Finding Peace

It’s been a while since my last post. Quite a lot of things have happened, but I’ll stick with what’s important: my epiphany in Vietnam.

For the first time since I moved to Taiwan, I didn’t go back to Canada for the summer. It wasn’t an easy decision, but I felt like it was the right one. I needed this summer to reset, to restart. 

So, after watching a YouTube video about Sapa and hearing my brother describe his trip to Vietnam, I decided to go book a trip myself. I remember making that promise to myself, so I made it happen, seven years later. 

(Read about my first trip here)

To be honest, I was both excited and nervous. I had no idea what to expect from this trip. All I knew was that I loved being in the mountains and wanted to see the pretty rice fields. I wanted a quiet, peaceful town and spend my days looking at mountains and breathing fresh air. 

To make sure I had a good time, I analysed things that I could change. I prepared myself mentally by taking on a different role. I created a sense of emotional detachment by taking on the role of a tourist that just happened to speak Vietnamese. I also know I’m happiest when I’m busy, so I made sure to plan my days with activities: even if I had a chill day, at least I was productive and accomplished something. And finally, I made sure to stay connected with my loved ones by being present online. I made sure to buy data so I can not only feel independent, but also safe. If anything happened to me, at least it would be easier for me to notify people. Everything went smoothly and according to plan. 

Yes, I had a great time. I soaked in the views, breathed fresh air and ate delicious Banh Mi's. I had cheap massages and facials and treated myself to lavish meals from time to time. I ticked all the boxes as a tourist. 

Stopping between villages to admire the view

Though, I got way more than I ever bargained for. I got to reconnect with my heritage. I had conversations with multiple people from different tribes and their experiences were quite similar to mine. They all felt slightly different from their peers and wanted to achieve something different, lead a different life from what was already paved for them. We weren't so different afterall.

Sipping beer in the waterfalls after the trek

Growing Up- Part 2

Perhaps it’s the pandemic, perhaps it’s me nearing my 30s, perhaps it’s all of these introspective posts about reaching different milestones popping up in my feed. Perhaps it’s a combination of all of the above... Regardless, I did have quite a bit of time to look back at my 20s, see what I’ve accomplished, and reflect on my growth. 

Tamsui Fisherman's Wharf
Photo Credit: Meng Jie

When I was 19, I thought I would get married, have a house, and be raising a kid or two. I would be an ESL teacher, either at an international or bilingual school. I would still be in Montreal at this point, with the same friends and people I grew up with. I would probably be living somewhere in the city- not in the center though, too expensive. I would have a car, too. I would probably still take some fitness classes at the YMCA, and have taken some serious dance classes. I would have travelled to a few countries here and there for a few weeks and that would be it.

I would have a nice, modest life. A quiet one.

That was the plan. A nice, quiet, modest life.

And anyone that knows me knows that I LOVE planning. 

But now, lo and behold, I couldn’t be further from it. Oddly enough, I’m more than okay with it. Dreams, ambitions and goals changed overtime. I made choices, sometimes very difficult ones, that lead me to where I am today. Who would’ve thought that I would be on the other side of the world, away from my childhood friends, family and hometown? Who would’ve thought that I would still find happiness and a place to call “home” far away from the city I always thought I belonged in?

Looking back, thanks to the choices I’ve made, I am grateful at how each of them gave me the opportunity to grow. Looking back, I did deal with a lot of internal issues, but I’m glad that I was able to tackle them.

** For your - and my own- entertainment, I decided to link one or two songs to each section, to set the mood and better understand how I felt/feel. 

Career

Lukas Graham- 7 years

Education always played an important role in my life. It was a means for me to achieve success. If I worked hard enough to get a degree, I would make it. Never would I be left on the streets to starve. I have always been terrified- and still am- of that possibility. This might be because my parents were refugees from the Vietnam War and, after hearing all sorts of atrocities, I don’t think I would ever be able to deal with it. I guess that fear, combined with my competitive nature, really pushed me to do my best.

I always knew I would earn a Bachelor’s degree- that was the least I could accomplish- but completing a Master’s degree never really crossed my mind. Maybe because I didn’t feel a need for it, maybe because my ambitions never required such a high level of education. Or maybe I never thought I would get the means to complete it. Honestly, I don’t remember why. It just wasn’t in the cards back then. 

Now, after teaching abroad for a few years, I realized that I wanted to be more than just a teacher. I became a teacher because I wanted to impact the lives of students, give them a safe place to be themselves, an environment where everyone was at the same starting point, stripped of any unfair bias. I want them to be themselves, give them a fair chance at life and be successful.

After a few years, I realized that being a teacher wasn’t enough, that I can only do so much. There are so many issues within the complex system we call education. I can’t just stand there, teach, and be complacent about it all. The “it is what it is” type of attitude just doesn’t sit well with me. There’s a problem and I want to solve it. I need to do something about it. 

And so, I plan on pursuing a Master’s degree in educational leadership. I want to be able to help and lead teachers towards a common goal, instill meaningful changes. Holding a leadership/managerial position was never something I considered until as of late. I was able to take a leadership role and, despite all the hardships and struggles, I actually enjoyed it. Being able to solve problems and help teachers better themselves was quite rewarding. It gave me a boost of confidence. I know quite a bit about teaching and education, apparently. 

Embracing my Feminine Side

Like a Boy- Ciara

Queensland, New Zealand

Growing up as a middle child, sandwiched between two brothers made more of an impression on my own identity than I thought. I guess it would be normal, especially as a teenager, to experience confusion and just try so hard to fit into certain moulds. I hated showing people I was weak. I always wanted to look confident, show people that I was capable of doing so much more. I tried hard to assert my own dominance and presence through strength by showing off how hard I could punch. In a way, I tried to identify myself as a “tomboy” .

Don’t get me wrong, I still wore dresses and skirts from time to time. I still wore makeup and jewelry. But I remember being quite aggressive and always had this need to assert my strength in front of the opposite sex. I felt like I needed to have male friends, “be one of the guys”. Maybe it was a way for me to ignore my insecurities. Maybe I just wanted to show everyone how tough I was. 

Most Girls- Hailee Steinfield

Though, with time, I did start embracing my own femininity. As I got older, I felt more comfortable having female friends: men could only relate to female issues to a certain extent. I even started getting manicures and facemasks for myself. I felt more comfortable actually taking care of myself instead of trying fake liking action movies and music genres deemed “masculine”. 

Actually, I now really enjoy doing domestic chores, cooking, baking and shopping. I’m even more comfortable admitting my liking to romantic comedies, regardless of how corny they may be. I’m embracing my feminine side. 

True Love

Paralyzed- NF

Now this is a big one. In the beginning of my twenties, I was really hopeful. I wanted a romantic guy who was able to treat me well. I wanted someone that would give me butterflies and sweep me off my feet. Maybe because I’ve been watching too many romantic comedies, but I really did long for this type of fairytale. And for some reason, probably for fear of being judged, I tried hard to suppress it. I hid what I truly wanted and basically lied to myself and everyone around me that I didn’t want, nor needed it. I didn’t want to be labelled as one of those girls, one with unrealistic expectations. 

Unfortunately, I slowly gave up hope. By my mid-twenties, I was kinda jaded. This might be partially due to my own low self-esteem (click here to read about it) seeping into my own demeanour, 

Hookup after hookup, it was always the same thing: talk for a bit, grab a drink and “do it”. Sure, it was fun the first couple of times, liberating even, but it got old real quick for me. After going on numerous dates, I just stopped believing in fairytales. I figured: welp, if I can have good conversations and be attracted to this guy, maybe it could work out. My expectations in men dropped. Maybe because I had too many bad dates. Maybe I was so used to misogynistic, degrading comments that objectified me. I became cynical. Romance only existed in movies and for the lucky ones.

My Boo- Usher ft. Alicia Keys

But then, when I least expected it, I found something so special. Yes, it was my first relationship, but it felt like such a fairytale. For the first time in my life, I felt like a princess. I could be vulnerable, cry as much as I needed and still feel like I can take on the world. 

Hualien Nightmarket
Photo Credit: Shawn

He helped me find my own self-worth, gave me everything I wished for in a relationship and more. He taught me how to be more confident in myself and stand up for what I believe in. He taught me how to love someone while still staying true to myself. It was truly magical. I wish I could say that this was it, a happy ending, but it wasn’t. 

Sadly, due to circumstances, we had to part ways. It was hard, but necessary. Nevertheless, we ended on good terms and remained friends. I still love him dearly and wish him nothing but happiness and the absolute best. 

By the end of my twenties, what I needed from a relationship was more than just chocolates and flowers - or in my case, ice cream and buffets- and validation from another person. What I needed was to truly love myself, so that I, myself, could be a pillar of strength for my partner. 

Loving Myself

breathin- Ariana Grande

Self- love is a constant work in progress. Though with greater responsibility, came more anxiety, pressure and stress. 

As a result, I did get episodes of anxiety attacks. 

Although they were very few, I still remember them so clearly. It’s not something you can really wipe out of your mind. There were times that my anxiety levels were so high that sometimes, out of the blue, I would start crying uncontrollably. I felt paralyzed with fear, I didn’t know what to do, nor where to start. I would be shaking, my heart pounding, and tears rolling down my face. Most of the time, I would be alone in my apartment, dealing with it all by myself, telling myself that, rationally speaking, I would be okay, everything will be okay and I can get through it. I had to force myself to take long deep breaths because I was on the verge of hyperventilating. Luckily these episodes would only last a few minutes. I think this experience was the most intense during my first year teaching in Taiwan. The workload was a lot more than I could handle. I was young, didn’t know how to stand my ground and felt lost in a place so far away from home. I was living and breathing my work for 80 hours a week; It was all I could think of. I put so much pressure on myself. I needed to be the most amazing teacher. Every single lesson had to be the absolute best. I had to prove to myself that I was valuable, that I was good enough to be a teacher. 

As the years progressed, I obviously got better, but I reverted back to my old ways quite often. It’s really hard for me to let go. It’s hard for me to detach myself from something I’m so passionate about, something I’m so emotionally invested in. It’s hard to not make it my life. 

I am still learning to separate it from my own identity. I’m Dalena, my own person. I am more than just a teacher. I am a person with hobbies, values, beliefs and amazing friends. I need to live my own life. 

It’s something I’m still working on. I’m still learning to be kinder to myself. I’m still learning to think it’s okay that the kids don’t have the best lesson ever. I’m still learning to take care of myself. 

I’m still learning to say no and stand by my own values. I’ve gotten a lot better at it, but I would like to be this fearless boss lady who couldn’t care less about what others thought about her. 

I’ll get there. And I’ll be super sassy too.

Run the World (Girls)- Beyoncé

Lifou, New Caledonia

It's all About Balance

It’s Monday. One of my many alarms rings. It’s 6:15 AM. I hit snooze and go back to sleep. I hear it ring again. It’s 6:25. Snooze. 6:35. I decide to get up. I have another alarm set at 6:50 in case I drifted back to sleep.

When I get up, I get dressed, open the fridge and take my snacks for the day, brush my teeth and head out the door. I’ll eat my breakfast once I’m at work. I walk to the nearest bike station, scan my card and take it out. It’s convenient, quick and, most importantly, free.

Once I get to school, I sign in. It’s 7:30. I’m two hours early and don’t have to teach until 10. Still, I have a long list of things to do. I unlock my classroom and I turn on the lights and my computer. While I wait for it to load, I grab a piece of paper and a pen. I take a look at my calendar and start making a checklist. I divide it into two columns: urgent tasks (things to do today) and not so urgent tasks (things I could do this week).

My computer is now ready and I begin to work: look at the lesson plan, create the content, update my whiteboard, schedule student presentations, make photocopies, write homework slips, check homework submitted on Google Classroom, look at what needs to be discussed in today’s meeting...

It is now 9:50.

Students will be coming in soon. I tidy up my classroom, check in with my grade partner and quickly go to the bathroom before they arrive.

The bell rings. It’s 10:00. I rush back to my computer, make sure all the materials are there and well organized, and greet my students as they come in.

It’s go time. Time to teach.

My classroom, last day of class

I review what we had learned briefly, introduce new content, conduct activities, crack a few jokes, make sure everything goes smoothly, and finally give them the homework. I give out the homework slips. The bell rings. 12:00. It’s lunchtime.

I say goodbye to my students, reexplain the homework to a few, and tease the stragglers to hurry up. It’s 12:05.

I run to the bathroom again, grab my lunch and join my colleagues. We talk about our students, their achievements and their struggles. We talk about ourselves, our achievements and our struggles. We talk about the latest news, trends and other things.

It is now 12:40. I should get ready for my meeting, and get ahead with my checklist. I leave the table, smile, and tell my colleagues goodbye.

12:45. Back in the classroom.

I look at my notes and make sure I didn’t forget anything. I continue ticking off items from my checklist.

The bell rings again. I take my things and head to the meeting. I’m early. I chat with my colleagues until the meeting starts.

After that meeting, I go back to my classroom. I have an hour before my next class. I feel tired so I take a power nap. Next, I continue ticking off items from my checklist and add more things to it.

The bell rings again. I teach my class until the final bell of the day rings. It is now 5pm.

Although I finished my working hours for today, I decide to stay for a bit. I need to tick off one last thing before I go home. Once I’m done, I’m one of the last ones to sign out.

I bike home so I can clear my head for a bit. Once I get home, I make dinner and continue to work until 10:30 PM.

I brush my teeth, send a few messages and go to bed.

And the same thing again, tomorrow.

This is a routine I’ve established for myself until Friday comes. More often than not, I work on Sunday so I can get ahead from my checklist.

If I were to compile the amount of work I do within a week, it would easily be 50-60 hours. It can fluctuate up to 70 during report card season.

I’m a workaholic.

I have difficulty disconnecting from work and don’t know when to stop working. I can’t bring myself to go out on weeknights because I drown myself with work. If I go out, I feel guilty; I feel like I should be doing something productive for my career. I always have to think about my checklist, my students and my responsibilities. I’m a workaholic. A work machine always on the run.

I don’t need help either. I am competent. Asking for help is a sign of weakness. If I falter, I fail. If I fail, it's because I didn’t work hard enough. I need to keep pushing myself. Feel tired? Get some coffee. Feel stressed? Go workout.

I am competent. I can do this by myself. I am strong. I need to keep pushing.

I then start questioning myself: Why am I so inefficient? Why am I so slow? Why do I feel so tired all the time? Why am I so impatient? Why is it so hard to teach? Why is everything falling apart right in front of me? What is happening to the quality of my work? Why am I in such bad shape? Am I losing my sanity?

And before I know it, I break down. I lose it. I cry. Uncontrollably. I realized that I’ve lost control long before I knew it. I’ve been so busy trying to push myself, being in denial that I didn’t realize what was happening around me. I forgot to actually stop and look around. And when I do, all I see is a teacher trying so hard. A teacher trying to push herself beyond her limits, trying to find energy when there was none left. A teacher whose body and mind gave out long ago despite the warning signs. She cried multiple times a week and felt suffocated, overwhelmed. She just kept telling herself it was part of the process and to get over it: It’s happened before. I’m strong. I’ll get over it.

I was treating myself inhumanely, enslaving myself in my own work. I was losing myself.

Eventually, I had to face the truth: I couldn't do everything by myself. I wasn't super. I needed help.

So, I swallowed my pride and sought help. I realized that my fears were irrational. No one saw me as a lesser teacher. I was competent, professional and treated everyone with respect. The response I thought I would get did not make sense. People around me were concerned and wanted me to get better. No one thought I was weak or unqualified. It was all in my head.

To say the least, I’ve received support in many different areas: emotional, professional, and social. I learned it was okay for me to take a break from teaching. It was okay for me to say no. It was okay for me to be vulnerable. It was okay for me to ask for help. It was okay for me to live a life of my own.

Thankfully, I was able to recover and be myself again quite quickly. I was able to be this energetic, bubbly teacher that always had a smile on her face. I became more assertive too. It felt good to say no. It felt good to give myself a break. It felt good to live and breathe a normal life.

How I Wore My First Bikini

“You were probably the chubbiest one there, weren’t you?”

These words, although said in a very light tone, were routinely said by my mother. This sentence always targeted my self-esteem, from childhood until adulthood. So much so that it has been engraved upon me. It has always been, and will be, a part of me. I have always felt myself scanning the room and answer myself in either a disappointing “yes” or a relieving “no”.

When I was growing up, my weight always found its way into discussions. I was always the main concern during family gatherings:
“You should watch what you eat”
“Have you tried this diet?”
“Be careful, you won’t be able to find a boyfriend/husband if you keep looking the way you do”

Brutal as these words may seem, my family saw them as words of advice. Harsh criticisms were a way to let someone know about their shortcomings. In their own way, they did try to look out for me, offering me tips to lead a healthier -i.e. thinner- lifestyle. Telling me I should exercise more and eat less. Although the topic wasn’t addressed in the most delicate manner, they wanted me to have a good future, and the quality of your future is correlated with how good you look.

Knowing this, could I blame them for acting this way? We live in a world where a woman’s worth is based on her appearance and sex appeal. Vietnamese culture just happens to be more transparent about it.

Like any culture, Vietnam has its own idea of beauty, which ultimately emphasizes on how well a woman can bear children as well as her own socioeconomic status. Small waists, big breasts, long legs,  fair skin... each detail is scrutinized. Combine those ideals to to a culture where people are exceedingly competitive, you get one hell of a mix of insecure girls constantly comparing themselves to their peers, hoping they would be deemed the best “candidate” everywhere they go.

Growing up in Canada, I tried my best to embrace my own body, yet I couldn't help but compare it to other Asians around me. I wasn't as lean nor petite as my Asian friends or relatives, so I did the best I could to mould myself to be like them. I would spend countless hours at the gym, find workout routines, and make attempts to eat more healthily. I tried everything I could think of, but nothing worked. I didn’t have the means to get a personal trainer, I couldn’t afford to spend my days at the gym and buy foods at an astronomical cost. I had multiple jobs, bills to pay, and school to finish. Rock hard abs, toned arms, and perfectly balanced meals were unrealistic luxuries. I didn’t have time nor the money for it. They were out of my reach. These things were not meant for people like me.

And so, every year I gained weight. It was just something I accepted and I slowly gave up.

I guess a part of me hated myself for the way I looked. I guess that I convinced myself that no one would ever be attracted to me for my “outer beauty”. As a result, I tried compensating for it in terms of personality, my “inner beauty”. I tried being the best person I could be: assertive, compassionate, generous, positive... Surely, one day, someone would notice, right? If that person really loved me, they wouldn’t care about how I looked, but for me, myself... right?

Last year, I was at my heaviest, having gained about 7kg (15lbs) in one single year. I must admit, I wasn’t at my best: I was incredibly stressed, lacked sleep, and did not care about what I ate. I was in terrible shape, both mentally and physically. My self-esteem hit rock bottom.

At some point, I had a wake up call: I wanted to get better. I had to. So, I pulled myself together. When I came back to Taiwan for another year, I decided to get a gym membership and take better care of myself. I wanted to be healthy again.

And so, my journey began.

I went to the gym more regularly and changed my diet. My brother suggested the Paleo Diet and I was surprised by how effective it was. The number on the scale was dropping at a steady pace. It was so motivating, encouraging. Something was finally working for me. It kept me going.

Of course, this being reality, I hit a few bumps along the way.

After a few months, I hit a plateau and realised I was experiencing early symptoms of overtraining. I felt unmotivated and disconnected from the environment and people around me. The number on the scale was not dropping as quickly and I felt exhausted. I told my friend about it. She told me I should just take a break for a week and take it easy. It wasn’t normal that I was waiting for my favourite dance class to end. So, I listened to her and changed up my routine. 

Later on, I started focusing on the process rather than the results. I was happier, more eager to go the gym, attend dance classes and push my limits. I set weekly goals for myself and was elated to see regular progress. I even rewarded myself with occasional cheat days.

I saw the progress in my body: I was getting lighter, firmer and, for the first time, realizing that the body I always wanted might be attainable. Perhaps I could even fit into the ideal Asian standard of beauty. Maybe I could actually get my family’s stamp of approval and maybe, just maybe, I would actually feel and see myself as beautiful.

My increase in self-esteem was manifested through different ways. I was more confident in myself overall, professionally and romantically. I was more assertive at work and wanted to be a positive role model for my students. I knew my self-worth and was getting better at filtering the men I go on dates with. I started being happier, loving life and being more joyful. I started being more comfortable in my own skin, loving myself for who I am.

Eventually, I decided to test how confident I was in my own body. I decided to buy a bikini. As trivial and insignificant as it may seem, it was a big step for me. I was full of insecurities: my stomach wasn’t flat enough, my waist is too big, I didn’t have an hourglass figure, etc. I was going on vacation and I needed a new swimsuit since the ones I had no longer fit me. So, I challenged myself to buy a bikini.

And then, one day, I did it. 

I guess I would break down this experience into four steps.
1- buy a bikini
2- step out in that bikini
3- be confident in that bikini
4- have fun in that bikini

The process was pretty simple.

I went to a store. I found a bikini. I went to the changing room. I put it on. I looked at myself in the mirror.

It felt... good. I was surprised by it. It suited me. It fit me. I looked good. I bought it.

First step: check. That was easy.


The next step for me was to actually wear it in public. Now, it would be dishonest of me if I said I was super confident and rocked it at my first pool party. I bought a light cover-up in case I chickened out and needed to head back to security- i.e. hide my body. I was hesitant to step out in it. I was self-conscious and wondered if the others were judging me for wearing a bikini. Was I showing too much? Did I have the right body for it? I stepped out in my bikini and felt uncomfortable for a good 15-20 mins in. I felt so naked.

Second step: check. It was somewhat easy.

However, afterwards, I started flaunting my body. I had nice curves, didn’t I? I had super nice and toned legs. I might as well show off my badass tattoo too. I was still self-conscious about my body, but I tried my best to have fun by having a different mindset.

Third step: check. It was surprisingly easy.

As the night went on, I was proud of myself. I hit that milestone and convinced myself that I could pull off wearing a bikini. I had fun and forgot, for just a moment, what I was wearing and was focused on being in the present moment. I didn’t care if people were looking at me. I was there for me.

Fourth step: check. It was ridiculously easy. 

How was my first time wearing a bikini? It was with confidence, success, and most of all, fun. 

Overall, my journey was not only about weight loss, but me actually believing in myself. Sure, losing a considerable amount of weight and getting more fit did wonders in my life: I looked and felt better about myself, and was finally able to buy cute clothes I always wanted to wear. However, doing all of this showed me I had more control over my life than I thought. My weight was always something I considered to be out of that realm. 

However, as great as it felt, I was surprised with myself. I was not impressed by me finally being able to wear a bikini, but by how much I’ve learned in the process.

I learned to have a better relationship with food. I used to overeat rather than listen to my body. I used to look for quantity rather than quality. I used to look for convenience rather than freshness. Now, I look at food as fuel to my body, and my body as a sacred instrument.

I learned how to set proper goals for myself. I weighed myself every week and made sure I met the goal with portion control, nutritious food, exercise and calorie counting. I just had be more aware of what I consumed and how I spent that energy.

I learned how commitment and discipline can do wonders. It was basically all mental. There were times where I wanted to eat chicken nuggets in the middle of the night. There were times where I just wanted to stay home and not workout. There were times where I was just tired and wanted to give up. In those times, I reminded myself of my goals and researched how to deal with those conflicts. They were simply problems and I needed to find ways to solve them. It was that simple.


“You were probably the chubbiest one there, weren’t you?”
To this day, these words still pop up whenever I enter a room. I still subconsciously scan the room and see if I am the best “candidate”. However, whenever I answer “yes” or “no”, I feel neither disappointment nor relief, but indifference. I still need to work on my self-esteem, but I know my own self worth. I love myself for who I am and no longer feel ashamed of the way I look. And, most importantly, I also know that one day, when that special someone will love me, it will be for who I am, not for how I look. He will say that I'm beautiful, and I will believe it, too.


Till then,

Keep it sassy

ArtScience Museum, Singapore

PS: Body image and self-acceptance is a very heavy and important topic for me. We often talk about anorexia and bulimia, but we have yet to inform ourselves about Body Dysmorphic Disorder (BDD). Click here to learn more about it.

Identity Crisis

This year, I’ve discovered something: Identity is not static, but dynamic. It changes with time. You identify yourself with different aspects of your personality and your heritage. You get to decide what defines you. However, the path to finding your true identity can be a painful, tedious process.

Growing up in Canada, I’ve always identified myself as Vietnamese. I’ve prided myself to having this unique heritage, to being so close to my own culture, to being so close to my own roots.

Though, as time passed, I started seeing myself as Canadian rather than Vietnamese. When people asked me where I was from, I would be proud to say I was Canadian. People would generally be surprised and I relished in it. I challenged the stereotype and educated them about diversity.

All my life, I juggled between two identities: the one I was born into, and the one I was raised in. I would have some Vietnamese habits and values, as well as have a Canadian education and mindset. For the most part, it had served me well. I was able to think critically while easily relating to others. I can call on other people’s bullshit while still having sympathy for the less fortunate.

However, having two identities did create conflict. I was always judged first and foremost by my appearance. I was always asked where I was from, if I spoke the language of my ancestors and if I have ever been to the “motherland”. I would endure countless slurs about my race, be stared at and degraded for the way I looked. I was always very self-conscious about my every action: am I following the stereotype? Am I being a good Asian? Should I hang out with a group of Asians? What if I just have Caucasian friends, would I fit in better?... The list goes on. Even if I were there with my closest friends, having a great time, that little voice always found its way in my head, distracting me from the present moment. “You’ll never be like the others. Your slanted eyes will always be the first thing people notice. You’re just another typical Asian”.

And then there was family. My parents were refugees from the Vietnam War. They came to Canada as modest individuals looking for a better life. They raised my brothers and I the best they could, though it was anything but a peaceful upbringing. We had contradicting ideals and values: they wanted me to learn how to be a proper housewife, I wanted to go out and have fun with my friends. They wanted me to be this quiet, delicate, shy girl; I wanted to be this loud, independent tomboy.

Thankfully, I grew to understand my parents, and them me. We grew to respect each other’s wishes and did our best to support them.

******

Nevertheless, with time, I knew I had to take it one step further. I needed to visit the land of my parents. I knew from the get-go that it would be a very emotional process. I was dreading it, but I knew it had to be done.

My parents were from the Southern part of Vietnam, so I decided to go to Saigon/Ho Chi Minh City (HCMC).

Based on my brother’s experience,I knew it would be tough: I would be looked down upon and people would try to scam me. Why? Because I’m what they call a Việt Kiều, a Vietnamese from overseas.

To say the least, my experience in HCMC wasn’t the best.

Personally, I like being in touch with nature, seeing mountains, going hiking and strolling around the city. HCMC was not the place for that. However, if you’re the type to party and try different types of food all around town, this city would be a great fit for you.

Though, what really hit me was the attitude. I did not feel welcomed at all, especially when I said my parents were from Vietnam and I, Canada. People tried to take advantage of me, scam me and disrespect me.

I was not welcomed. I may speak the language, I may look the part, but everything else about me is Canadian, not Vietnamese. It was hard for me to come to that conclusion, mainly because being Vietnamese played such a crucial part of my identity.

When I was shunned by the very people I was supposed to connect to, I realized then that I would never be one of them. I felt emptiness. I felt confusion. I felt frustration. Why? Why was I so foolish to think that I could be one of them? Language and looks do not make a culture. Did I get it all wrong? How could I even think part of me was Vietnamese? I toyed with those thoughts by myself and wondered where exactly I belong.

Thankfully, I booked a last minute flight to another place in Vietnam, outside the city. I needed to get out. I was on vacation, I had to make the best of it. And maybe, just maybe, I would give Vietnam another chance.

And I’m so glad I did. Da Lat, a small town a few hours up north of HCMC, salvaged Vietnam for me. It was everything I hoped and imagined: people were nicer, I was not shunned when I spoke Vietnamese, and the people genuinely seemed happy and content with what they had. They were humble, generous and kind; they embodied the values my parents taught me while growing up. I was relieved. I was welcomed. I was happy.

Unfortunately, I was only there for a little over a day and had to pack up to move to my next destination. Nevertheless, I am extremely grateful I was able to see Vietnam in a different light. I was able to find some familiarity and hold on to something worthwhile. It gave me hope.

In all, my trip to Vietnam was a heavy experience, but I’m glad I did it. It opened up a whole bunch of “maybe”s in my head.

Maybe this country isn’t as bad as I thought it to be.
Maybe I can actually relate to the people here.
Maybe my identity is more complex than I thought.
Maybe I haven’t quite figured myself out yet.
Maybe part of me is actually Vietnamese...

Answering those Maybe’s will require time and definitely another trip back.


Till then,

Keep it sassy

Elephant Waterfalls, Da Lat

PS: A traveler suggested me this book: Catfish and Mandala. The author is a Việt Kiều and explains his own experiences while travelling there. Apparently, they are quite similar to mine. Let me know what you guys think.

What I Want to Tell my Students

Dear students,

As we neared the end of the school year, I found myself relating to you much more than I ever thought I would. After being with you-growing and learning with you- I couldn’t help but see myself again at your place, at 14.

At 14, we face the same insecurities and share the same victories. We both have dreams, aspirations, and want the same things. We want to be popular and have a great future. We have big dreams, want to change the world and think anything is possible.

Still, however big our dreams may be, reality always strikes us.

I get it. You’re under incredible stress right now. School is almost everything. Both you and your parents have very high expectations.

To be successful in life, you need to be well educated. To be well educated, you need to go to the best school. To get into the best school, you need to do well in your current school and do well on that dreaded test. To do well in that test, you need to spend countless hours studying. To help you study harder, you need to go to a cram school. You did badly on your test? Work harder and study some more. It’s as simple as that, an endless cycle. It’s the only path to success.

Or is it?

Success should not be measured by fame or money. It should be measured by your own little victories, your own accomplishments. The recipe to success is different for everyone. You have to make your own recipe for it, you have the power to choose the ingredients and decide what the outcome should be.

Girls, embrace your intelligence. Don’t play dumb because boys seem to like it. The ones that will actually respect you will admire your intelligence. State your opinions, but be careful with your words. Words can hurt and poison other people. So always speak with eloquence and aspire to have high hopes and dreams. Work towards them and everything else will fall into place.

I know you want to find love. You want to have that great, romantic, princess-like story that you’ve read about since you were little. You want to be swept off your feet by that chivalrous prince charming.

Love, in theory is great. But don’t spend all your energy on it. You need to learn how to love yourself before you can properly love someone else. Love your body. No body is perfect and every girl has insecurities about her own appearance. Yes, even the prettiest and most popular girl at school.

So, focus on yourself. Love yourself. Learn new things, develop interests and you will be happier. You should be the one controlling your own happiness, not prince charming.

Boys, be in touch with your emotions. You alone can tell yourself/know what type of man you what to be, and make sure to be the best at it.

Manhood is nothing but a construct, an idea stemmed from society. You don’t have to be this super macho man and prove the others you’re super tough. You don’t have to solve your problems through violence. You don’t have to be exceptionally athletic or like sports to prove your manhood.

Of course, you will get bullied. The adults around you, namely your parents, will tell you to fight back, even if you don’t want to.

You will be told to hold back your tears, even if you know crying will help you feel so much better.

You will be convinced that stupid ideas are actually brilliant ones by your fellow friends, even if you know nothing good will come out of them.

And sometimes, you will have no choice but to succumb to those ideals. You will feel powerless and it’s sometimes okay. You can’t win every single fight. You’ll have to pick them and it will feel like the end of the world. But your life will get better. You will meet better people and make better friends. High school is supposed to be awkward, terrible even. It’s okay if you’re riddled with all of these emotions. It’s okay if you feel that your parents don’t understand you. You will do stupid things and get into trouble. It’s okay. It’s all part of growing up.

Oh, and another thing: follow your heart.  I know it’s difficult, trust me, I’ve been there. It’s nearly impossible to go against your parents’ will. They are the ones that have raised you, you were raised to obey them and fulfill their dreams. You’ve been their source of pride ever since you were little. You had this pressure to perform, to outdo everyone around you for as long as you can remember, everything was like a competition. But you’ve grown accustomed to it. You’ve been conditioned to think that way, and it has brought you this far. Your parents really do know what’s good for you.

Still, not matter what, remember this: don’t forget yourself. It’s your life, not theirs. Your happiness should be just as important. Don’t beat yourself up if you’re always the last one in the rankings. It’s okay to suck at school. Maybe you weren’t cut out for academia and have talent for something else. Maybe it’s art, maybe it’s people. Maybe you’ve found it already, maybe you haven’t, and it’s okay. In the end, everything’s going to be alright. As long as you work hard for what you believe in, you will do great. Trust me.

Till then,

Keep it sassy

PS: These ideas are heavily inspired by Anna Akana: How to put on your face + Things Every Girl Should Know and The Representation Project: The Mask We Live in.

Growing Up

I actually meant to write sooner, but the elements of that particular post didn’t feel quite right. I was gonna write about the differences between Taipei and Montreal, but it didn’t feel authentic. It didn’t feel like it really came from my heart.

So, instead, I’ll write about my experiences here so far.

Just like everyone, I thought that teaching abroad would be easy. Sure, I’ll have to adapt to a new environment, and get used to the job, but I’ll be fine. How hard can it possibly be?

As always, I was wrong and still have much to learn.

The first months are always the best, it’s the honeymoon phase. You experience everything for the first time and everyday seems like an adventure. You’re happy, you cherish the freedom that you have and you can finally be your own person. You don’t have any commitments or responsibilities. You’re living the dream.  

And then, before you know it, it hits you.

After a while, it gets frustrating: you’re unable to be fully functional in this environment. Not only do you not speak the language, you can’t understand anything either. This considerably limits your choices as to what you can eat and do. You’re confined in this type of bubble, you can only go so far/ do so much. You get frustrated because no one understands you and it gets tiring. You don’t feel like experimenting so much because you’re tired and don’t think it’s worth the effort anymore. As a result, you content yourself with a type a routine, a lonely and senseless routine.

You miss home and feel incredibly lonely, especially since you’re alone in your apartment. Sure, there are the colleagues, the acquaintances and the neighbours, but you can’t really count on them for emotional support. You can’t dump all of your feelings on them, you can’t burden them with all that baggage you’re carrying. You just can’t.

So, you keep all of your emotions to yourself. You cry by yourself, alone. You start missing the little things from back home: the food, the people you love and the ability to function properly. You start spending your days cooped up in your room, watching videos about your home city, thinking about how wonderful it is and how much you miss it. You wonder what everyone back home must be doing. Are they working? Are they well? Do they think about you as much as you do them?

You knew it would be difficult being away, that this phase would hit you eventually. Still, you’re caught off guard as to how hard it is and wonder how long this feeling would last. You wonder if coming here was the right choice. You start doubting yourself and start counting down the days before you head back home.

Then, eventually, you start reaching out to people. You seek advice, you ask them how they cope with being away from home for such a long time. You start talking to people back home to seek comfort and that connection to your past life. You remember that you’re not completely alone in this and the people back home love and care about you. They reassure you that you did the right decision and keep cheering you on. So, slowly, you gain your confidence back. You gradually start accepting your new life and think about ways to make it better here.

The solution for all of this? Go out. Make new friends. Seek meaningful human contact. Someone dear to me sent me a link about how to make new friends. It’s pretty much a step by step guide about how to make new friends. At first, I thought it was a joke. “Psh, of course I know how to make new friends! How else would I have survived all this time? I am socially apt and capable of conducting human interactions”.

And then I read the article.  It was a great read, it had a hopeful tone and wasn’t condescending at all. When you’re stripped of your friends, family and everything else that would make your social life easy and comfortable, you have to go back to basics.

** Side note**

I tried using this website- meetup.com - to find friends with common interests and participate in activities. It’s not bad. I’ve met some interesting people. I’ve also tried OKCupid, a dating website. Depending on what you’re looking for, it’s worth checking.

****

So, after a few weeks, after meeting some people and accepting your new life, things just start falling into place. You start developing substantial friendships and life is more enjoyable. You’re happy again. It’s not the honeymoon phase you had in the beginning, but you’ve made peace with a lot of things. You smile more and have more positive thoughts. Life here isn’t so bad.

In the end, it’s quite the emotional roller coaster. Nonetheless, you start developing a mindset. You realize that you’re not as super, as strong as you thought and that it’s normal to have these feelings. It’s okay to feel sad, stressed, scared and lonely. You need to acknowledge these feelings, learn to deal with them in a healthy way.

After all the tears and self-doubt, this experience has changed you. For the better. You have a better understanding of yourself and have become a better person. You’ve grown emotionally and embraced your humanity.  

And last but not least, you realize this: you’re growing up.

Till then,

Keep it sassy


PS: I actually had a similar experience about 3 years ago, when I was doing a student exchange in Finland. Perhaps not as intense because I still had 2 roommates and was not yet burdened with so many adult responsibilities... Read about it here (it’s towards the end)