When asked about my ideal family vacation, I envision bustling fish markets, exotic fruit stalls, and the exhilaration of navigating overfilled parking lots. However, my everyday life in Fontana drastically contrasts my fantasies. I often resented the city for its limitations and seemingly ordinary suburban tranquility, which didn't align with my desire for dynamic experiences. Nevertheless, amidst these sentiments, I couldn't help but appreciate the sense of camaraderie that my neighbors graciously provided. The distinctive sounds of the honks signaling the arrival of elote carts on certain street corners and the enticing aroma of carne asada tacos from street vendors slowly became nostalgic to me.
Besides a tiny section in the “ethnic foods” aisle of our local Stater Bros., my family of Vietnamese immigrants discovered a piece of their homeland at Little Saigon in Orange County, California. In my household, ABC Supermarket and Thuận Phát Supermarket were our equivalent of “Trader Joe’s” or “Vons” in others. Despite the monthly fifty-mile drive to the largest Vietnamese enclave in America, it was the most convenient means of accessing Vietnamese ingredients for home-cooked meals. Our day trips to Little Saigon were the only consistent family outings, almost becoming a tradition. On the one day when everyone wasn’t busy, Sunday, we had to allocate time and resources to productive tasks like grocery shopping. These day trips weren't just about acquiring groceries; they were a sensory journey, a way to infuse our home with the essence of Vietnam.
Instead of screaming to my heart’s desire at Disneyland, I was twenty-five minutes away staring at the fresh cuts of red and pink meats behind the glass counter as the butcher expertly sliced my mother’s picks with the most grating saw. Nevertheless, it wasn't my primary concern, as I cherished the rare moments I could spend with my parents. I didn't frequently dwell on financial challenges like these until middle school when I attended parties hosted by my uncle's in-laws. The walls of the lavish homes I visited had shelves adorned with arrays of glistening trophies and medals, ranging in size and material from violin recitals to soccer games. The awards I received for my academic performance and perfect attendance were a few saplings to an entire orchard compared to what the children of those houses achieved. As a result, I often wondered, "What if my parents’ circumstances could have been different? Could I have become a child prodigy? Would being able to afford lessons help me to excel as a professional pianist or ballet dancer?”
My presumed lack of recreational talents was compensated for when I ignited my spark of curiosity through conducting experiments in my high school laboratory, rather than performing in a concert hall or competing in a sports stadium. Engaging in hands-on experimentation allowed me to delve into the intricate realm of scientific reasoning, fostering my deep adoration with the principles that govern the natural world. Moreover, I uncovered my artistic abilities, which I thought would remain dormant, when I joined the yearbook staff. In the yearbook production process, I could finally translate my imagination into designing vivid spreads and crafting dynamic stories, discovering a newfound passion for visual storytelling. My accomplishments in these areas helped me realize that my identity wasn't solely defined by accolades; it was shaped by the activities that brought me the greatest sense of fulfillment.
Amid life's imperfections, I found solace in the enveloping embrace of gratitude. As I embarked on a journey through unfamiliar terrain and oddly familiar landscapes, gratitude mirrored the ever-constant presence of the moon, a companion to whom I instinctively sought comfort. I was grateful for those who assumed fixed roles in life so I could explore a myriad of them. In school, I appreciated the classes that allowed me to discover which fields suited me best and revealed my hidden talents. Moreover, I was thankful for my upbringing granting me the privilege to explore my native culture and the ones that surrounded me, creating memories such as culinary trips to Little Saigon and conversing in broken Spanish with merchants. My gratitude manifests itself into hope as I long for the return of the abundant joy I once knew. While hope can be a lethal virtue, for our desires may never materialize and could lead to despair, it gives me anticipation for the future every day. During the nights of my greatest anguish, I would gaze at the ever-changing moon residing in the inky blankets of the sky. Its phases, shifting throughout the month, serve as a testament that even during moments of discontent, one can rediscover oneself with time.
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