My Vietnamese Culture

Two worlds, two lives, and one of me. I am Bernadette Bui, but I’m also Bùi Thị Quỳnh Hương; born as an American, and raised as a Vietnamese. My upbringing has always been contradictory. I cross the bridge between two cultures every day as I learn about the Civil War and eat hamburgers for lunch then come home to traditional music and hotpot for dinner. My parents are immigrants from Vietnam and the reason I get to experience such daily diversity. Not only am I immersed in Vietnamese culture at home, but I still visit the country. Every time, I am reminded of how different the lifestyles of the United States and Vietnam are. It’s 5:00 A.M in Lương Hoà. I haven’t been here in years. The sound of church bells and roosters wake me up from my slumber. I open my eyes and count how many lizards are on the ceiling, ignoring the mosquito net between me and them. I’m thousands of miles away from my house, yet I still feel at home. Nothing feels unfamiliar to me in the

in Old Saybrook. I’m rudely woken up by the artificial beeps of an alarm clock. I open my eyes and turn to my phone for any updates. Everything is silent in the house. This is the house I grew up in. Here, I took my first steps and defused imaginary bombs with my brother. I know every loose board and paint chip by heart, and I can pinpoint all the places where I’ve fallen. For breakfast, I eat eggs and toast. The eggs were bought five days ago and the bread is nearly stale. I have lunch in school, and no one knows where the ingredients came from. My lifestyle here revolves around accessibility and high speed internet. Many people ask to hear me speak Vietnamese. Some assume I wasn’t born here, so they say something like, “Wow, how did your English get so good?” Others are surprised I can speak any English. There are stereotypes that follow me and sometimes feel like I have to hold signs as disclaimers; No, I’m not good at math, my vision is just fine, and I’m not a trained karate