My parents fled Vietnam. I dream of living there.

Growing up in Texas, my parents constantly reminded me of my Vietnamese roots.

We left Vietnam when I was just five. My first return visit was at seventeen, and there, unexpectedly, I felt an intrinsic sense of belonging.

Post-college, I decided to make Vietnam my home and stayed for seven years before heading back to the United States.

Now, I'm preparing to make Southeast Asia my permanent home again.

Our Westward Journey

In 1986, I was born in a Mekong Delta town.

Using the Humanitarian Operation program, which facilitated U.S. immigration for former re-education camp inmates, my family left Vietnam.

After several failed escape attempts that led to my father's imprisonment, we finally left when an aunt, now a U.S. citizen, sponsored us.

Adapting to Texas

After initially arriving in Houston, we found our footing in Dallas, embraced by a strong Vietnamese-immigrant community that helped me maintain my language skills.

Though immersed in a multicultural suburb, I still felt a stigma about our cultural differences. Teased for the sound of my name and the unique aromas of our cuisine, these were constant reminders of my otherness.

Living among other immigrants offered a sense of community belonging, yet my parents faced exclusion — particularly my father, who silently endured workplace harassment as a laborer.

Rediscovering Vietnam

I returned to Vietnam as a high school junior, and from then, I aimed to visit annually.

Obliging my parents' expectations, I pursued an anthropology and sociology degree, with French studies at the University of Texas at Austin.

A move back at 22 led me to a volunteering role in Huế, revealing a rarity then for Vietnamese Americans, which puzzled my American relatives.

Many questioned my return, seeing Vietnam as merely an escape in their narratives, yet for me, it was a path to deeper connection and discovery.

Surprisingly, as my parents visited, the trip became as much a novel cultural exploration for them as it was me.

Initially planned as a one-year stay, I extended it to seven, defying my parents’ vision of upward mobility entrenched in American success.

Finding My Balance

My stay in Vietnam highlighted my American identity anew.

Possessing a distinctive accent in Vietnamese and engaging with a largely Westernized approach to life, I had to adapt to Vietnam’s relationship-oriented workplace.

I learned to engage subtly, tuning into nonverbal cues pivotal to social navigation.

Personal space, overlooked in Vietnam, became a negotiation point — there was guilt attached to desiring solitude.

Daily life awaited a re-calibration — from the vibrant motorbike-laden streets to the bustling neighborhood atmosphere.

Life in the sprawling and serene Texan landscapes stood in stark contrast to the vibrant communal lifestyle of Vietnam.

Traditional labels like Vietnamese-American seemed inadequate; my identity felt more like a blend — an innovation of cultural hybridity as Gloria Anzaldúa describes.

Charting the Future

Near the end of my Vietnamese chapter, opportunities expanded regionally, leading to a film education stint in Cambodia, where I connected with my Colombian partner.

We launched TẠPI Story in the United States, driven by a need to secure resources primarily available stateside.

Together, we established The School of Slow Media, advancing film education between Asia and America.

Our portfolio includes impactful documentaries and videos for prominent organizations, showcasing our global reach across five continents.

Building our company here in the U.S. was essential, capitalizing on abundant grants and opportunities.

However, long-term, I envision relocating. I aspire for my children to grow up understanding the interconnectedness of our lives, an ethos central to communal living.

We are sculpting the path toward this forthcoming chapter.