After the Fall

After the fall, a new season blossoms. Pollen of ships scatter across oceans. Geography becomes modified once again. Liberation at last! Fists in the air as the sound of helicopters fade out. Those damn colonizers are gone! The Vietnamese people are now independent. They are no longer subordinates to the French or Americans or Chinese! At Last! At Last!

At least, more people did not lose their homes. At least, more people were not killed in this war for liberation, for democracy, for independence or whatever. At least, the little boy with bowl cut hair sipping on his bowl of chao got the luxury to watch Scooby Doo on such a big tv in such a big suburban neighborhood in such a big city like San Jose. What is this fall you call?

I never learned of "Black" April until I got to college. I had thought Sai Gon and Ho Chi Minh City were two different cities. When a few of my friends used Ho Chi Minh City instead of Sai Gon, I was puzzled. What did each connote? I recall a time when we had some sort of heritage day in kindergarten on the the grass field, there were flags of so many nations. I remember seeing the flag of Viet Nam which my teacher had to point out for me. I did not know "my own flag"? Red body with a yellow star in a middle. I never knew? I had always thought it was yellow with three blood red stripes. Or maybe, the red, white, and blue flag. I am an American after all. What flag do I raise? Why do I have to raise a flag period?

Knowing that I come out of this history, I wouldn't be here if it hadn't been for the war, for the Fall of Saigon. My parents were privileged to had lived in an urban area where war did not take place in. They did not feel the war until the Fall of Saigon on April 30, 1975 when troops marched into their city (can't remember the city at the moment). They were not seeking for opportunities like other immigrant groups in the past, they were seeking a new home. I am not too sure whether they've found it yet either. Little Saigons, Lion Plazas, and Grand Centuries scream out a Viet Nam of the past, before the war, before this Fall. Even the blood-lined flag we use to represent ourselves is all of rebuilding a nostalgic, romanticized past. You see it in Paris by Night. You hear it in the voices of Vietnamese karaoke'ers--the rural sorrow, the industrial happiness.

I can mourn for all who have died because of war or the boat experience, but I do not know if I can mourn for the loss of a nation. If I were then I would be mourning the exodus for my existence and the foundation of my identity.