War Woman
thu Pham
Khai-Thu Pham is a culture conservator and a senior biochemistry student at Union College in Schenectady, NY. Surrounded by logic and numbers daily, poetry is the outlet for Khai-Thu’s passion for humanity and culture. Coming from a small town in rural Indiana, she struggled with embracing her Asian heritage within a homogenous school environment as well as reconciling the impact of Western philosophies on her cultural identity. To understand herself, Khai-Thu went on a journey down the memory lanes of the core Vietnamese cultural conservators, such as her mother, her grandfather, old bookstore owners, or Vietnam war veterans. She has learned to love the Vietnamese culture and incorporate its values into her professional and personal life. After graduation, Khai-Thu plans to work in healthcare, where she can use her voice to advocate for people of color to receive better quality care.
Abstract
My poem collection portrays how cultural and generational memories have shaped my identity as a Vietnamese woman. “Once Upon Ông Ngoại's Dreams” paints a picture of what my grandfather could have been if it was not for the tragedies that happened in Vietnam through my mother's wistful and nostalgic lens. I vividly remember how my mother showed me the burnt outlines of the pages from a pre-1975 nursery rhyme book that my grandfather risked his life to save from a libricide fire or pictures of his weary blue Vespa that survived bombs and guns. This is the untold generational history, the history that is denied and concealed from history books or public knowledge. “why you cannot hurt me” is a reflection of how strong my identity has grown after reflecting on the cultural discrimination that I have experienced throughout the world. To stand strong and proud in American society, the Vietnamese people have to collectively remember and appreciate our strength, resilience, and diligence that was honed through our culturally prosperous history. “To My Mother Who Loves Impossibly” is a story of how my mother has broken out of cycles of generational trauma to raise me with love and grace instead of criticism and bitterness. The memories and pain of being treated inadequately made her realize that she had to start parenting differently, for which I am forever grateful. Lastly, “Privileges” portrays the realization I had once I lost the blessings that I have always taken for granted living in a Vietnamese community. I did not crave and miss the food, the language, or the culture until I was too far away from home. In general, this compilation of poems is a recollection of my journey to establishing my identity as a proud and strong Vietnamese woman. I am a war woman.
War Woman
Once Upon Ông Ngoại's Dreams
Ông Ngoại1rose from the dead and decided
to quit alcohol and cigarettes, altogether.
Ông Ngoại invented a cure for pneumonia
and fought dauntlessly like Thánh Gióng fought Giặc Ân.2
Ông Ngoại stopped the libricide fire with a finger snap
and sewed the torn pages back together by a magic spell.
Then birds whispered the missing words into his ears,
and he taught us about the country that was his love and pride.
Ông Ngoại wrote poems with his black ink pen.
Ông Ngoại raised children with his black ink pen.
Ông Ngoại fought the War with his black ink pen.
His words were so loud that the foe asked to write with him.
Ông Ngoại watched my sister grow up.
*Ông Ngoại *read his1granddaughter’s poems.
Ông Ngoại won the National Book Award for Poetry.
Ông Ngoại befriended Ocean Vương and they drink together sometimes.
Ông Ngoại flew poets from all over the world,
on the weary navy blue Vespa that he loved as a child,
to a tiny stilt house, at the end of a dark alley, above a fusty canal
to talk poetry and life, freedom and war,
and laugh about it, like it all happened in another lifetime.
[1]: Ông Ngoại is Vietnamese for grandfather.
[2]: Thánh Gióng is a war hero in Vietnamese folk tales who singlehandedly saved the country from invaders from the North, Giặc Ân.
Inspired by Eve Ewing
why you cannot hurt me
you can call me “yellow” but I adore my darker skin tone because of the abundant melanin that gave my forefathers the strength to withstand the sun and plow and rake and sweat on Nam Định rice fields for ages and not get burned. our skin is coated with the sun
you can say “you must be good at fighting” but you would never know what magic weapon our people had contrived in order to keep our country whole after two thousand years of Han and French and American colonizations
you can say “you must be very good at math” but I am prideful of how smart and diligent we are
you can tell me “I really like Phở”3 and I will talk about how elegantly my ancestors had entrenched the layers of spices and herbs and bones and vegetables into our culture, inventing a miraculous broth that could cure all illnesses in the world
you can make fun of my stiff dark hair but it will turn into Thác Bản Giốc and drown you to death
you can try to hurt me but my skin is made of gold
you can laugh at my flat nose and small eyes but my face is the result of countless fights against family criticism, thousands of love poems in the war zone, and glimmers of the lover all over a young artist’s paintings. my face is made of the love stories that survived famine and migration, prejudice and segregation, war and prison.
[3]: A traditional and symbolic soup dish in Vietnamese culture, Phở consists of warm and rich vegetable broth, al dente rice noodles, thinly sliced beef, and a variety of herbs. Phở is known for its healing power throughout all Vietnamese history.
Inspired by Eve Ewing
To My Mother Who Loves Impossibly
Twice a week, whether she has the time
or not, she would call just to see my face.
But last night, I watched her on FaceTime,
as she tried, clumsily, to split my sister’s
tousled, uncombed hair into three equal parts.
Frowning at the result, she, then, put a bow over
the tangled hair pieces sticking out of my
sister’s front head. Then, she advised me about
the fight between me and my boyfriend.
She told me to just be patient because
“Men are stupid, just like your dad.
They should have gone extinct by now if
natural selection actually works.”
We burst out laughing, just like girlfriends,
gossiping about other people’s problems
and complaining about men.
Then it struck me: how she was loved,
how she was raised, why there has always
been tension between her and grandma.
I could not help but wonder, how does she
do it all without anyone teaching her?
How ungrateful I was for getting
frustrated at her, when she could not
afford to send me to the school I wanted.
I realized now that maybe,
twenty years ago, she had chosen
to love a little bit differently.
Privileges
It was not until
I was halfway across the world,
on a late-night phone call,
mẹ said to me:
“You’re Vietnamese.”
It was not until
two years after
studying abroad,
I thought to myself:
“I am Vietnamese.”
It was not until
I started to think in English
and read faster in English
that I wanted to write
in Vietnamese.
It was not until
I’m fully accustomed
to pizza and grilled cheese
that I crave mom’s
cơm cá kho tộ.
It was not until
I’ve finished building “Jannie”
that excitement zinged through my body
when someone called me “Thư.”