life, death, family, and french canada.
Nov 7, 2006 2:22:12 GMT -5
Post by salmonjunkie on Nov 7, 2006 2:22:12 GMT -5
Well, it's not a rant, but it's not stupid, it's not a comic book, and it's not NSFW, so I guess I'll just put this here.
I put it on my myspace blog an hour ago, but I don't know if you can read it without being a member of myspace, and enough of you guys know me enough where I think it'd be fine to put up something of this personal nature.
---
I am in Montreal right now for my granduncle's funeral. I arrived early Sunday morning. He passed away suddenly on Friday. He was the first of my grandmother's 5 siblings to pass and he was an important part of my family - immediate and extended - being here in America today. He was 78 years old.
I write this not to ask for sorrows and such. I write this as my way of letting it go, but more importantly, to tell a story about my family history. Pretty much all of this was told to me by my mother over the years. Forgive me for any innacuracies.
My oâng ba, Tran Huynh Long was the 2nd of 6 children. In the 1950s during French occupation of South Vietnam, he was hailed for suspicion of being a communist, due to his interest in the Russian language. During his prison time, he learned how to fix electronics. When he was released, he took a job at a movie theater as a technician and befriended a man who asked him to teach electronics repair at a school he ran. Soon enough, he decided to try his hand at business, and ran a repair shop in Saigon. When television made its way to Vietnam, he wanted to make money selling televisions. However, he did not have the money to import televisions from the major television companies such as Sony and Sharp, but was able to strike a deal with fledgling Sanyo, who was unknown in Vietnam. He also discovered that the quality of Sanyo's televisions were rather low and were prone to problems, so he would improve them before being put to sale. He became the primary seller of Sanyo televisions (affordable to Saigon's middle class, unlike the major brands).
With a cheap labor supply and a new market to sell to, Sanyo opened up a factory in Vietnam, and took on my oâng ba to head the business. In no time, my mother's family became wealthy. The children went to French private schools, the family had cheauffers. They were ballin'. All of my uncles and aunts were a tight-knit family. All of their children grew up together. My mother and her cousins were like brothers and sisters. Oâng ba was my mother's favorite, and she his. He was a father figure to my her, whose own father had left the family when she was 4 to join the communists in North Vietnam.
In the 60s and 70s, it was commonplace in South Vietnam for those who could afford to to send their children to a foreign country for university. After sending his eldest daughter to America, he sent my mother to Japan to study. In addition, she was to be his liason to Sanyo headquarters in Japan and to personally learn the business so that she could come back to Vietnam after school and help run the business. Such plans were not to come to fruition. During the fall of Saigon in 1975, the communists ended many of the residing businesses, including Sanyo's compound. (When I visited Vietnam in 1996, we went to the old Sanyo compound. You could still see where the Sanyo signs used to be on the outside of the building). My mother had married and had me and my brother, and by 1979, decided that she did not want her children to grow up in Japanese schools, but could not return to Vietnam. Oâng ba was trying to use his influence with Sanyo and his daughter's prescence to make it the United States. However, sponsorship took time in America. With his ability to speak French and Sanyo in Canada's influence, he was able to leave the unfavorable conditions of the Camp Pendleton's relocation camps and made the move to Montreal.
Before leaving for Japan, my mother was given a large sum of money in a savings account by her uncle, to ease life as a college student while being his liason. With this sum of money, my mother made the move to America, where the rest of my family had hoped to come. In 1979, we flew over to America. Hopping around the country, trying to find a place to settle, my mother made her way to Montreal where Oâng ba had just made home. He told her to move to America, where the opportunity to succeed was greater and to use his money to start a new life with her husband and children. He helped my father, who (like my mother) was unable to speak any English, acquire a job with Sanyo in San Diego and we made our home there. Luckily, my father can speak Japanese and Sanyo in San Diego had a bevy of Japanese working there (think Gung Ho starring Michael Keaton).
As soon as we came to America, my mother began sponsoring her cousins to come over. For a time during my early teenage years (1989-1990), Oâng ba stayed with us in San Diego with his son, to help bring him into America and to help get his feet on the ground before returning to Montreal. Along with his son, my mother helped bring over many of his other brothers, sisters, nephews and neices to America as well. Most of them were teenagers when they came here. My baø baûy (my favorite grandaunt) made home in San Diego along with her husband and children. Her daughters are my favorite aunts. My oâng saùu (the second youngest brother) also made home in San Diego along with his children, who immigrated to the States in the early 80s as teenagers and stayed with us while they were in high school. His kids are easily my favorite uncles - and quite possibly why me and my brother became troublemakers in our teen years.
(those uncles and aunts are second cousins, my mother's first cousins. In vietnamese culture, your elder cousins are your aunts and uncles. I rather like that train of thought)
Today, all of my granduncles and grandaunts on my mother's side live in North America. All of their children and grandchildren live either here or Europe or Australia. There are so many of us that I don't know all of their names. There are some I've only met once in my life. None of us would be where we are today if it weren't for him - directly or indirectly.
The last time I saw him was last Christmas, when he and my other granduncles and grandaunts along with my grandmother came for a big family get-together. My mother saw him in August here in Montreal for his son's wedding. She had planned to take my brother, sister and I to Montreal in January to go skiing/snowboarding, and of course, to visit our cousins and elders here. And of course, she wanted to spend time with her favorite uncle again.
On Friday, those plans got cut short. She called me at 4pm to tell me the news. I immediately drove down to San Diego, picking up my sister from Irvine on the way. We took her out for Chinese, and then we made my reservations to fly to Canada for Saturday night. My brother and sister couldn't make it, but I'm sure they'd like to be here.
The funeral today was a buddhist one. Yellow monks, chanting, incencse, and a food offering to the heavens. Uncles and aunts I grew up from California and it was good to see them as always. Those here who I hardly know, and it was good to get to know them. And a lot of old people crying, including 3 brothers and 2 sisters who had gone through more in their lives than I can possibly imagine grieving for their brother, the one who made it possible to flee Vietnam, the one to make sure ALL of us made it out of Vietnam to continue to have freedom, education, and a chance to prosper, and more importantly, a chance to live with our extended - and tight-knit family close by, like he did.
I hope next time I come back to Montreal, it will not be for mourning and grieving, but for joyous times. Not to say there wasn't joy, because there always is when family gets together, but you know...
I'll also remember to do the following:
- learn to comprenez le français. All the signs and reading materials here put French first. There were more newspapers and magazines that were in French instead of English at the coffeeship. Despite everyone speaking English (without an outrageous french accent unlike what the WWF would like to make us think), store clerks tend to speak French first. It would be nice to respond with something other than "Sorry, I don't speak any French."
- bring a scarf and some thicker socks. It's 34 degrees here!
- make time to do things and check stuff out. I leave for LA in 13 hours. All I got to do outside of staying with family at the house and at the cemetary was to roam around for 3 hours downtown. But at least I got to see the police raid a strip club. That was fun. I'll put up the pictures when I can.
Aw shit, election day is tomorrow, and I won't get back in time to vote. Goshdarnit...
I put it on my myspace blog an hour ago, but I don't know if you can read it without being a member of myspace, and enough of you guys know me enough where I think it'd be fine to put up something of this personal nature.
---
I am in Montreal right now for my granduncle's funeral. I arrived early Sunday morning. He passed away suddenly on Friday. He was the first of my grandmother's 5 siblings to pass and he was an important part of my family - immediate and extended - being here in America today. He was 78 years old.
I write this not to ask for sorrows and such. I write this as my way of letting it go, but more importantly, to tell a story about my family history. Pretty much all of this was told to me by my mother over the years. Forgive me for any innacuracies.
My oâng ba, Tran Huynh Long was the 2nd of 6 children. In the 1950s during French occupation of South Vietnam, he was hailed for suspicion of being a communist, due to his interest in the Russian language. During his prison time, he learned how to fix electronics. When he was released, he took a job at a movie theater as a technician and befriended a man who asked him to teach electronics repair at a school he ran. Soon enough, he decided to try his hand at business, and ran a repair shop in Saigon. When television made its way to Vietnam, he wanted to make money selling televisions. However, he did not have the money to import televisions from the major television companies such as Sony and Sharp, but was able to strike a deal with fledgling Sanyo, who was unknown in Vietnam. He also discovered that the quality of Sanyo's televisions were rather low and were prone to problems, so he would improve them before being put to sale. He became the primary seller of Sanyo televisions (affordable to Saigon's middle class, unlike the major brands).
With a cheap labor supply and a new market to sell to, Sanyo opened up a factory in Vietnam, and took on my oâng ba to head the business. In no time, my mother's family became wealthy. The children went to French private schools, the family had cheauffers. They were ballin'. All of my uncles and aunts were a tight-knit family. All of their children grew up together. My mother and her cousins were like brothers and sisters. Oâng ba was my mother's favorite, and she his. He was a father figure to my her, whose own father had left the family when she was 4 to join the communists in North Vietnam.
In the 60s and 70s, it was commonplace in South Vietnam for those who could afford to to send their children to a foreign country for university. After sending his eldest daughter to America, he sent my mother to Japan to study. In addition, she was to be his liason to Sanyo headquarters in Japan and to personally learn the business so that she could come back to Vietnam after school and help run the business. Such plans were not to come to fruition. During the fall of Saigon in 1975, the communists ended many of the residing businesses, including Sanyo's compound. (When I visited Vietnam in 1996, we went to the old Sanyo compound. You could still see where the Sanyo signs used to be on the outside of the building). My mother had married and had me and my brother, and by 1979, decided that she did not want her children to grow up in Japanese schools, but could not return to Vietnam. Oâng ba was trying to use his influence with Sanyo and his daughter's prescence to make it the United States. However, sponsorship took time in America. With his ability to speak French and Sanyo in Canada's influence, he was able to leave the unfavorable conditions of the Camp Pendleton's relocation camps and made the move to Montreal.
Before leaving for Japan, my mother was given a large sum of money in a savings account by her uncle, to ease life as a college student while being his liason. With this sum of money, my mother made the move to America, where the rest of my family had hoped to come. In 1979, we flew over to America. Hopping around the country, trying to find a place to settle, my mother made her way to Montreal where Oâng ba had just made home. He told her to move to America, where the opportunity to succeed was greater and to use his money to start a new life with her husband and children. He helped my father, who (like my mother) was unable to speak any English, acquire a job with Sanyo in San Diego and we made our home there. Luckily, my father can speak Japanese and Sanyo in San Diego had a bevy of Japanese working there (think Gung Ho starring Michael Keaton).
As soon as we came to America, my mother began sponsoring her cousins to come over. For a time during my early teenage years (1989-1990), Oâng ba stayed with us in San Diego with his son, to help bring him into America and to help get his feet on the ground before returning to Montreal. Along with his son, my mother helped bring over many of his other brothers, sisters, nephews and neices to America as well. Most of them were teenagers when they came here. My baø baûy (my favorite grandaunt) made home in San Diego along with her husband and children. Her daughters are my favorite aunts. My oâng saùu (the second youngest brother) also made home in San Diego along with his children, who immigrated to the States in the early 80s as teenagers and stayed with us while they were in high school. His kids are easily my favorite uncles - and quite possibly why me and my brother became troublemakers in our teen years.
(those uncles and aunts are second cousins, my mother's first cousins. In vietnamese culture, your elder cousins are your aunts and uncles. I rather like that train of thought)
Today, all of my granduncles and grandaunts on my mother's side live in North America. All of their children and grandchildren live either here or Europe or Australia. There are so many of us that I don't know all of their names. There are some I've only met once in my life. None of us would be where we are today if it weren't for him - directly or indirectly.
The last time I saw him was last Christmas, when he and my other granduncles and grandaunts along with my grandmother came for a big family get-together. My mother saw him in August here in Montreal for his son's wedding. She had planned to take my brother, sister and I to Montreal in January to go skiing/snowboarding, and of course, to visit our cousins and elders here. And of course, she wanted to spend time with her favorite uncle again.
On Friday, those plans got cut short. She called me at 4pm to tell me the news. I immediately drove down to San Diego, picking up my sister from Irvine on the way. We took her out for Chinese, and then we made my reservations to fly to Canada for Saturday night. My brother and sister couldn't make it, but I'm sure they'd like to be here.
The funeral today was a buddhist one. Yellow monks, chanting, incencse, and a food offering to the heavens. Uncles and aunts I grew up from California and it was good to see them as always. Those here who I hardly know, and it was good to get to know them. And a lot of old people crying, including 3 brothers and 2 sisters who had gone through more in their lives than I can possibly imagine grieving for their brother, the one who made it possible to flee Vietnam, the one to make sure ALL of us made it out of Vietnam to continue to have freedom, education, and a chance to prosper, and more importantly, a chance to live with our extended - and tight-knit family close by, like he did.
I hope next time I come back to Montreal, it will not be for mourning and grieving, but for joyous times. Not to say there wasn't joy, because there always is when family gets together, but you know...
I'll also remember to do the following:
- learn to comprenez le français. All the signs and reading materials here put French first. There were more newspapers and magazines that were in French instead of English at the coffeeship. Despite everyone speaking English (without an outrageous french accent unlike what the WWF would like to make us think), store clerks tend to speak French first. It would be nice to respond with something other than "Sorry, I don't speak any French."
- bring a scarf and some thicker socks. It's 34 degrees here!
- make time to do things and check stuff out. I leave for LA in 13 hours. All I got to do outside of staying with family at the house and at the cemetary was to roam around for 3 hours downtown. But at least I got to see the police raid a strip club. That was fun. I'll put up the pictures when I can.
Aw shit, election day is tomorrow, and I won't get back in time to vote. Goshdarnit...
