Ancestral Words Calling Me Home

Location: Hong Kong
Local Time: 3:40pm
Status: In-Transit to Ho Chi Minh City (Saigon), Viet Nam

As I am waiting for my flight to Viet Nam, my mind is filled with her images, sights and sounds.  When I think to myself that I am going to Viet Nam, I say, "ve Viet Nam."  This phrase is interesting because of its meaning and implications.  In Vietnamese, some words can only be used with other words and while it might make perfect sense to use them in another word, that just does not happen.  For example, lets take the phrase, "going to Viet Nam":  I would say, "ve Viet Nam," whereas if I was going to say, "going to the United States [or anyplace other than Viet Nam]," I would say, "sang My (US)."  The difference between the words "ve" and "sang" is that "ve" conjures up feelings of and implies that one is going home, going to a place of origin, of a return; whereas the word "sang" implies going to a foreign place for a temporary period of time with the intention of leaving to return home.  The catch, or interesting part, is that the words "sang" and "Viet Nam" would very rarely be used together--Vietnamese peoples would almost always say, "ve Viet Nam."  This is especially strange for me, and others who are Vietnamese located outside of Viet Nam, because we still say (translated), "going home to Viet Nam," and "visiting the US," even though my home is actually in the US.

As I pondered on the use of language during my plane ride from Tokyo to Hong Kong, I thought: maybe by using the word "ve" or '"going home" with Viet Nam, I am unconsiously reminding myself that whatever place I am at, my home is still in Viet Nam.  In a land rooted in 1000s of years of traditions, rituals and beliefs, it only makes sense that through the use of language, my ancestry reminds me that I indeed belong to, Viet Nam. Prehaps that is why even though it has been 2.5 years since I was last in Viet Nam, every time I close my eyes and think about the country, my country, my senses become flooded with smells, sights and sounds.  I can hear young boys shouting "hot baguettes" in the early morning hours, taste the sweetness of slow-drip Vietnamese coffee, and smell the aroma of Pho mingling in the air.  I can feel the hot humidity weighing on my skin, hear the noise of traffic in Saigon, and see images school girls in white tunics (ao dais) biking to class.  Viet Nam, land of my birth, I am indeed, coming home...