Listen, Slowly

“BTW, each of us gets a whole row because the plane is so empty. That’s how many people are dying to fly to my parents’ beloved birth land.”

Narrated in the first person, Mai’s sarcasm establishes the story’s tone and the teenage perspective. Mai speaks like a typical American 12-year-old girl: self-centered and snarky. She is too focused on her own life to see the larger picture and understand the importance of the trip to Vietnam.

“Bicultural, they tell me and beam. I didn’t have the heart to tell them I’m uni-cultural.”

Through Mai’s narration, the reader understands she does not feel a connection to her Vietnamese culture. Having lived in California her entire life, she sees herself as fully American despite her family’s heritage. She appeases her family on the matter, but in her mind and heart, she does not connect to it in the same way they do.

“The skin on her hands was wrinkles shaped like puzzle pieces, clicking together just so.”

The author uses a simile to compare Bà’s aged hands to a puzzle. The use of figurative language adds sensory detail to the passage, as the reader can almost feel the weathered, wrinkled skin as Mai tenderly holds her grandmother’s hand. The figurative language also symbolizes how Bà holds the key to unlocking Mai’s desire to learn more about her heritage, as the puzzle of their history will come together on the journey to Vietnam.

“The smells are in your face too: fishy, flowery, lemony, meaty, grilled corn, fried dough, ripe fruit. Each smell has fists and is smacking each other for more space inside my nostrils.”

This passage uses sensory imagery to transport the reader onto the streets of Hanoi. Just as Mai’s nose is assaulted by all the new sights, sounds, and smells of the new city, the reader also experiences new sensations. The author personifies the smells giving them human-like traits as they fight against each other in Mai’s nose.

“So I smooshed them, splattering red all over my palms, flattening black bodies with broken wings. It was so satisfying. Smack, blood. Smack, blood.”

Using repetition, alliteration, and onomatopoeia, the author harnesses the power of several literary devices to convey the plague of mosquitoes attacking Mai. She fights back by squishing each insect, waging a war against the tiny terrors. The use of literary devices brings the reader into the scene as if they, too, were swatting and smashing mosquitoes into a bloody mess.

“Right then, the doves fly out of the birdhouse, and by some invisible cue, they hover above us with white wings wide, creating a feathery, rhythmic umbrella.”

The author creates a poignant moment between the protagonist and her grandmother. As they both stare at the birdhouse, a creation of Ông’s hands, the birds emerge and fly overhead. The author compares the hovering flock of doves to an umbrella, symbolizing them as a protecting, unifying force. Having felt disconnected from her grandmother and the trip, Mai experiences a moment of connection to something larger than herself, an important step in the coming-of-age process.

“You will never mispronounce like a foreigner again.”

Anh Minh serves as Mai’s translator and offers to help her understand more fully all the nuances of the language. His statement about her being a foreigner is ironic since she is Vietnamese, though Vietnam is not her birth country. However, in California, where she was born, people might refer to her as foreign because she does not look like everyone else.

“The more I think about how long it takes to find acceptance, the more scared I am.”

In this quote, Mai is thinking she wishes her grandmother would come to accept Ông’s death faster so they can return home. The statement has a layered meaning, though, as Mai also must come to a point of acceptance about herself. The longer she stays in Vietnam immersed in her ancestral culture, the more she comes to learn about her family and herself.

“A đi văng is its official name, one of those words left by the French, divan.”

Mai explains that the term used for the place she sleeps comes from a French word. The French colonized Vietnam in the 1800s and occupied the country for over 60 years. Far beyond just impacting the language, the French occupation left a lasting and detrimental impact on the people. The author uses language as a motif in the narrative to explore how culture and language are tied together. The changes and variations in a language can also signify or explain parts of the country’s history.

“It is impossible to think of just me when the whole village has sacrificed for me to study overseas.”

Anh Minh’s attitude stands in stark contrast to Mai’s. While she has thought of nothing but herself and her discomfort during the trip, Anh Minh is selfless and always thinks of others. His statement highlights the importance of community in Vietnamese culture, something that Mai is learning to appreciate during her visit. She is also learning the value of taking herself out of the center of the story and listening and learning from others.

“His cheekbones protrude like two lightbulbs and, under his shirt, knots actually poke up on his shoulders.”

Mai is shocked to see the guard’s thin frame when he arrives at their house. The author uses a simile to compare his face’s gauntness to bulbous lightbulbs. The use of figurative language intensifies the description giving the reader a sense of the severity of the man’s thinness.

“No one has secrets in Vietnam.”

The lady at the soup stall knows Mai has been ill without her having to say a word, and she offers advice for keeping her diet bland until she has fully healed. The longer she stays in Vietnam, the more Mai learns and comes to respect the culture. Though she still longs for more privacy, she appreciates that her extended family and the community in Bà’s village care for her needs.

“But each distinguishes itself by the height and the paint. There’s one that’s seven stories tall in light purple with dark purple trims- a first grader’s dream birthday cake.”

One of the first unique aspects of Vietnam that Mai noticed was the architectural style. Called “tube buildings,” the tall, skinny structures usually have a business on the ground floor and living quarters above that house multigenerational families. They are all built in the same shape and from the same material, but each is painted with a distinctive, bright color. The buildings in Hanoi are taller, and in this passage, the author employs metaphor in Mai comparing the tall, purple building to a child’s birthday cake.

“Dad said it would take a little while for my body to acclimate to the bacteria here, so I guess it has. Check me out, I officially have a stomach of iron.”

Mai unknowingly eats raw food at the market in Hanoi and briefly panics, remembering her father’s warning about getting sick. However, the food brings no ill effects, and she assumes her body has adapted to this foreign cuisine. As Mai is physically adapting to Vietnamese life, she is also acclimating to the culture emotionally and psychologically.

“So weird but when you’re on a moped and slithering between cars, buses, bicycles, and hundreds of other mopeds, it feels strangely safe even while you’re pounded with brake screeches, engine revs, and ubiquitous beep-beeps.”

Mai finds the moped ride through Hanoi exhilarating, and the experience makes her feel like she is truly Vietnamese. The author uses sensory language to convey the experience of speeding through the crowded streets on a moped. She also uses onomatopoeia to convey the sounds of all the motor vehicles crammed into the crowded streets.

“Where are all these words coming from? I’ve always known them but never put them together before.”

At the beginning of the narrative, Mai does not identify as Vietnamese and confesses that her language skills are poor. However, the longer she stays in Vietnam and uses the language, she realizes she knows more than she previously thought. The lessons she learned from her parents and Bà are buried inside her, and the journey to Vietnam has unlocked that part of herself.

“Some words I do not recognize, but I can always spot sadness after years of listening to Bà.”

Though Mai has struggled with communication, she does not need words to understand the guard’s pain. She has lived with Bà her entire life and has been a witness to her grief. This passage conveys the universality of pain and suffering across cultural divides.

“The world smells of mud and rot and nectar and grass…familiar. I can imagine maybe living here, not here in the pond, but somewhere near Út, not forever, but maybe for a summer. Vietnam might be home too.”

The late-night trip to the pond is a turning point in Mai and Út’s relationship, as they finally realize they can communicate in each other’s first language. The experience also allows Mai to demonstrate the depth of her friendship with Út by helping her with the frog hunt. Most importantly, the event brings Mai to the realization that she feels at home in Vietnam and could envision herself spending more time there.

“Why does every story in Vietnam’s four-thousand-year history involve a fight against some intruder? The Mongolians, the Chinese, the Japanese, the French, the Americans.”

As Mai begins to learn more about her culture, she also begins to uncover Vietnam’s painful past. The folktales and legends convey the impacts of colonization, invasion, and war on Vietnam, imposed by countries across the globe. Learning these truths helps her to understand and empathize with how her family also carries wounds from Vietnam’s history.

“That’s the privilege of those whose parents have achieved the top ranks. For the rest of us, we’re all reaching for security, status, satisfaction. The same goals parents everywhere want for their children, only here the children want it even more for themselves.”

Anh Minh sees his opportunity to study abroad as a tremendous blessing which he does not take for granted. Mai struggles to understand the fierce academic drive students in Vietnam have since most American kids complain about going to school. The more time she spends with Anh Minh, the more Mai understands how lucky she is to have access to educational opportunities.

“Noises ring out like millions of frogs. I must be missing a certain someone. As for the smells, I must be acclimating because everything has mingled into this scent called life.”

Having once found the din of Vietnamese towns and villages clamorous and chaotic, Mai now appreciates it as it reminds her of her friend and her frog. Vietnam no longer smells like a foreign land to her but instead smells familiar like home.

“Every person possesses a city that is truly her own. Sài Gón is mine and I shall bow farewell before I cannot. My best and worst years interweaved into a life here.”

Mai realizes that she has not just accompanied her grandmother on a fact-finding mission but on her final trip to her homeland. Each day they spend in Saigon, Mai witnesses Bà saying goodbye to all her memories of her home. Through watching Bà interact with her country in such an intimate and personal way, Mai learns what it truly means to be connected to a place.

“In this manner, with Bà cupping out both hands and opening her mouth to catch memories, we ride away.”

In a poignant moment, Bà drinks in the rainwater as if she is trying to soak Saigon into her soul. The author uses figurative language to compare her drinking the rain to her taking in all her memories of life with Ông and their seven children one last time before she accepts the past and leaves for the last time.

“I’ve never been able to answer that: why does one human being have too much and another human cling to life in desperation?”

When Mai’s father shares his experience escaping Vietnam, it represents a turning point in their relationship. Revealing this part of himself to his daughter allows him to be vulnerable and allows them an opportunity to talk about deeper issues like inequality, pain, and suffering.