Thoughts of an April Evening
![Image](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMMbR5L4Tpuwt-9Unj1ZqLC1-o4_DJQONOUITTbzZ5hIqpVGj9y3Nr-hYaBxtcomUd1xCLpqsBdH75vx0gJ0-JmaPhahEpIyMHof9zi6SZ4ujVzDyKwQ4OmOpiG79DeN8EqFWMS8zdYdk/s200/Vietnamese+Mother+with+Child.jpg)
16 months ago, I went to Việt Nam. It was a trip I looked forward to all my life but I wondered if I ever would be ready. I went to taste the exotic fruits every Việt Kiều raves about. I went to feast on its wild tropical beauty and hear the lilt of the Vietnamese language on every tongue. I went to skip on Hà Nội's cobbled streets, haggle with the vendorsi n Saigon's Bến Thành, and breathe in the waters of the Mekong River, where my parents once made a livelihood. I went back to Việt Nam as a young woman, yearning to understand the country of my birth, the land my parents fled and I never knew, the nation whose political upheavals have cast on me a new identity: Vietnamese American. I wondered if I would recognize the form my answers would take. I met Cường. I met him on my first day in Việt Nam because he was our tour guide. Young, intellectual and charming as he bought us a fruit knife when he noticed we were buying mãng cầu, mãng cụt, and thăng long by the kilo as we