits too long, its flavor becomes bland and unrecognizable.
posted by cream cheese dreams at 10:29 PM
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