issue 54 - AsiaLIFE Magazine

Dana Filek-Gibson learns to choose her words carefully.
Everyone makes mistakes. If
you are at all like me, this is a
fact of which we do not need
to be reminded, though people
constantly do so as they usher
me out of their house and point
to where I should have left my
shoes. At least once a week, I eat
in public and my chopsticks fall
to the plate, criss-crossing each
other in some rude formation.
Only after I sigh and say, “Well,
fingers crossed, you know?” do
I realise the gesture I'm making
is lewd and inappropriate. On
average, I am offensive at least
four times a day.
This is nothing to be proud
of. While I am grateful to those
who excuse my cultural faux
pas, many of us expats strive
to blend in as best we can. Our
credibility as local residents is
weakened when we present
a gift unwrapped or beckon
someone much older than us
with an “em oi!” Getting the
hang of local culture can be
tedious. Just when you think
you're fitting in, you accept
your change one-handed and
the salesperson before you rolls
her eyes, unimpressed.
For the most part, Annie had
it figured out. In the nearly two
years she lived in Vietnam, my
friend and fellow teacher mastered
most of the ins and outs
every foreigner must learn. She
drank beer with ice, had a decent
knowledge of Saigon news,
and use chopsticks like a local.
In the end, after a few mishaps
with the neighbourhood xe om
drivers, she even gave in and
got a motorbike. Annie had become
as comfortable in Vietnam
as she was in her home country
— most of the time, anyway.
Later, I will tell Annie,
“It could have happened to
anyone.” But right now, sitting
across from each other on the
shaded veranda of a coffee shop
and nursing cups of ca phe sua
da, I watch her fingers trace the
edge of her glass. She looks at
me, a grave expression on her
face.
“I did something bad.”
“What?” I ask.
Before she can answer, a
nervous laugh escapes. It is not
often that I see Annie flustered.
“You know the name ...” There
is a deliberate pause here. She
considers the coming word: “...
Hiep?”
I nod. “I have a Hiep in
class.”
Her eyes go wide. “How do
you say it?”
In my best Vietnamese I
repeat the word, even spell it
on a serviette lying on the table.
Annie exhales and fidgets in her
seat, smoothing the wrinkles
from her dress. “Apparently,
I've been saying it wrong.”
“How have you been saying
it?” I ask.
Several minutes and a great
deal of coaxing later, an explanation
arrives. For months, my
friend has inadvertently been
calling her student 'rape’. The
pupil, too polite to correct her,
only recently decided to speak
up.
Through a fit of giggles, I reassure
her. But Annie continues,
mortified, “And then there's
this other student.” Turns out
Ms Loan, too, had been meaning
to say something. During
lessons, Annie does not call
Loan's name but rather a swear
word, which she repeats loudly
and often.
Eventually, my laughter
subsides and I sear this moment
into my memory, so my students
might be spared the same
experience.
88 asialife HCMC