“So here you are, too foreign for home, too foreign for here. Never enough for both.”

Officially dusting off this blog and resuming my blabbers!

These recent events/opinions on discrimination and racism got me thinking about my place in the world. Ever since moving to the U.S. 13 years ago, I’ve been living life as a foreigner no matter the degree of familiarity in everywhere I go. However, I’ve been privileged enough to be situated in progressive environments where I didn’t have to experience (much) racial discrimination. Over the years, I’ve had many places to call “home”, though I’ve never truly felt like I belong to any of them, be it Sài Gòn, Boston, or SoCal. It’s not necessarily a bad thing because this sense of instability fuels my love for travel. I constantly yearn to be even more of a foreigner experiencing things for the first time – which is bittersweet, especially when it happens in a place you once knew inside out.

Having been born and raised in Sài Gòn, I never expected to feel estranged every time I come back. The frequency of my trips have slowed down, inversely proportional to the city’s development rate. Many roads, foods, and activities dear to my heart remain the same, but there are still unknown elements that often take me by surprise, both good and bad. During my latest visit, I kept wondering whether I’ve become a true “Việt Kiều” (Overseas Vietnamese) by definition. And could it be some sort of trade-off for my assimilation to life in the U.S. that has pretty much made me a local? But despite all the years I’ve spent here, America is a place I’m not (yet?) comfortable with calling home.

Perhaps when I’ve settled down with a family of my own will I know for sure where I fit in, since home has always been more about the people than the physical location to me.

Or maybe fitting in somewhere is simply overrated :).