Three Weeks In

My magic number is three. Almost exactly three. It takes me three weeks to process. Whether it be a major life event, death, moving, a new job, a new semester, whatever. It takes me three weeks to process. And then the freak out begins. At nearly exactly the three week point in every one of these situations, I have a meltdown. An “I-hate-everything-about-what-I’m-doing” kind of meltdown. Usually I want to go home (regardless of where I am). Usually, that is not an option.

A little taste of home

I have been in Vietnam three weeks. If I see another bowl of soup I think I might cry.  Not to mention that fish sauce is poured over everything! On the table in nice establishments they have full tea kettles of fish sauce. FULL KETTLES ON EVERY TABLE. Now I generally like fish sauce, but that is taking a good thing just a bit too far.

Also, they do not have adequate ice cream here.

I may or may not admit to having stashed a bag of Hershey kisses in our mini fridge/freezer, and these said but most likely fictional pieces of chocolate might have run out finally today.

I’m not complaining. I’m just struggling. I know struggling is part of this adventure and when I look back I will be surprised at how strong I am and I’ll just think of all the wonderful times I’ve had here…yadeyada.

But right now, I’m tired. I’m hot. I’m sweaty. I still don’t speak the language.  And I’ve run out of chocolate.

This was a previously taken photo, but it captured how I was feeling so well that I had to use it

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So right after I wrote the above piece, I decided to go forage for some food (or maybe just chocolate) before publishing. The only thing I managed to eat today was some garlic naan, which while it was good, was a solid 8 hours ago.

As I was walking down the street, feeling pitiful, praying desperately that although it was the first day of Tet perhaps maybe some poor pho restaurant would be open, I only found shutter after shutter closed. Finally I see a man grilling an entire fish-- skin, bones, head, the whole nine yards-- on a makeshift bbq. I felt pathetic as I stared most likely hungrily and a bit curiously at the entire charred fish. The man grilling saw my face, and he must have picked up on my self-pity vibes because he offered me a chair. At first I was confused. Do I want to watch you grill the fish? Sure. But then I realized, I was invited to the family celebration. It was wonderful.

They grilled in front of me an entire fish and an entire chicken, which is no small feat on a grill the size of a piece of paper. Guests started to arrive shortly after I was invited to sit down. One woman, who became my favorite, arrived with a huge bowl of soup and she talked louder than anyone I’ve ever met. She was one of those people who I didn’t have to know very much Vietnamese for because all she wanted was an attentive audience. Although I had absolutely no idea what she was saying, I said “uh-huh” and “oh my” and laughed in all the right places. She rewarded me with extra servings of soup.

I’m proud to say that my Vietnamese is good enough for people to understand what I’m saying. Unfortunately I can ask more questions than I can understand the answer to. Needless to say I’m not a particularly good conversationalist. That didn’t seem to stop this family from welcoming me in to their patch of sidewalk though. They even gave me a fake $2 American bill to burn for my ancestors so that they might be able to afford a better place in heaven.

Since the family runs a pho shop not too far from me, I’m sure I’ll be back. They said they would love to see me again, and can’t wait until I come eat with them after Tet.  I don’t know how I got so lucky, but I’m so very glad I did.

Every time my enthusiasm for this country starts to waiver, something incredible, such as being invited to a family celebration right on the street, happens and well, it’s love all over again.

Things I learned (among other things):

Everything looks a bit bleaker when you run out of chocolate

The gratitude I felt when I was invited to dinner was so strong that I don’t think I will ever forget it. It doesn’t take much to invite a straggler to lunch. It might even make their day.

It doesn’t matter how good or bad you might be at a language, it’s the effort that you put into your interactions that count