Choices

Choices can be a liberating and dangerous freedom. With any choice, I think thyself usually knows the best decision yet is influenced by surroundings and expectations. Logic vs emotion. Wants vs needs. Big or small, choices are the decisions that guide us forward. Short-term or long-term. Solicited or unsolicited.

So goes the merry-go-round of life. I love that in my current circus of life, any decision I make today can be easily changed tomorrow due to the non-demand of long-time commitment. It is what thrills me. It is what makes me want more. It is the life-blood of what keeps me going.

The roller-coaster ride of changing my mind four times on any given day makes me want to stand in que for the ride all over again. Yet I wonder why...since it has the same effect as the ride which makes your insides turn outside. You know the one I'm talking about. The amusement park can be a taunting and exhilarating joy ride which you can escape when the park closes. I suppose it's a thrill. I sense it's a comfort. I know it's staple.

I actually keep waiting for the day when enough is enough. Shouldn't I want the life that we lead outside the amusement park? Yes. Am I ready for that life again? No.

The tragic clowns are doing their magic. The battered elephants are performing their tricks. The unhealthy popcorn is hot and buttery. The obnoxious crowd is waiting with anticipation.

I extended my visa for another three months.
~ Jen ~

Yeah, I know it's been a long time. The last couple weeks have not been so easy. You might think it's all kittens and kisses being in Asia but let me assure you that it's not. Sure, I eat street food for cheap...beers are basically free...life is pretty simple compared to that of the West. For as many simplicities and priviliges that exist here, there are just as many frustrations and temptations. The space between is where I strive to exist.

Seven weeks ago I accepted a job that I thought would be a good fit. I was wrong. A week ago I resigned. It was a dysfunctional environment that suffocated my intent for living in Asia. I wasn't happy doing what I was doing and I was unhappy for not going after what I originally came here to do. With a breathe of fresh air, I spent the last week enjoying Hanoi and catching up on sleep and relaxation. Today, I was told that my Visa situation may cause me to have to leave in six days. I pushed on for more points of information and feel assured that I can resolve it tomorrow...for a price. Will it be worth it? I would like to think so. But just like a 30 minute conversation that should take 5 minutes, so is the time it takes to see results of immaculate efforts.

I'm sitting in a bar at the moment because our internet at home has been shut off for the last three days because we weren't there to answer the door when the lady came knocking to receive payment. No one seems to know the amount we owe. The guesstimate we are given is sure to pad the pockets of an unknown enemy. We gave money to a woman I no longer work for to give to our cleaning lady who hates us because we constantly nag her to actually clean rather than whatever it is she thinks she does. Do I have another beer or go home and hope to have internet? Do I need internet? Yes, for what it is I really need to be doing at the moment.

Meanwhile, I'm pinching pennies and avoiding buying appropriate weather suitable for this Hanoi winter weather. After all, I'm unemployed again and prefer to spend my dollars on more entertaining investments. I realize this uncomfortable temperature of 60 degrees F is a far cry of what I would have in Chicago but my soul of Southeast Asia hinders me from accepting.

I treated myself to a burger tonight rather than cabbage soup at home.

I wonder if my laundry hanging on the sunless rooftop will be dry so I have something to wear tomorrow.

I just realized the other three people sitting at this table with me are playing online poker. Half the people in this tourist-area bar are Expats compared to tourists.

I wonder if the store ladies next door at home will hound me for beer bottles upon my return.

Should I walk for 30+ minutes without a jacket or hire a motorbike driver?

~ Jen ~

Wandering Mind

Random thoughts that won’t leave me alone this morning…

Elevator etiquette is non-existent.

A tiny donut shop I treated myself to this morning in the shopping center had four employees working in a 10 x 10 sq ft space. Only half that space was free for human occupancy.

I live in a civilized and fairly nice neighborhood for Hanoi yet in the mornings, men freely urinate on the sidewalk. They don’t even pause to free the space of splatter as I walk by. Parents even simply pull the down pants of their children to desiccate the street and sidewalk. Toilets are available very nearby.

Construction is going on next door to a street-side coffee shop that I pass by going to and from home. This tiny elderly woman was trying to go about her business and earn a living but apparently the construction guy thought she should move her little plastic tables and chairs out of his way. I missed the introduction of the altercation but was made aware of the situation via a plastic chair flying by my face. He proceeded to hurl all her chairs and tables including all coffee glasses and spoons into the street where they shattered in front of oncoming traffic. The sidewalk was full of patrons and pedestrians (mostly male). A guy sauntered up who I thought was going to help but all he did was check to ensure his car was not scratched and then sat back down at the neighboring coffee place. They were yelling and screaming and no one helped her or did anything. What to do?!

Two different nights while sitting on our rooftop, big rocks hurdled toward us from the dark park below.

The scratching noise I heard as I fell asleep last night was most likely cockroaches having a dance party in the corner of my room.

The fried bacon and 3 eggs covered with cheese is now considered a culinary delight for me.

~ Jen ~

Charades for Survival

Imagine going through your day and only being able to get things done if you were good at playing Charades… where holding up two fingers doesn’t mean there are two words… in a situation where the person you are acting for probably doesn’t even know the word you’re acting.

It can be so funny you feel like you’re playing the game on purpose for fun with friends. It can also leave you with the feeling that you’re lost in a world with no way to communicate. So… I thought it would be fun for you to imagine how something like this plays a part in our lives in Vietnam. Each day requires a bit of this Charades routine but here are a few worth mentioning.

- Asking the Security Guy at my school to change the big drinking water jug on the machine or that I need him to blow up 50 more balloons.

- First time we had to understand the lady at the shop next door when she was saying in Vietnamese (and doing a bit of acting herself) that we would need to return the beer bottles in order to get our bottle deposits back.

- Explaining to the various people who knock on our gate that we do not pay the bills and that they need to phone "this" person. This is after having to figure out which bill they’re collecting for which is like a doubly whammy round of the game. Note: Mail is not delivered. Rather, people have to go house to house and ask for payment in cash which is apparently done around 5pm…when many people aren’t even home from work yet. And if they come five times and you still don't pay it, they shut off your service. So efficient!

- We went to the market to try and find a shower curtain and something that can serve as a shower caddy to hold products so they don’t sit on my always gross, wet floor. Danielle stood by laughing as I pretended to shower and wash my hair so that I could reach for the shampoo bottle in the "imaginary" shower caddy. The lady offered a plastic spray bottle. No. Then she tried to sell us more hangers and a frying pan. This is all while other ladies continued to gather around to watch the entertainment. And I still haven’t found these things!

- Asking for my hair to be chemically straightened which included figuring out that she wanted to know if I had colored it within the last two years.

- Danielle explaining how she wanted her hair cut. Very brave!

- To replace my bedsheets which Danielle so accurately described as 5-count plastic, I spent an hour at an actual bedding store trying to understand the sizes and individual products for sale. I was at one point laying on the display bed with arms stretched from end to end to determine the size of that bed. I finally bought a fitted sheet and think blanket which do not match but compliment each other. And now the too small sheet is stretched across my bed. Note: They don't sell flat sheets here.

- Danielle tried to buy Tiger Balm and was offered Tiger Beer, then hair gel. She's still itching.

- In search of a Monkey Temple in Thailand, I "modeled" (as we learned to do in our teacher training class). I climbed imaginary steps, formed a temple with my hands and imitated a monkey. I had to do this for three different people and finally a man and his daughter, who we flagged down as they approached in their truck, led us to the temple area as we followed on motorbike.

- One day I "moooed" like a cow to ask why there was no beef in my hamburger.

- Needing to buy tampons which includes acting out what a tampon is in the first place. Yes, just imagine…I was wearing a bathing suit!

When we get back to the States, who wants to be first to challenge us in a game of Charades?

~ Jen ~

...and then go and do that...

How do you overcome your biggest obstacle when that obstacle is yourself? I have come to realize that I have much more to offer the world than I give myself credit for. I have so many valuable ideas, so many desires and so many things I want to accomplish and change. I have the mentality to do these things, to make a difference and to make something of myself, yet the thing that is holding me back is myself. Maybe the fear of failure? Taking risks? Making bad decisions? Wanting to do too much? I have always been so indecisive about everything I have done. I have always kept quiet when I could have been sharing a valuable piece of myself. I have so much I want to do, yet make no effort to accomplish it. I know this about myself, yet I have no idea how to overcome this fear of myself. I think this is maybe what separates the successful people from the average people. Sometimes I think if only I could conquer myself, then I could find true happiness within myself. Its difficult knowing that I have the potential to do so much, yet I spend all my time pondering how to do it rather than acting on it. Somewhere throughout my life, I lost all confidence in myself, and no matter how times people tell me how smart and beautiful and talented I am, I remain credulous without reason. And no matter how many times people tell me that I have the world at my feet and can do anything I want to do, I feel I will most likely dwell on what to do with the world until it is too late to do anything at all.
~D

Lost in communication

In order to adequately advise you of what it is that has me back in the working world after 18 months, I would need to write a book as Danielle did about her new best friend, her xeom. It would require additional chapters with many footnotes. Instead, I will give you the cliffnotes version as I’m sure the daily antics of my job will serve as entertaining reading in the future.

The plan was to teach English as a Foreign Language. But rather it’s me who feels like I need to learn a foreign language in order to do my job. I’m the Marketing Manager for a new International Kindergarten here in Hanoi. It is the first of this franchise in Vietnam. The owner is Chinese and speaks no Vietnamese. All staff except for me speak Vietnamese and a range of decent to no English. I was hired to promote and market this very new school and to launch several new programs. Obviously I didn’t exactly know what that would mean but I thought it would be a good challenge to learn to market something other than Consumer Packaged Goods in a foreign country where I don’t speak the language or have a sense of what works and doesn’t work in terms of advertising and marketing.

My understanding is that I would work with the owner and have some interaction with other staff members as needed. I was to 1) market the school to increase enrollment, 2) launch a program called FasTracKids, 3) launch two other smaller programs, 4) manage the English department, 5) teach English classes myself eventually. The owner has a Western mentality because he grew up in Canada. He’s very smart and motivated. I could sense that he would work at a fast speed and I was ready to get started. I accepted the job on a Wednesday at 4pm and was flown to Ho Chi Minh City the next morning for four days training. Since then, I often times wonder what the hell was I thinking?! Turns out, the owner lives in HCMC and all my work revolves around communicating with the local staff. In my attempt to create some efficiencies for the school and selfishly for myself, I am now also responsible for Sales and managing several of the local staff which means communication with a whole other group of people. This might be one of those times when over achieving is not a good idea.

Funny stories for you (frustrating for me) will come your way in the future I’m sure. But for now, let me say that it takes 30 minutes to discuss something that should take five minutes. I cannot say “do you understand” because the answer is always “yes”. My questions are often interpreted to mean something completely different. Vietnamese tend to hide their feelings so it’s difficult to decipher if they are ok with what is going on, frustrated, angry, etc.

To me, this doesn’t begin to describe my work situation. There are some days where my head actually hurts from concentrating so hard to understand the communication and discussions. However, I’m having a great time and loving the challenge. I’ve always been a patient person but this is bringing me to a whole new level. If I may say so myself, a future employer of mine is going to reap the benefits of my current unusual world.

The story of the xeom

Prologue
They say that coming to Southeast Asia is like going back in time, but it is actually going ahead in time. Maybe the person who created time zones should have planned for this better.

Chapter 1
I met my xeom (Vietnamese for motorbike taxi driver-literally translates to hug), while wandering through the old quarter one day in search of a bank. He was selling photocopied books on the streets to tourists (a very popular occupation amongst the locals in the old quarter). It is always best to be cautious of these touts, as they usually tend to be relentless, sometimes aggressive, and there have been numerous reports of theft from expats during encounters with them.
I became skeptical of him when I told him I didn’t want to buy any books and he didn’t push the matter any further. Instead, he just asked where I was going and offered to help me find a bank. My first instinct told me that this must be part of a scam to steal my newly acquired money or credit card information. However, I had not yet learned the secret to crossing the streets of Hanoi so I followed him as he cleared a path through the unwavering stream of motorbikes. He patiently waited outside as I entered bank number one, which turned out did not accept visa. Against my better judgment, I followed him again to bank number two, which was now closed for siesta. At bank number three, I was able to withdraw cash from the ATM machine but was careful to keep my credit card information hidden and my money held close. I figured that in exchange for his help, I would surely be obligated to buy a book from him in order to avoid a confrontation.

Interlude:
I’d like to pause here to clarify that I am not proud of myself for being so distrusting. I think it is shameful that we cannot always accept a stranger’s help without thinking they want something in return. Yet, I am a young women venturing outside the comfort zone of suburban America for the very first time into a country I know very little about. Historically, my naivety often gets the best of me, and I can’t help but to be overtly cautious, not only for my own safety, but also to appease the qualms of my overly worried family, whose reminders to “be careful” constantly ring in my ears.

Chapter 2
I realize the boy with the books is after nothing, except genuinely wanting to help someone in need and to make a meager, yet honorable, living. I have three job interviews that day, and he offers to take me. He asks if he can take me to work everyday, and I agree. It is the only guaranteed source of income he has.

Chapter 3
For three weeks, he has faithfully driven me anywhere I need to go. He is never late, and never complains when I call him on short notice. Each time he picks me up, he has a piece of gum and a new Vietnamese song on his mp3 player for me. One day it started to rain while he was taking me to work. We stopped and he bought us a rain poncho, a lovely bright pink piece of plastic with two head holes for us to share, equipped with duck billed hoods. Other motorbike drivers sped past us, dressed in similar attire, splashing water up at us as we went, but my nice work clothes remained perfectly dry underneath.
He gets frustrated with me because he thinks I don’t go out enough. “Why you always go home? Why you never go anywhere? Always work and home! I think you go see Ho Chi Minh museum, I take you! You never eat? You don’t like Vietnamese food? I think I show you Vietnamese food!” I can attempt to explain myself, but his English is poor and he doesn’t understand, so finally I agree to let him show me Vietnamese food.

Chapter 4
We go to a typical Vietnamese restaurant. Small metal tables and tiny plastic stools lining the sidewalk. The menu is all in Vietnamese so I tell him to order something good for me. The waitress runs across the street to fill dirty glasses with bia hoi, a Vietnamese microbrew. Small eateries and other dives concoct their own versions and varieties of it. Stored in plastic containers that look like a large drum used to carry gasoline (and probably once was), with a long rubber tube hooked to one end and a cork serving as a tap; you never really know what you are going to get.
My intention was only to stay out for a quick dinner, an hour tops. Although every third sentence was answered by one of us saying, “I don’t understand,” frequent pauses, and trying to come up with a simpler way to explain something, we ended up talking for a long time. Slowly the story of his life unfolded.
He grew up in what he calls, “his country”, which really isn’t another country at all, but a village about 50km from Hanoi. His mother is 60, which is very old for the Vietnamese, and her health is failing. She can no longer work, and he helps pay for her hospital visits when he can afford it. He never knew his father. His younger sister is 18. She is married to a much older man and has a baby. He asks me why I am not married yet, because in Vietnam 23 is old for a women to not yet be married. I explain to him that in America, 23 is still very young to be married and ask him why he is not married. He tells me that men do not get married until they are 27 or 28 and typically marry women 10 years younger than themselves. He also tells me that he only attended school for six years. There is no requirement to go any longer here. When he was 13, he left the village and moved to Hanoi by himself to sell books. His mother could no longer care for him and it was the only way he could support himself. I ask him where he lives, and he tells me that he shares one small bedroom with 7-10 other men. They all sleep on mats on the crowded floor. His rent is 10,000 dong per night, about $0.56. It is all he can afford, but he has never known the comforts of a bed, so he is content.
It is time to leave, and I try to pay the bill, but he insists on paying. It is tradition in Vietnam, and besides, it was a good day. “Today I sell many books and make a lot of money,” he says with a big smile, “$44 US. It was a good day”.