Viet Nam Funeral, 1970, Bong Son

My childhood years were inside a war zone.  There were things that were scary, but to me as a child the  thing that terrified me the most was the sight of a funeral procession through my village.  I used to roam around the neighborhood and play with my friends daily.  No matter how far away from home, if I heard the sound of a funeral procession, I would run home as fast as I could without thinking about anything else.

Since my village was the lower part of the larger neighborhood, from up the hill there were many other different villages and people had to go through ours to get to the mountain and sea.  I  believe at the base of the mountain is where people buried their love ones.

First, I would notice the loud, sharp high pitched music note  of a certain kind of flute, the sound of drum, and a mixture of other kind instruments I did not know. They created a high pitched music that pierced through ears and heart. To me it was not entertaining but terrifying.  After hearing the music, children would all look up, frozen, and wait until the sight of the group of people appeared from the top of the hill. Then we would all just run home.

I would hide in my house, peeking out the window and see the funeral attendees walking slowly through on the road.  First came people who played the music, then a person throwing fake paper money in the air.  The coffin was tied with ropes at each end, had a strong stick loop through the ropes, and was carried by four people.  After the coffin came the  family members and friends.  The family members wore a white outfit on top of their normal clothes.  It was kind of similar to our "ao dai" but was not fancy.  Its length was down to the knees, split on both sides.  It was sewn together at the neck and shoulders to hold the sleeves to the body of the dress.  There was no hem. Everything about the dress was ragged and torn. The thread of the fabric hung loosely. Each funeral attendee wore a white bandeau on the his head tied at the back with a white tie and with no hems.

When the funeral went by, the adults in the village who saw it would stand quietly to show respect. As for me, I was terrified.  Something about the sight of the coffin, the strange outfits they wore, the sad sound of their crying and most terrifying of all the music, all worked to make me petrified.

I do not know if this is the traditional funeral procession of Viet Nam,  but this is kind of the tradition of the village where I grew up.  And I do not know if the religion has anything to do with the way of the funeral that I saw when I was a child because I did not attend any funerals when I was in Viet Nam.

When I attend funerals here, it is different.  We wear black, a line of cars go through the city roads escorted by the police, and people cry quietly.  It seems calmer, not as scary and not that sort of music that pierces; however, it represents the same thing.  We are sending our loved ones back to the earth with love and respect in our own different ways.

Thank You, Vietnam Vets and Other Vets

In remembering and honoring all those men and women who have served this country in the past and present, thank you.

I would like to take this opportunity to appreciate those who have gone to my country, Viet Nam...who had suffered and sacrifice their lives for my people.  I also want to remember all the Vietnamese soldiers who had served and died for Viet Nam.

To me, we are not just honoring and remembering the soldiers alone, I think their families, wives and children also deserve to be honored too, for they have suffered for the same cause.

THANK YOU a million times, still not enough...no number is ever enough.

Agent Orange Strikes Our Village

We saw strange white powder sprinkle down from a helicopter one afternoon.  It scattered over our village like a thin sheet of smoke.  We wondered what it was.  My mom said it was weird and different; therefore, it would not be a good thing for our village.  The villagers were kind of worried for a while, but then we went back to our normal lives and forgot about it, for it did not seem to do any harm to anybody or anything in the village at the time.

We were wrong. The powder seemed  not to harm us, but some months later we began to see the deadly effect of it.  Our fruit trees, all our plants were dying.  Eventually the greenery of our village was no longer  green, most of our tree died and had to be chopped down.  (We had mango and coconut orchards) My family's coconut groves one by one started to lose fruit and the tops of the trees  turned brown.  The villagers were sad because some families  relied on the harvest as their way to take care of their families. The adults in the village wondered about the water in the river and especially our well. (Many villagers used our well water.)

We found out later that the white powder was called Agent Orange.  The American officials wanted to kill all the greens so that the communists would not have places to hide in the shrubs to easily launch their attacks without being seen.  I guess that was the only way.

Today, I have met many American soldiers who served in Viet Nam War, and they shared with me the effect on their health because of this agent orange powder.  I am sorry for the suffering that they have to deal with for the rest of their lives because of Viet Nam War.  I appreciate them for trying to protect us.  But I also wonder if those officials who ordered this particular mission knew that this powder would harm so many people and if they were aware of it did they ever think about us, the people, the soldiers that lived on that land?  Does the benefit outshine the harmful effect?

So many decades later I still feel sad for my villagers and for the people of Viet Nam.  We had to endure so many horrible thing because of the war and even now, my people are still under the wrath of communism.  When are those communist leaders going to realize they are not doing anything good for the people of Viet Nam?

Unwelcome Visitors

I woke up in the middle of the night by the sound of the footsteps outside of my house.  I sat up on my bed trying to listen harder to find out if there were really some one outside.  The scary feeling ran through me and made me just freeze.  After a few minutes I started to cry. That is when my mom came quietly into the room.  She came over and hugged me tight. She whispered to me to be quiet.  She pointed to my window and said to me, "Do not make any noise." I followed my mom's gaze and looked where there were shadows of many men crouching outside of my window.  I can still see the silouettes of their guns on their shoulders.  I looked at my mom with questions whirling in my brain, but she softly reminded me to be quiet and  told me to lie down and go to sleep. She said she would lie down with me.

I woke up in the morning with the sun shining through my huge picture window.  My mom had gotten up to do her daily chores.  The incident of the night came back to me. I  went to open the window, tiptoed to the window and lookdc outside but I did not see anything.  It felt as if it was a dream.

At the breakfast table I heard my mom was telling my older siblings that these were communists. "The unwelcome visitors are getting too daring and we all must be careful."  We had always known they were lurking somewhere out there behind the trees and further out in our field, but never had they come that close to our house.  Mom said that they were here last night looking for my dad .

The next day when my day was home from his office, I heard she told my dad that those communists who visited my house the other night sent word to the people who lived nearby to tell my parents  they wanted to have a "visit" with my dad. They said, "Too bad he was not home."

This happened so so long ago, when I was about seven years old but until this day, I still wonder how did they know my father was not home.  They must have watched and spied on us very intensely every day....

Honoring My Mom on Mother's Day

My normal schedule for Saturday night into Sunday is with my mom. Since my dad passed away and my mom's health worsened, my siblings and I decided to take turns to be with my mom since she still wants to live in her own home and not to move in and bother any of us; therefore, we decided to move in with her.

Lately, her mind is not very alert. Sometimes she sees things or talks about things that do not really exist. Last night I was with her as usual. In the middle of the night, she woke up and wanted to wait for someone who was coming to see her. It is really sad to see my mom become so confused.

It is Mother's Day and that is why I wanted to write something about my mom. I had many memories with my mom, sad ones and also good ones. I don't want to honor her with something she has done for me but something we did together when I was very young.

In our house, on the second floor, we had a open space. I guess I could call it a veranda with no cover. We had a couple of day beds so sometimes we could sit and visit or read a book. I liked to lie there with my mom every night and look at the stars in the sky. She would tell me the names and stories of all the stars. I knew they were made up fairy tales, but I was happy and anxious to hear them every night. Because where we lived did not have electricity at the time, that's why the stars were so bright and beautiful. My mom always chose the brightest and said that one was me and there was always a very special story about that star.

It's hard to see my mom so confused now. I woke up this morning getting ready for Sunday church. Before I left the house, I kissed her cheek and said, "Happy Mother's Day, Mom." She smiled at me as if she understood what I was saying. Well, maybe something in her does understand.....I hope.

I have never told her how special those nights were to me when looking at the stars with her. I wish I had. I thought that she would never get old and become this way. I am sorry, Mom. I hope maybe one of the Saturday nights when I am with her, she will be less confused, and I will try to find a way to bring back those memories and thank her.

Tell your mom you love her and thank her when she still able to comprehend and happy to hear your kind words. Don't wait until it's too late.....and maybe it's not too late for me either.

Happy Mother's Day!

The South Vietnamese Say Goodbye to Vietnam

April 24th, 1975...
We were in Sai Gon at my uncle's house. I saw my mom whisper to my dad asking him to leave Viet Nam because she was afraid he would be killed. My dad refused for he did not want to leave us behind. He would rather die with his family, his country, and his people.

April 25th, 1975...
My dad discussed with my uncle and finally with sadness they decided to take the family down to Vung Tau to find way to leave together.

April 26th, 1975...
My parents took us church that evening and prepared our souls for the unexpected.

April 27th, 1975...
We left Sai Gon and headed down to Vung Tau Port.

April 28th, 1975...
We heard the road between Sai Gon and Vung Tau had closed. Nobody could get out.
We stayed at a church courtyard that night. Many people were there too. We all slept under the sky.

April 29th, 1975...
My dad woke us up early and rushed us to gather our things. We packed only the most most important thing and left for the port where the boats were waiting for us. At this time I think the communists were already there. We were being shot at while we ran. That night we were out at the ocean and transferred to a big navy fighting ship.

April 30th, 1975...
The saddest morning of my life... I woke up with so many people sitting around me...for we had seating room only. The rain got heavier, the sea churned stronger. We got news that Sai Gon failed. The communists had gotten into the Capital House. I saw my dad cried quietly. Looking down to the sea, I saw thousands of small, mediun size boats fleeing from Viet Nam. The communists were shooting out to sea trying to kill us. Some of the boats got hit and exploded.

Our ship departed my country. All of us turned our head and looking back to Viet Nam
as if we were trying to get the last glimpse of what was the most beloved and dear to us all.
I started to cry too for I finally realized this event was something very important. It was final. We have lost something very dear. As the ship sailed further and further, my country became smaller and smaller in my eyes. I looked around and saw the hollow, sadness, all different emotions on everybody's faces.

Good bye Viet Nam.

Today, April 30, 2010. Thirty five years later those days are so vivid in my head. On my way to work this morning, I was listening to a Vietnamese radio station, there were conversations and clips of broadcast from those days. I sat at the parking lot crying for my country and all the people had suffered throughout this horrible ordeal. I said a prayer for my country to not have any more sorrows and one day my people will experience real peace and happiness. I love you Viet Nam!

Honoring Soldiers who Fought for Vietnam

April 30 is approaching fast. This is the day Viet Nam war ended. South Viet Nam lost the war to North Viet Nam. My people lost our freedom, we became a communist country. I guess the war ended. Viet Nam will have peace, no more gun fires, no more families separated from their loved ones because of the war. But it was not so. This day marked a new Viet Nam. The North did not bring peace and happiness to my people like they said. Quite contrary, they brought more sorrows, heartache, and more separations between families in many different ways.

It is true, we have no more war on our motherland. But learning what happened to my people after April 30, 1975 I would rather the war continued. At least we lived during the war but our lives were much better than in peace time with the North Viet Nam government.

Our soldiers wanted to continue fighting for our freedom, their heart and souls did not want to surrender. We all wanted peace, but not the kind of peace we have.

If I could turn back time, I wish to live and grow up in my country during war time. I wish I would have a chance to know and be a part of a soldier's life. I would want to be a soldier's girlfriend or wife and live the life of a Vietnamese woman who has a man in their life who was a courageous soldier willing to die for Viet Nam.

I understand that being a soldier's wife during Viet Nam war time you had to sacrifice and suffer, even during and after war time. But I am sorry, I did not have a chance to be THAT Vietnamese woman. I salute them!

by Thai Le

I met a man from Vietnam in Texas two weeks ago. He had just moved here a couple of years ago. He left after the second imprisonment of his father, a South supporter and patriot, who was harassed repeatedly and imprisoned for years at a time for unfair charges of being unpatriotic. It was because he was an activist for the South and was being punished for trying to help the South Vietnamese win the war against the North. They didn't get out in 1975 like Thai Le and her family did, so the man's dad lost several years of his life in prison for fighting for his freedom and his country. Thai le is right. Their promises were worthless. Show me one Communist country with a healthy government and a happy people. That's what I thought.

Amanda Griffith