This is the story of me, starting way back before I was born.
My father's side, of the Ming dynasty, fled after the Shun dynasty was created and resided by the Chinese border of Vietnam. Fast-forward to my the time of my dad in his late 20s/early 30s during the Viet Cong movement. Him and his younger brother set out and become boat refugees.
My mother's side, of full Vietnamese heritage lived in Northern Vietnam. During the war between the North and South, her father, my maternal grandfather had bought two boat tickets for my aunts but one of my aunt would not go because she wanted to stay back with her lover. My mother had just came home from work only to find herself being rushed to pack her clothes as quick as possible and board a boat with her younger sister.
My father and mother met on the boat. My dad was the boat driver because he could tell navigate by the stars. My mother, was just a passenger; one of the most rebellious and unafraid lady upon the boat. They finally arrived on Hong Kong shores after so many months when HK was still under British control. My parents married each other in Hong Kong and lived in the refugee concentration camps for years. My elder sister had a high reputation among the other parents and children. When my father would go out to work, my mother would stay inside with my sister and they wouldn't communicate because she only spoke Cantonese. Often times the police officers would come to sit and chit chat with my sister. Three years later I was born, but this time my family had been transferred to a different refugee camp. My sister and I were born in the same hospital though, Prince of Wales. We lived in Sha Tin for some time but we lived mostly in Kowloon. Finally, we were sponsored by the government to come to America but we had to go back to Vietnam to get our papers filled out. It took a while and soon my sister forgot how to speak Cantonese because my maternal side was afraid of not being able to communicate with their granddaughter. At the age of three, I came to the US of A. We had help with translators and assistance in integrating in the white world. We were required to attend Churches and read about God, the ways of Catholics and Christians but after all these years we still retain our Buddhist religion and follows the old ways and beliefs of back in the East. As Asians, my sister and I were victims of racism and bullying for being different. Not only from white people but from others such as the Mexicans and Irish. Unable to speak English, my sister would often have to resort to violence to protect herself and I. As a 1.5 generation, my parents being the first generation because they're the one who moved themselves to a different country and my sister and I as 1.5 because we grew up in the East and West. In our household, we only speak Vietnamese to our parents, sometimes a mixture of Chinese/phrases. We celebrate both Chinese and Vietnamese customs yet I can only speak Vietnamese. Whenever I label myself as Chinese, I feel hesitant because I cannot speak Chinese and not as aware of Chinese customs as much as a full-bred Chinese but to say I'm Vietnamese is not fully correct but most Vietnamese tend to call themselves half Chinese because they want to feel as thought they're a part of the big three Asian country and I don't want to be seen as that. So what am I? Chinese-Vietnamese America, if that even makes sense? Chinese-American? Vietnamese American? I dunno. I'm just an Asian girl living in America with the name of Lâm Thu Diệu Linh;林妙伶 under the alias of Alena Lin.
My sister, mother, and I are in Chinese clothing while my father is carrying me. My aunt, her husband, and my cousin on the side.
I don't know who that man is on the side.
