More than just an Asian Identity Crisis

I don't have quotes right now because THOMPSON has the book.

  An action-packed, deeply emotional and inspirational work, Catfish and Mandala is about the journey of a 20 something Viet-kieu bicycling to Vietnam in hopes of coming to terms with his family's past. While "coming to terms" may sound cliche, this is no regular memoir. Andrew Pham is a perfect example of a displaced in Asian in the states; not accepted as an American nor a Vietnamese, he finds himself caught between two worlds.  Trying to find peace with himself after the loss of his sister Chi and tired of the unresolved family issues, he bikes to Mexico, and from there, decides to bike to Vietnam.
   Although this book would mostly appeal to Vietnamese Americans, those who understand the culture and the hardships of being "boat people", I found that it could also extend to any Asian. Or, of course, any one else who wants a good read. I am seriously tired of these Asian Identity Crisis books and the woefullness of subtle racism. I remember reading Farewell to Manzanita and feeling very gypped of such a cool title: their suffering doesn't invoke any strong sympathy. It lacks personal connection and frankly, the topic is just boring -I know already what it's like being Asian in America: kids squinting their eyes to imitate our eyes, butchering of the Chinese language, talking in a FOB accent, ridiculing us as nerds and squares, general stereotyping. Great, I already know and I'm tired of it. There's no way to really describe my (or asians) feeling of disillusionment, that impossible, elusive point that these authors seem to skirt around. Amazingly, awesomely, Catfish and Mandala goes takes these fragments and concepts of failed attempts and weaves it into something deeper.
    Because of the Vietnam War, Andrew describes Vietnam as a ravaged and economically starved country, shamelessly clinging onto tourists for money by any methods.  His beautiful prose is bittersweet - wishing desperately to love Vietnam, to be proud of his origins, but finding himself disappointed in many aspects. Andrew's journey in Vietnam is interrupted by flashbacks to his childhood first in Vietnam and then in America and little by little his childhood is filled in by misunderstandings in language and cultures. Andrew describes fragments of his relatively innocent and sweet childhood in Vietnam full of childish pranks and little-kid love, which is rudely interrupted by his father's splurge of violence one day on his older sister.  Throughout his bike trip, his flashbacks take a darker tone as he remembers his risky escape from Vietnam through a bribed fishing crew and the transition from the familiar and personable Vietnam to a racist America. "Riding on the coattails" of white America, Andrew and his siblings attain the awkward and uncomfortable status as the downtrodden immigrants that join the ranks of cholos, Chinese, and other Vietnamese. In the slums of LA, he and his two brothers get involved in gangs and drugs, exacerbated by his parents' rigid views of success as purely monetary-based. Andrew's parents, uncomfortable with American culture, keep the strict, traditional attitude: study hard and respect elders. His dad's beatings is supposed to be, under any condition, the law of the house; yet as the kids gradually gain their independence and the development of personal troubles that come from the freedom America offers them, rifts erupt between the kids and parents. Eventually Chi, unable to fit in with Vietnamese values and skirting the edges of America, breaks down and runs away to spare the family from facing child-abuse lawsuits.
    All of his past is sandwhiched between chapters of his trip to Hanoi. His encounters with tourists, beggars, and the Vietnamese who whore themselves for money are described with the overarching theme of his weary disappointment inhis country (or, as he questions, 'Who's Vietnam is it?"). Disappointment that his people indignity turns to his anger for historical forces way beyond his control. All this is surpassed with his hatred of himself for not loving Vietnam: under the circumstances of history, he believes that the Vietnamese are merely a tribe of stingy survivors beaten down and raped by imperialistic countries, greedy and desperate for money. However, his cynicism, while subtly veiled with a kind of outlook that suggests that he forgives Vietnam for being so desperate and needy, is forgotten in his rare instances of pure beauty of not only the landscape of rural Vietnam, but also the random acts of kindness of people along the way.
    As a Chinese American, there's this subtle feeling of displacement in the US. We look up to the blonde, tall, and beautiful, and there's always that saying by parents that we "need to rely on our smarts". Somehow there is this underlying feeling of inadequacy which can only be made up by studying; any other pathway to adulthood is considered "whitewashed". Andrew Pham describes exactly this displacement, this need to fit in but not draw attention to ourselves. I learned a lot about the Vietnamese; the shame, the pride, the bittersweetness that comes from the "losing end" of historical circumstances. Pham is a perfect mix and confusion of two cultures: his American side provides the bravery and gusto while his Asian side prompts him to search for the pride that lies deep within him. His bike journey through Vietnam is not only a personal physical and mentally endearing journey through his troubled past but also a vivid commentary of Vietnam's current national psychological condition.
    While deep and fiercely emotional at times, the lighter passages involve a very atmospheric and calming description of scenery unique to Vietnam. Some parts are even humorous, with cultural misunderstandings in Japan and Vietnam but also his close-calls with death. Most of all, his vivid imagery and capture of the invisible and elusive feelings we all experience but can never place would inspire anyone to take up their beat up bike and go for a ride.