My Mother – In Memoriam Part II

I don’t know if my mother and I were loaded onto a C-141 or C-5, but I do remember there were droves of people rushing to get onto a USAF cargo plane. There were no seats, just large red belt straps hanging on the side of the cabin . Instead of cargo, refugees were seated and we were cramped in tightly together. Sorting through the Vietnam War stock video footage for the Berni’s Journey in Wanderland documentary, I see the distress on people’s faces, Americans and Vietnamese, as they desperately scramble to get a spot onto a plane, ship or helicopter. I can’t imagine what my mother had to be feeling trying to sort through the chaos with a little 4-year old daughter in tow. My mother was fleeing from her homeland and leaving her family. She would not return home for almost 15 years.

I believe we flew straight to Guam but I know some flights stopped in the Philippines. Then we had a layover in San Francisco and then a layover in Omaha before arriving at our destination in Grand Island, Nebraska on April 29, 1975.

What a culture shock, mainly for my mother. I was young enough that everything was still exciting and I didn’t know of prejudice or the sentiment Americans had about the Vietnam War. I was happy to be reunited with my Dad and to meet my new family. I had a teenage aunt that was excited to meet me and doted on me as much as Uncle Yen.

We immediately went to my Grandmother’s house where Christmas presents were waiting for us. Originally, my mother and I were  supposed to get clearance and fly out before the Christmas holiday. In the mind of a child, I was thrilled to be getting gifts from people I just met. One of my favorite gifts were footed pajamas. I had already grown too tall for them so we cut the bottoms off. My mother was exhausted and somewhat guarded meeting her in-laws. We were the first Vietnamese refugees to arrive in Grand Island.

The next morning, it was all over the news that Saigon had fallen. Apparently I was in hysterics seeing the images and my mother was crestfallen. She was unable to communicate with her family to know what was going on at home and how they were doing. It was the first day of our new life in the U.S. and the ending of an old life in Vietnam. What would my life be if my mother had not evacuated just days before the Fall of Saigon?

My father was finishing his undergraduate degree at Kearney State College (now University of Nebraska at Kearney). We moved into a tiny one-bedroom unit on the 3rd floor of an apartment building. I remember watching for father’s blue sedan to drive up the street at 4 o’clock every day.  My mother rarely left the apartment and for someone who was so social, wasn’t socializing very much. The assimilation to the new culture was difficult for her. Even grocery shopping was a challenge. My mother was used to fresh market vendors lined up on streets, not air-conditioned grocery stores with more canned goods than produce. She became self-conscious with the disgusted looks people gave her and the racial slurs under their breaths. She was my protector when kids made fun of me. As my English got better, I quickly learned that I was different and kids wanted me to know it. I wish I would’ve comprehended how my mother and I were grappling with the same issues of bullying and prejudice. Neither she or I had peers that we could lean on and my father was dealing with his own issues of being a Vietnam Vet. The culture was not accepting of us. I grew ashamed of my heritage and didn’t want to speak Vietnamese anymore.

My little sister was born in 1976. She was the love child that arrived 9 months after we arrived to the U.S.  The next best thing to happen was that my father graduated with a Business Degree. He began looking for work outside of Nebraska to leave the narrow-mindedness of a small town. In 1978, he took a position with Bell Helicopter in Tehran, Iran and left in March that year to get settled in.  My mother, sister and I would come in July.

We arrived in Tehran on schedule to make a new life in Iran. My father was happy to be with an old war buddy and other expatriates who wanted to make a fresh start. Other than the Vietnamese wife of my dad’s war buddy, my mother missed home and wished for more companions. I did too. I went to the Tehran American School but didn’t live near any of my classmates. We were bussed to school every day in carpeted vans owned by the driver. I wasn’t enjoying school and felt more disconnected than ever. Again, my mother and I had more in common than either of us were aware enough to care.

We had only lived in Iran for less than 6-months and we started to hear about a revolution.  Curfews were established and rumors that you’d be shot if you were outside after 10 p.m..  Tension was growing with the anti-Shah movement. In December of 1978, we were alerted that students were not to return to school indefinitely because of bomb threats. The Tehran American School never re-opend.  In January 1979, my mother and sister and I left Iran and returned to Nebraska. We had one-day to pack a bag and had to leave all our belongings for the emergency evacuation. My father joined us three days later with just a suitcase. The hope of making a fresh start was shattered. It would test my parent’s already shaky relationship again.

August of 1979 and my youngest sister is born in Lincoln, Nebraska. My mother is going to school and caring for three young girls. I am glad to be back in America with my favorite candy bars and my father’s family. We heard of the Iran Hostage Crisis and we participated in the yellow-ribbon tributes. We celebrated when the Hostage Crisis was over and I was happy to be reunited with my aunt Mary Lynn and my darling Grandmother, Florence. I was 8-years old and my independent nature was more fierce than ever. I think that came from my mother. More Vietnamese families had migrated to Nebraska so my mother made friends and felt the comfort of reuniting with others who spoke her language, ate the same food and shared hopes of the American Dream.

We stayed in Nebraska until 1984 when we moved to Colorado. My father took a job with Martin Marietta. It was the best thing that happened to me, but not probably for my mother. I found classmates to be more open-minded and accepting of me. I was enjoying the new environment. We grew up in a suburban area where 95% of families were Caucasian so there weren’t many people my mother connected with. She left her friends she made in Nebraska.  My mother went to work for a bank and only made friends with co-workers who were also immigrants. She used to love going to the horse races in Nebraska so she was excited to go with co-workers to the dog races.  Perhaps a mechanism for escape, my mother started to go to the dog races nearly every day.  To be continued tomorrow for the final -In Memoriam- entry.

Berni

My Mother – In Memoriam Part I

“A man never sees all that his mother has been to him until it’s too late to let her know he sees it.” –William Dean Howells, American author

Today is the one year anniversary of when my mother, Mai, passed away. After her near-death stroke in 2002, she never fully recovered…physically or emotionally. I believe she had numbed herself to life long before her stroke. My mother had been warned about her high blood pressure for years but she was stubborn about taking medication. Stubborn was my mother’s middle name and she wore it like a badge of honor. I understand now that it was the armor that had grown around her heart from the guilt she carried. The shame that resulted from choices and circumstances. 

My mother was born in Vietnam in 1950. She told me that she was born a disappointment because my grandfather expected her to be a boy. Mai shared examples of how she could never please him and stories of his public ridicule of her. I could see the pain in her eyes of a daughter that just wanted the love and of her daddy. Never feeling accepted by her father had hardened her heart. 

My mother was strikingly beautiful and had many suitors when she was young. She was protected my her oldest and favorite brother, Yen. He was the one person in her life that she felt loved her unconditionally. Uncle Yen was someone who fought for those who couldn’t stand up for themselves. He would speak well of my mother to their father and stuck up for his little sister.  Uncle Yen was more like the father my mother had wished for.  When my mother met my father, Mike, Uncle Yen embraced him like a brother. 

My parents met in 1969 in Saigon during the Vietnam War. My father was an American GI on tour of duty when he met my mother, his first love. The war was a tumultuous backdrop for any relationship to bloom. Their passion for one another was the strength of an unstable foundation. Whenever they separated, they would be drawn back together like magnets. In the ugliness of war, my father found solace being with my mother. Despite the madness of gunfire and smoke, my parents discovered their own personal paradise. I was born in Saigon on April 2,1971. 

My mother told me years later that just before I was born, she dreamt that she was bathing near a waterfall and gave my father a white lotus flower. I was the glue that would bind my parents and set in motion the choice my mother made to seal our fate. 

My father’s tour of duty ended and he remained in Saigon with me and my mother as an expatriate. My parents were young and Saigon was their playground. I lived with my grandmother and was doted over by my Uncle Yen. When news came that my Uncle Yen was killed in warfare,  his death devastated my mother and her family. He was the pride and joy of their family and my mother’s only evidence of unconditional love. Feeling lost, my mother started a pattern of running away to avoid heartache. My grandmother would become my primary caretaker until I was two years old while my mother was often away.  It was a rocky time for my parents too and my mother’s distant nature tested their relationship.

The communist Northern Vietnamese army had become more threatening. It was becoming unsafe for American civilians so my father went home to Nebraska and began paperwork to bring my mother and me to the United States. It took months for the passports to arrive. When the paperwork was cleared, descendants of American soldiers were given priority to evacuate. However, my mother did not leave with me immediately.  I wouldn’t know and understand why until 21 years later.

Sometime between April 25 and 27, my mother I evacuate as part of “Operation New Life”, just days before the Fall of Saigon on April 30, 1975.  The Vietnam War (referenced as The American War by the Vietnamese) was over. But what was the new life that was in store for us?  What would haunt my mother until her death bed? What were the lessons that I would only come to appreciate too late?  To be continued tomorrow.

Berni

Standing Firmly on Own Two Feet

“Personal power is the ability to stand on your own two feet with a smile on your face in the middle of a universe that contains a million ways to crush you.” ― J.Z. Colby, from his book “Journey”

TWO FEET FIRMLY OFF THE GROUND LYRICS – written by Karen Lehner

I have scars would break your heart
Seen others so much worse
Been the bottom of the list
When I needed to be first
But still I keep believing
In the goodness to be found
That’s why you find me standing
Two feet firmly off the ground

I have heard the rage and anger
The ridicule and blame
The judging of another
That’s made in holy name
But what’s the use of knowledge
If no hope can be found
You will hear a new voice
Two feet firmly off the ground

Reach higher – dream
It is only as dark as the shadow makes it seem
And darkest shadow’s cast by a light
Love is the truth of the heart
Love is the one place to start

I claim no understanding
No wisdom to explain
The evil that seems random
And hides in holy game
Wise despair will get you no where
Hopeful wisdom will astound
Come and take your stand here
Two feet firmly off the ground

Reach higher – dream
It is only as dark as shadow makes it seem
And darkest shadow’s cast by a light
If you can see it then you can believe it
Just know in your heart
that you’re meant to receive it
Love is the truth of the heart.

Authentic Inspiration

“Authentic inspiration endows individuals with mental or spiritual energy which they are then able to transform into positive action. It can make all the difference between a man, woman, or child allowing despair to permanently paralyze any dreams they may have for their lives, or, exercising sufficient strength of will to make those dreams a reality.”  ― Aberjhani, Journey through the Power of the Rainbow: Quotations from a Life Made Out of Poetry

In the pursuit of my dream to make this documentary a reality, I think it was fear of failure that hindered me from taking this leap for years. My perfectionism that was driving my need to be seen as capable and competent was paralyzing.  

Now that I took action and had this wondrous journey in the making of the documentary, it is now my fear of success that sometimes holds me back. Now that the movie is unexpectedly about my story, how will my vulnerability and authenticity be perceived?  The more successful the film, the more people who will see my raw emotional self.  

However, I am reminded that this film is bigger than myself. Yes, it is my story and some may find the subject uncomfortable or it doesn’t resonate for them. Then again, if my authentic story can inspire someone, even just one person to action, then my dream has truly become a reality. 

Berni

Your Personal Best

 

“Do those things necessary to bring forth your personal best and don’t lose sleep worrying about the competition.”  –John Wooden, Basketball Player and Outstanding Coach

The first thing I do every morning since the Kickstarter campaign launched for Berni’s Journey in Wanderland is view the site.  I saw that we had three new donations. I was thrilled. We are just hundreds of dollars away from the $25,000 threshold. 

The second thing I do is open the general Kickstarter.com home page to see if the project happens to be selected as a “Staff Pick”. Then I see another documentary has been posted as a “Staff Pick” that just started their campaign and I feel my competitive side come out.

I meet my friend, Jen, first thing this morning for coffee and share the news. She is awesome and offers encouragement that the well is full enough for both our projects to succeed. Jen tells me about the great John Wooden’s philosophy about competition. In my old world, sales was a dog-eat-dog environment and the mentality is that there was only so much of the pie available, you’d better be the first to get your piece(s).

I’m reminded what I know and have learned over and over. If we come the perspective of scarcity, then we bring more attention to lack and limitation. Choosing to view the world as abundant, the opportunities, ideas and resources are limitless. I practiced gratitude for the amount of support and encouragement I’ve received all through this project.  I applaud anyone who is bringing their gift to the world and wanting to make a positive impact on humanity. The more the better in whatever form and medium.  I can focus to strive for excellence on my project and continue to do my personal best every day. Good luck fellow documentarian and Kickstarter peer.  

Berni

“Life has no me…

“Life has no meaning. Each of us has meaning and we bring it to life. It is a waste to be asking the question when you are the answer.” ―Joseph Campbell

At first reading of “Life has no meaning,” I was surprised those words would come from  someone like Joseph Campbell,  a famous mythologist and writer who is known for encouraging people to follow their bliss. Then reading the quote in its entirety, I realize how empowered we really are.  We as souls having a human experience give life meaning, not the other way around.

If I can detach from what I think life is supposed to be, and focus more on how I am being, I wouldn’t have to ask “what is the meaning of life?” My purpose is to live authentically and to follow my own path.  Remind me of this quote whenever I become too detached.

Berni

 

Personal Power

“He who controls others may be powerful,
but he who has mastered himself is mightier still.”
~Lao-Tzu

My mother had a fiery temper. She could look at me without saying a word but the expression on her face and the look in her eyes spoke volumes. The fear I felt from that look was paralyzing and it intimidated me most of my young life. My mother had such a power of control over me that I would obey her every command and would never dare talk back to her. I grew up thinking that intimidation was effective and control was power.  If I could control people and my environment, I was powerful.  

With maturity and motherhood, I learned from my children that intimidation was ineffective and that parenting through force was actually being out of control. I am not my mother so why was I acting like her with my children? I was blessed with two boys who are not afraid to express their opinions and assured enough to know what they want without parental intervention. When I did find myself reacting the way my mother would have, I didn’t feel good about myself. In my need to control my sons, I was not just taking away power from them, I was stripping away my own personal power. 

I was a student as a daughter and again a student as a mother. I learned what I didn’t want to be and that I would be different from my mother. For that, I am grateful to my mother for those lessons.  As a mother, I learned that I can only control myself and that I would be hindering the growth of my children if I didn’t allow them to express their personal power. They have the right to form their own opinions.  They may make mistakes to learn consequences and develop character. They have free will to trust their intuition and make choices. When they have a crisis, it is when I can practice personal power by not reacting and remain centered. This is not easy for me, I am still undoing what was engrained by my mother. 

I am not blaming my mother or feel ill-will toward her any longer. I now understand that she was merely responding the way I had initially as a young mother, it was in our upbringing.  In taking ownership of my choices and my behavior, I am still a student. I continue to practice personal power. 

Berni

“Why is every g…

“Why is every great children’s story about a journey? Maybe that’s because we are always on one.” -Gary Ross, American Film Director and Writer

My family and I went to the Drive-In Theater over the Independence Day holiday. I think I was 12 years old the last time I was at the Drive-In, the same age my oldest son now. It was a great value for an inexpensive night out with the family. Three movies for the price of one. Two of the three were first run movies. We brought some candy and bought a pizza from the snack shop. We brought an queen size air mattress to lay into the bed of the pick-up truck and used pillows to prop us up.  The weather was perfect. Not too hot, not too windy and not a cloud in the starry sky. With the sound of the gravel under the tires, memories of my childhood poured through my mind. 

The first time I ever watched a movie outdoors was when my mother and I evacuated Saigon  and we stopped in Guam at a refugee camp on our way to the United States. There was a cartoon playing on a small pop-up screen with a single boxy speaker amplifying words in English. It was a slice of heaven for a little girl feeling uncertain about her future. I was four and spoke mostly Vietnamese.  I only understood a few words but I was enthralled. The movie was Dr. Seuss‘ “The Cat in the Hat“. I never heard of Dr. Seuss and didn’t know the story.  What I observed was a zany cat with crazy contraptions playing with a boy and girl and making a mess of their house. It was my first glimpse of America.  I was anxious to get to such a colorful place and excited to be reunited with my dad, an American GI living in the heartland of America. 

When I arrived to the United States, it was not a crazy cartoon story but it definitely was the beginnings of a new journey. Being one of the first people from Vietnam to arrive in Nebraska was not the playful story I witnessed watching “The Cat in the Hat”. More on that in another blog.  

What I do recall fondly are the joyful experiences my Dad wanted to give me that were his favorite pastimes, including going to the Drive-In. He would let me pick the carpark spot and allowed me to prop the speaker onto the car window. We would stand in line to get popcorn and sometimes I would even get a candy bar. We watched Star Wars, King Kong and the thriller Jaws. If it rained, my Dad was adamant that we stayed to watch the entire movie. 

When I got older and going to school, summer meant that the Drive-In was open. Sometimes my teenage aunt would bring me with her and I would feel important. I was hanging out with teenagers at the Drive-In.  I remember watching Raiders of the Lost Ark and Airplane. Unfortunately, the Drive-In closed in 1982 due to declining attendance. The brand new movie theaters inside the mall became the hot spot. It was passé to go to the Drive-In when one could sit in an air-conditioned theater with cushioned seats.  

The third movie was nearly over and my boys nearly made it through the triple feature before they resigned for the evening. It was a perfect night.  Nothing like watching a movie outdoors under the clear starry sky. I hope their first drive-in experience was memorable. It was a reminder of how the simple and ordinary brought back extraordinary nostalgia…and a reminder of the start of my American journey.

Berni

Balance in Motion

“A wise woman recognizes when her life is out of balance and summons the courage to act to correct it, she knows the meaning of true generosity, happiness is the reward for a life lived in harmony, with a courage and grace.” –Suze Orman

Oops, I’m doing it again. The Kickstarter campaign and marketing efforts for Berni’s Journey in Wanderland has become such a focus, near obsession, and my family pays the price. I’m not home as often, the cupboards are empty, the laundry builds up and I’m staying up until 1am in front of the computer still trying to keep up.  My youngest son told me, “Mom, it’s not normal to stay up that late every night.”  The guilt starts to settle in a bit.  Then, the self-care gets neglected. I miss my coveted yoga classes, grooming suffers and as my friend Allison says, I have poor sleep hygiene.  

When I’m not balanced, things will set me off easily or I feel disconnected from my spirit and God. The perfectionist side comes out and scolds me for not having more discipline. I should know better, I should prioritize, I should plan accordingly.  Here I go “shoulding” all over myself again.  All of it doesn’t make me feel good, and especially now when I need to be at the top of my game.

So, I took a little break on July 4 and 5 to just spend time with family and to recharge. I said no to meetings and social engagements and went to yoga class and a much needed hair appointment.  My family and I went to the drive-in theatre and had a ball watching the Triple Features. I did get some laundry done and even went to the grocery store twice.  

I feel better already and my perspective is more centered so I’m not a nightmare to my family or myself. I’m reminded that balance is an act of self-love to be my personal best. My family, my relationships and my work/dream project are all important to me. But if I’m trying to do it all and feeling unbalanced, I’m not BEING who I want to be. The couple days off helped me restore and I feel much better.  Now, I can step back into motion with balance.

Berni

 

“We all have ou…

“We all have our own life to pursue, Our own kind of dream to be weaving… And we all have the power To make wishes come true, As long as we keep believing.” – Louisa May Alcott, author of Little Women

Believing is seeing.  I’ll keep dreaming…big. I won’t give up…hope.  

Berni