Despite this, her writing is not self-pitying. She does not demand our sympathy. To feel sorry for her childhood of cheap sale bought clothes, donated toys, and Vietnamese food, would be to look down on it. The descriptions of her childhood show her constant fear of fitting in, of never having the “right” things necessary to be normal. The night of her father’s party, Nguyen has a revelation. When she realizes she has forgotten Vietnamese and contemplates the meaning behind the band Y White, she eats her grandmother’s banh chung cake and it tastes, “like a secret long kept, old and familiar and unspeakable.”
I was very grateful for this moment, when she finally realized that through her constant desire to be like the “perfect” girls she grew up with, she was losing a very important part of herself. Nguyen’s love of food at such an early age sparked my interest right away. I loved the way she adored fruit as a little girl, stroking apples until the bruised or hoarding oranges for so long she would forget to eat them. Her appreciation for their flavors made me realize how little I pay attention to the taste of the food I eat. Through her obsession to eat name brand foods and proper meals like Holly did, the descriptions of her home meals changed. Her family became loud and messy, spilling soup and adding spices to their pho until they would sweat. It was very fitting that as she came to the realization that her culture was not something she should be ashamed of, her first act was to appreciate the wonderful food that people like Jennifer would have turned down.
While reading the chapter about her lunch, and how it was always a disappointment compared to the ones made by caring mothers, I was reminded of my own lunchroom experience. From first grade all the way through to my last day as a senior in high school, my mother made me my lunch. Each brown sack contained a sandwich, either a cut up apple (dipped in lemon juice to keep it from getting brown) or half a banana, chips or pretzels, a juice pack, and a dessert. My lunch was an embarrassment for me my freshman year. Everyone else either had a messy sandwich they had put together minutes before school, the hot lunch bought with their meal card, or they simply went without eating. And there I was with my mother’s bundle of love spread out in front of me everyday. I wasn’t self sustaining like my friends, I couldn’t wake myself up early enough to make lunch because my mom would let me sleep in a bit before waking me up. And I wasn’t tough enough to go a whole day without eating like some of the kids were (I thought lunchless people were the coolest.)
So really, I’m sure no matter what food her parents had bought, or what clothes she wore, I bet Nguyen would still have felt different. At least she got some good food out of the stressful experience of growing up.
Very nice response, Katie. It's so interesting that your mother's carefully-made lunches were an embarrassment to you. I can relate, though the lunches my mother made me were weird to the point that other kids commented.
ReplyDeleteI also like how you note the text isn't self pitying. Self pity is death in memoir.