The End South East Asia There is an intimate kinship among backpackers of the third world. We know what poverty truly means, we know that the majority of the world’s population lives in poverty, and we know exactly how lucky we are. As a child, I always pitied myself because by American standards, my family
The End
South East Asia
There is an intimate kinship among backpackers of the third world. We know what poverty truly means, we know that the majority of the world’s population lives in poverty, and we know exactly how lucky we are.
As a child, I always pitied myself because by American standards, my family is very poor. We never took vacations, we never dined out, we never went to amusement parks and we never bought new clothing. Whenever I asked my parents to take me anywhere, their reply was always the same – “We can’t afford it.” I was always the only child in my class who lacked a new wardrobe at the start of each school year. Instead of back-to-school shopping at the malls, all my clothing was handed down to me from our landlady’s children. I used to think my family lived in poverty. Now I know what poverty truly means.
There are images I have captured throughout this past year that will remain scarred in my memory for the rest of my life. There are the blind and limbless land mine victims on the dirt roads of Cambodia, the orphan child digging through piles of rubbish for scraps of leftover food, peasants carrying back-breaking kilos of rocks used in construction of roads, hill tribes with cargos of coal strained against the strength of their necks as they trek towards their village, and families of hunters and gatherers in their filthy longhouses in the middle of the jungle with their scabietic babies and diseased dogs. Then I think how easily that could have been me.
I knew even before I left that this trip would hold more sentimental value for me than most other travelers. It’s more of a spiritual experience to me than mere sightseeing and partying because, being a Southeast Asian who has immigrated, I feel closer to the people than most others can and ever will.
In neighboring Laos and Cambodia, I met a number of Vietnamese immigrants who left in search of a brighter future. Laos has a population of just over five million and Cambodia has about 12 million. Vietnam swells with nearly 80 million so competition amongst vendors is fierce.
The most touching moment I had on this trip was when I met a Vietnamese vendor in Pakse, the south of Laos. He was 35 years old and left the city of Da Nang in central Vietnam to pursue a career in the sandwich industry. Without as much competition in Laos, he is able to charge $.40 per sandwich instead of only $.20 – $.33 in Vietnam. He works anywhere from 12-16 hours a day, seven days a week, with a roll-away cart and umbrella on a street corner of the main road. He rents a room at a rate of $20 a month from the guesthouse across the street. I previewed a room at this guesthouse before settling on another one. Even on a limited budget, I refused to stay there.
He seemed to be a very kind man with a gentle nature, repeatedly thanking me for my business as well as the business of a few others I had brought along. During the course of our conversation, he asked me where I live now. When I told him I live in the States, he smiled and with a gleam in eyes said that he had seen the U.S. once, in one of his dreams. At that instant, I had to turn away so he wouldn’t see the tears welling up in my eyes. It pained me deeply to see how poor he is. It pained me even more to know we are of like blood.
In a world where insatiable demands are draining finite supplies, know that you have more because others have less. In the totem pole of the nations, someone has to bear the brunt of the weight of this world at the very bottom. Aren’t you lucky it isn’t you? The next time someone tells you, “You live in the land of opportunity,” know precisely what that means. Take nothing for granted.
My experiences here have forced me to face the harsh realities of my own fate and fortune of becoming an immigrant to the United States, and later obtaining citizenship. My family was among the first wave of boat people to flee Vietnam, in 1978, three years after the fall of Saigon. My relatives describe this perilous period as Vietnam’s poorest, when there was insufficient rice in supply to fill the rations. They consumed instant noodles instead.
As much as I hate to admit it, this first wave of boat people were among the financially elite, a predominantly Saigonese population wealthy enough – by Vietnamese standards – to bribe the communists into turning a blind eye while we escaped the country. My relatives scraped together virtually their entire life savings to purchase the 40 bars of gold that bought our freedom. In addition to the payment of gold, the communists seized our three-story house, the first of its kind in the village we lived. Gold was also used to purchase false documentation forging our Chinese aliases since Vietnamese were prohibited from exiting the country. My parents had forsaken everything for our futures, even pawning their wedding rings to pay the communists’ bribe. Those who could not afford to pay never had the same chance I had. I lost two cousins during that boat voyage and nearly my own life as well.
Not only do I have to face the truth that the ‘rich’ were among the few able to flee during this period but the very fact that the communists were corrupt and demanded a bribe to begin with is what bought our freedom. My life in the States is a direct product of their corruption.
And finally, the factor hardest for me to grapple with is that the only reason first world countries accepted refugees from Vietnam is because so many other Vietnamese had died throughout the course of the war and its aftermath. My family was able to immigrate to the U.S. because millions of my people had died. As indirect as it may have been, I have benefited from the deaths of my people. Had there been no Vietnam War, I may very well still be there today.
By some sheer twist of fate, it could have been me working 12-16 hour days selling sandwiches on a street corner in Laos. Or worse yet, I could have been a farm-girl laboring in rice fields all day somewhere in Vietnam’s countryside. Had the Khmer Rouge succeeded in their insurgencies through south Vietnam in 1978, I may not be here at all.
I now draw to close another chapter in my life, only one year older yet so much wiser. On this undying quest for the meaning of life, I know the world gets smaller with every step I take.
Thu-Tam, The Soul of Autumn.
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