Journey to America

In beginning Jasmine, by Bharati Mukherjee, her immigration to America made me reflect on my father's similar journey. My father is Vietnamese, born in Nha Trang, Vietnam, and he lived in Saigon (Ho Chi Minh City to foreigners) during the Vietnam War. When he was seven, during the middle of the night, his mother awoke him and his three brothers and sisters and boarded an American helicopter, leaving his father behind. My father describes the journey as never-ending. He says it was almost as if he forgot he had a destination, he just kept going somewhere. There were helicopters, trains, boats, more planes. He remembers spending several nights on an island with the scores of other immigrants. He remembers running around on the sand, sleeping in tents, and smoking cigarettes with his peers. He thinks it was somewhere in Hawaii.

Upon his arrival in America, he and his family were placed with an American foster family, somewhere in the Midwest. The family was just in it for the money, though. They had no intention of nurturing or loving on my father's family. In the morning for breakfast, the American children would get milk with their cereal, my father and aunts and uncles would receive water. The American shouted at my family in harsh tones, speaking louder and enunciating in a way that was not to make them understand, but to degrade them. I imagine they would say insensitive, digging comments. I imagine they would be like Half-Face, mocking them and saying things like, "I been to Asia, and it's the armpit of the universe" (116).

Luckily my father and his family were soon transferred into a far more competent and loving family. They gave my father his first impressions of America, which he remembers vividly. I grew up in America. I never knew anything other than wide paved streets and grocery stores the size of small villages. Jasmine says, 'I wonder if Bud even sees the America I do.  We pass half-built, half-deserted cinder-block structures at the edge of town, with mud-splattered deserted cars parked in an uncleared lot, and I wonder, Who's inside? What are they doing? Who's hiding? Empty swimming pools and plywood panels in the window frames grip my guts. And Bud frowns because unproductive projects give him pain.' (109). I feel that is the difference between my father and I. I will never even begin to understand what our country must have looked like to someone who lived ridiculously below the poverty line in a war zone all their life. Even though I have gone back and visited Vietnam and seen the differences between the two, there is a level of awe and wonder that I never possessed. I imagine his reaction to be similar to that of Jasmine when she discovers the shower. "I had never used a Western shower, standing instead of squatting, with automatic hot water coming hard from a nozzle instead of cool water from a hand-dipped pitcher. It seemed like a miracle, that even here in a place that looked deserted, a place like a madhouse or a prison, where the most hideous crimes took place, the waters should be hot, the tiles and porcelain should be clean, without smells, without bugs." (117). We have an old photo of my dad as a young child in Vietnam. He is sitting in an aluminum bucket, and his mother is pouring a bowl of water over his head. The Vietnamese shower.

My father talks about his discovery of Ponderosa. For those who do not know, Ponderosa is a hole-in-the-wall midwestern steak joint. Most people I know would never dare step foot into a Ponderosa for fear of germs and despicably low-grade meat. My dad's dream as a child was to be able to afford eating at Ponderosa. Although I am beyond thankful for my blessings and fortunate lifestyle, I do feel a sadness at the fact that I will never even begin to appreciate it for what it is worth, or feel awe for what God has given me like my father does.

Stereotypes in Society

I have just begun reading Jasmine by Bharati Mukherjee. And immediately, I have been hit with the concept of stereotypes. In the opening lines of the second chapter, our protagonist says, "Bud wants me to marry him,"officially" he says, before the baby comes. People assume we're married.  He's a small-town banker, he's not allowed to do impulsive things.  I'm less than half his age, and very foreign. We're the kind who marry" (Mukherjee 7). Who says? Society? People? For whatever the reason, regardless of who said so, our characters are very aware of the certain expectations that are thrust upon them based on the stereotypes of society. When talking about raising money for foreign countries, Mother says "Think how many people thirty-five dollars will feed out there" (Mukherjee 21). It's true, that the American dollar goes a long way in third world countries, yet the way she says "out there" has an uncivilized, perhaps even barbaric. It alienates wherever "out there" is. Generalizations are based on ignorance. Not necessarily malicious ignorance, just the sheer lack of knowledge. "I was hoping you'd come up with a prettier. Something in Indian"...I want to say to Darrel, "You mean Hindi, not Indian, there is no such thing as Indian" (Mukherjee 10). I have experienced the same thing. I have been asked, "How do you say this in Asian?" Asian, my dear people, is not a language, or nationality. It is a race. People do not mean to be offensive, they are generally curious. The stereotypes that all Asians are the same, that we all speak the same language, teach them to be ignorant.

Stereotypes, whether we like it or not, define us. They are the reason that our society works the way it does. They define our social lives, what schools we go to, what jobs we have...People always try to work against the stereotypes, to step outside of the box that society has constructed of offensive boundaries, yet the reality is that our lives are very much run by them.

I am an Asian American. Vietnamese American to be exact. I am a Christian and I grew up being home-schooled.  And like every other race or background or upbringing, this carries stereotypes. People have said all kinds of crazy, inaccurate comments to me based on complete generalizations, and frankly ignorance. Not truth. Such as:

• "Aren't you like, super good at math?"
• "Oh of course you play violin, you're Asian.
• "I think this is Thai, or Chinese or something Asian. Can you read it?"
• "So you're like, really religious? Do you go to church all the time?"
• "Do you only eat with chopsticks at home?"
• "How is your English so good?"
• "You're Christian. Does that mean you aren't gonna have sex until you're married?"
• "You're a prude."
• "Weren't you scared to live in Vietnam because of the War?"
• "You probably have straight A's, you're Asian."

All of these are clearly, ridiculous. But they have been said to me, many times by multiple people. The thing about stereotypes is that there is sometimes some truth to the generalization. They must have started somewhere. "Baden is what they call a basic German community.  Even the Danes and Swedes are thought to be genetically unpredictable at times. I've heard the word "inscrutable." The inscrutable Swedes. The sneaky Dutch. They aren't Amish, but they're very fond of old ways of doing things. They're conservative people with a worldly outlook" (Mukherjee 11). The first few of the Dutch or Swedish or German people who came into the community must have acted a certain way for others to begin to think this way. But not all, just enough for assumptions to be formed. As it is said, you give an inch, they take a mile. It is the same with stereotypes. People observe the fact that many Asian cultures are dominant in mathematics and science, and they then expect me to go to Harvard or MIT for neuroscience. "Kwang, Liu, Patel, I've met them all. Pole around in a major medical facility, and suddenly you're back in Asia" (Mukherjee 32). The stereotype is so well known it is even in literature. I do not blame them for this. In fact I admit there have been times when I have jeered at myself or jokingly put myself in the box of stereotypes, well, because it is humorous. When I was younger, I used to feel that I had to adhere to the stereotypes to make people like me. It gave them something to laugh at. But no one has ever considered that maybe I do not want the typical Asian-American lifestyle that the stereotypes beckon me to. No one considers the fact that I do not want to become a doctor or a lawyer. I do not want to go to an Ivy League. I would like to become a clinical psychologist, working with teens with eating disorders. My college of choice is a small, liberal arts Christian university that is unknown to most people. 

Jane, the protagonist of Jasmine, is very aware of these stereotypes. She knows that people box her in and assume she is one way. People assume. She is also very blunt about these assumptions and generalizations, yet she is not reprimanding or harsh. She merely acknowledges them, and I appreciate that. It will be interesting to see if as the reading goes on she rises above these or teaches people otherwise, and begin to abolish these stereotypical boundaries. 

Wrapping up with A Handmaid's Tale

This book has been by far the highlight of my High School English experience. I found in so entirely intriguing and captivating, to be honest it made me quite sad to finish it! The last chapter "Notes" was so unexpected, and I found it to be one of my favorite parts of the book. There is so much that I wish to discuss in having completed reading *A Handmaid's Tale* so this particular blog post will be a compilation of a couple different thoughts.

1. The language and diction of the book itself - I thought Atwood wrote so beautifully in this book. Some of the descriptions and images were so unique. Even in describing some of the everyday mundane aspects of life, Atwood found some way to make me look at them in a different light. I suppose that was intentional, and it actually tied in perfectly with the protagonist, Offred. Offred had been stuck in this monotonous Gileadian cycle that in order to keep her sanity and thirst for life alive, she began to analyse the little things and appreciate them and observe them in different ways, just to give herself something to do. One example of this is on the very first page "I thought I could smell, faintly like an afterimage, the pungent scent of sweat, shot through with the sweet taint of chewing gum and perfume from the watching girls" (Atwood 13). Most would just say that the gymnasium stank or smelled, yet Atwood comes up with this stunningly accurate and poignant description. Or in the description of Serena Joy's face, she says "...but below them her eyelids were tired-looking.  Not so her eyes, which were the flat hostile blue of a midsummer sky in bright sunlight, a blue that shuts you out...Two lines led downwards from the corners of her mouth; between them was her chin, clenched like a fist." (Atwood 25). Ah, Atwood, you kill me.

2. Though the last chapter did shed some light onto the whole Gileadian society, I still have a plethora of questions! Some of them are:

• What happened to the other races? It is mentioned that the society was formed due to "an age of plummeting Caucasian in most northern Caucasian societies of the time." (Atwood 316). What happened to the other races? Why was the decline only in Caucasians? It never mentions any other races in the book, and only in the last chapter did I even think about the fact that there weren't any races present. Were they allowed to live in Gilead?
• How did Gilead end? - The book never addresses how the Gileadean society came to an end! Did Mayday eventually overthrow it? Did the Eyes and the Commanders eventually realize that their system wasn't working and call it off? Did other countries intervene? 

In all, I am really disappointed that the book ended. I really loved it, it is now one of my favorites! Bravo Atwood!

The Handmaid's Tale: Initial Thoughts III

So in conjunction with my previous two posts, I thought that I would focus on men in religion. In that last blog, I talked about how I viewed women in the book, and women in religion. Interestingly enough, there is not too much about religious men in that I have encountered in the book, just as in society I feel like "men of faith" are something that isn't necessarily celebrated...

You read in textbooks about these "religious giants" and "enthusiastic evangelists," men who reign in newspaper headings for religious uprisings. Martin Luther, John Calvin, Dwight Lyman Moody, all these names are associated with historic religious founding and events. But I feel that as time has gone on, this has greatly diminished, and men are becoming more and more quiet about their faith. I read a statistic a few years back (forgive me, the exact numbers escape me at the moment) which stated that the least religious social group of our society was white, middle-aged men. The most was single, African American women (very interesting but not the topic of this particular post).  I could be very wrong about this, but my hunch is that the reason for this is that men associate religion with submission. That submitting to a Higher Being, without concrete fact or proof of their existence, shows a weakness or a gullibility. Men are supposed to be logical, straightforward, uncomplicated. Faith requires discarding logic, bending your mind around difficult subjects, and is simple yet complicated in a whole different host of ways. Apparently, women are supposed to be the weak ones. We are supposed to need a God to carry us through life. Women are the ones wearing crucifixes around their necks and carrying Bibles in their purses. I rarely see a man with a Bible in hand and a briefcase in the other. It just doesn't happen that way.

In the text, Commanders also seem to serve as religious leaders. For instance, during the Prayvaganza the Commander is the one who speaks on religious terms, and it quite a demeaning fashion i might add. "The Commander continues with the service: "I will that women adorn themselves in modest apparel," he says, "with shamefacedness and sobriety..." (Atwood, 233). "The Commander in charge of this service comes in...This Commander ascends the steps to the podium, which is draped with a red cloth embroidered with a large whitewinged eye.  He gazes over the room and our soft voices die. He doesn't even have to raise his hands." (Atwood, 230).  He goes on to say "Let the woman learn in silence with all subjection." Here he looks us over. "All," he repeats. For Adam was first formed, then Eve. And Adam was not deceived, but the woman being deceived was in the transgression" (Atwood, 233). What I noticed for the first time despite having seen it over and over again throughout the book is that Commander is capitalized. Just as God is capitalized. Just as the Pope is capitalized. This was no mistake. Men, apparently, have the right to have a title, they have the right to be "capitalized."

In Catholicism, the Pope is a man, and clergy members are only allowed to be men. In Islam, Imams are men. Even God we refer to as "He" (with a capital H I might add...). Not that I have anything against any of these positions or customs. I just find it extremely interesting that although historically and traditionally religion is headed by men, nowadays men are rapidly shrinking from the scene.

Even in colloquial language, isn't the term "good Christian girl" ? Not "good Christian boy" ?