Nước Mắm

Prompt: Write About A Time You Felt Out of Place

Nước mắm, also known as fish sauce in English, is a staple of Vietnamese cuisine. Fish sauce is a liquid condiment made out of fermented fish or krill. Fish sauce is added to practically every single Vietnamese dish and sometimes used to "enhance" American dishes. For instance, when my grandmother first taught me how to cook scrambled eggs she taught me to season the eggs with fish sauce and I didn't realize this was abnormal until years later. My mom cooked a traditional Thanksgiving this year and I remember she remarked that cooking American food was so weird because she didn't have to use any fish sauce. So when I say fish sauce is a staple of Vietnamese cuisine, that was actually a bit of an understatement. Fish sauce is everywhere in Vietnamese cooking. I'm not joking. When I was googling how to make fish sauce, I found this food blogging website that stated fish sauce is such an integral part of Vietnamese cuisine that it should be a "prerequisite" to being Vietnamese. And, I don't know how to put this, but they're both wrong and not wrong at the same time.

My mom always complains that I'm a picky eater and she's not wrong. When I was young, I ate a lot of fish sauce because the rest of my family did so. I don't remember when it happened, but one day I stopped liking the taste of fish sauce. Looking back I think my hatred of fish sauce stems from my hatred of condiments, in general (There's a special kind of hatred I reserve for mayo and ketchup). Nevertheless, refusing to eat fish sauce became a part of my identity. Every dinner my mom used to pass the fish sauce container and I would refuse. Eventually, my mom just stopped asking me if I wanted fish sauce with my food (Although I'm 100% certain that she sometimes sneaks fish sauce into my food). Looking back, I think my dislike for fish sauce was special in that it somehow embedded itself in my identity. I hate ketchup but my hatred for ketchup isn't a defining feature of who I am. My hatred for the fish sauce isn't an inherently defining trait of mine, rather my family's response to my hatred of fish sauce made my dislike of fish sauce into an identity.

Whenever I refuse to eat fish sauce my mom would always joke that I've become more American than Vietnamese. She would always say that phrase in a jovial tone but I could always hear the undercurrent of disappointment my mom hid underneath that phrase. On the flip side, whenever I did something "Vietnamese" my family would always act so surprised as if a miracle had occurred. I remember saying a Vietnamese idiom and how my parents stopped their conversation to congratulate me for speaking Vietnamese on a basic level. I remember stress eating chè đậu đen (which is a Vietnamese dessert that's basically composed of a sweet soup made out of black beans and covered with a sweet coconut sauce) at midnight. My mom walked into the kitchen and remarked that she was surprised that I knew how to eat chè đậu đen. She didn't say it aloud but I could read between the lines, my mom was surprised that I was "Vietnamese enough" to be able to eat chè đậu đen. So, in some strange way, my dislike of fish sauce represents some sort of cultural divide between myself and my parents. Somehow I'm not "Vietnamese enough" because I can't eat fish sauce or have a different palate than my parents. And I know it's stupid to base your cultural identity on what type of food you eat and there isn't any correct way to be Vietnamese, but sometimes the jokes still get to me. Sometimes I'll be eating dinner with my parents. We would be speaking Vietnamese around the dining room table but as I watch my parents dip their eggrolls into their fish sauce or season their noodles with fish sauce, I would still feel out of place. I would feel too American.

Even though I rarely eat fish sauce, I have vivid childhood memories associated with it. My family ironically stores fish sauce in one of those Kikkoman brand soy sauce containers. So even though the bottle's label still says soy sauce, trust me, there isn't any soy sauce in there. We've also never replaced our fish sauce container -- I'm pretty sure that bottle is older than me. I also remember that when we bought fish sauce from the store, my mom had to specifically buy this brand that had three crabs on the label. Usually, we buy fish sauce in bulk. I remember we once bought this entire cardboard box filled with at least ten bottles of fish sauce. And of course, I remember the distinctly pungent scent of fish sauce. So even though I rarely eat fish sauce, when other Vietnamese people make jokes about fish sauce I can still relate to them. I still laugh at my cousins' jokes about fish sauce. So ironically enough, while fish sauce still represents a cultural divide between myself and Vietnamese culture, I still use fish sauce as a common connection point between myself and the rest of my Vietnamese family. It's weird to say this but fish sauce simultaneously represents how I feel "too American" and "not American enough".

Thank You Caffeine

I am thankful for all things caffeinated — coffee, tea, soda, energy drinks, caffeine pills. I get it, we’re all stressed uni students substituting caffeine for sleep. I’m not going to lie, part of the reason why I’m thankful for caffeine is because without caffeine I wouldn’t be a functioning person. So thank you caffeine for giving me the motivation to not sleep through first period, for giving me just enough energy to do webassign, for jump starting my brain to awakeness. I’m thankful for caffeine because of the jolt of alertness caffeine sends through me. In junior year, I started my tradition of buying disgustingly sweet coffee from Einstein’s or Espresso Royale before any particularly hard exams. I didn’t drink coffee because I needed it to stay awake, instead I liked how coffee made me feel. I liked the hyperactivity. I liked how coffee made me tap my fingers quickly. I used to joke that I wasn’t funny but some unholy combination of sleep deprivation and caffeine made me funny. Sometimes when I drink coffee, I surprise myself — sometimes in a good way, sometimes in a bad way. 

I don’t know where this quote from or where I heard first say it but years ago told me that, “Sleep was like little slices of death.” And that quote resonated with me, partially because the metaphor intrigued me, and partially because I could relate to it. I’m not thankful to caffeine itself. Rather, I’m thankful to caffeine because I hated sleep. When I was a kid, I used to hate nap time. Why would I want to close my eyes and sleep when I could just spend another hour playing around. I wanted to spend every minute of every day doing something. Now a days, I’m a little more worn down but my hatred of sleep still burns with the same intensity. Why sleep when you can grind out a few more pages of an essay? Why sleep when you can study just a little more for a test. I guess I started to prioritize grades over sleep and caffeine allowed me to do that. But my hatred of sleep runs deeper than that. 

Have you ever gotten home super tired then you spend all your time doing homework? And by the time you finished all of your work, it’s already dark outside? That’s happened to me multiple times and I’m always end the day feeling super frustrated. At the end of those types of days, I’m angry because I wanted a few hours of the to be devoted solely to solely me. I wanted time to relax or binge watch shows. I felt like sleep was stealing hours of the day from me. So when I’m feeling particularly rebellious on those nights, I’ll drink another cup of coffee and stay up a few hours longer. In some ways, drinking coffee felt like an act of rebellion. I refused to let my life be consumed by work, so I’ll make more time in the day for me. I’ll stay up a few more hours to watch cat videos on youtube or read one more chapter of a novel.

But now, even if somehow science eliminated my body’s need for sleep, I think I’ll still continue to drink my daily for coffee. I’m thankful for coffee, because drinking a cup of coffee has become a calming morning ritual to me. There’s something calming about scooping out fresh coffee grounds and smelling their rich and familiar scent. I’m comforted by the familiarity of the sound of boiling water being poured through the filter. The heat on my fingers from gripping a cup of fresh hot coffee calms me. I’ve made coffee so many times, that my body goes on auto-pilot. I could make coffee in my sleep. The routines of making coffee has engraved itself onto my schedule to the point where I can’t imagine waking up on a weekday morning and not making coffee.

Champaign and Urbana People

Have you ever met someone and just immediately got a gut feeling that they’re an Urbana person or a Champaign person? (And of course, there are the undergrad students who don’t seem to fit in any of these bubbles). It’s happened to me a few times. I don’t remember where I was or who I was talking to (perhaps at a friend’s birthday party?) when someone began talking about bats in Champaign Urbana. Apparently, someone was keeping track of the bats that visited their backyard. And then a friend of mine remarked, “That’s such an Urbana thing to do.” Factually that statement doesn’t make sense, but as a person who has lived in Urbana her whole life, it makes sense to me. I don’t know it’s just harder for me to imagine some person from Champaign camping out in their backyard at midnight, squinting at some trees in hopes of catching a glimpse of a bat. Champaign and Urbana just have different characters and vibes— Is this making sense to you?

To fully address the issue of Champaign and Urbana people, I need to give you some historical context. So here’s my super brief summary of the history of Champaign and Urbana. Urbana was first settled in 1822 (And apparently first called Big Grove). In 1833, the town was officially named Urbana after another town in Ohio with the same name. As you probably vaguely recall from Mr. Butler’s class, the creation of Champaign is entwined with the Illinois Central Railroad. Basically, the tracks of the Chicago Branch of the Illinois Central Railroad were laid to the west of Urbana. And of course, cities tend to sprout up near train tracks. And so West Urbana was formed and grew increasingly separate from Urbana. In 1861, West Urbana changed officially changed its name to Champaign and you probably know how the rest of the story goes from here. Consequently, Champaign has always felt like the busier more economically developed city while Urbana gives off more historic and natural vibes. Champaign feels larger, louder, and bustling compared to Urbana and that difference can be seen in the stark differences between downtown Urbana and downtown Champaign. And, I guess, sometimes I extrapolate that fact to the people of Champaign-Urbana. 

When I think of Urbana, I think of green trees. I don’t know why but my mind just jumps to that association. I also think of cobblestone streets and the sound your car makes when they drive over them. The historical touch the cobblestone streets bring just screams Urbana. And maybe it’s just me, but it’s hard for me to picture a quiet cobblestone streets with a bunch of green trees on the side of the road and a few squirrels running around in Champaign (Although, I’ll admit I’m saying this from a biased perspective — I spend most of my time in Urbana). To get a quick glimpse at the different vibes of Champaign and Urbana, just compare downtown Champaign and downtown Urbana. Downtown Urbana gives off a more historic feel — I vaguely remember sitting in the Courier Cafe once and thumbing through a pamphlet about the building that housed the Courier Cafe which apparently was built sometime in the 1800s, if I recall correctly. I associate downtown Urbana with the courthouse and the “dying” Lincoln Square Mall — which actually has some cool shops like the art coop and Common Ground Food Coop if you venture inside. In comparison, Marketplace Mall in Champaign is bustling and filled with shoppers. Downtown Champaign is just as busy and has less of a historic feel.

So I talked to this old law professor at the University of Illinois for the 2017 oral history project on refugees. He looked to be in his sixties, his hair was greying, his office was filled with pictures of his children (which he promptly showed to us after we exchanged greetings). He was a very blunt man — blunt almost to the point of rudeness. He cursed a lot but was also incredibly knowledgeable. He was the type of man who would be perfect for the oral history project except he’d probably scare the poor subbies who would have to interview him. Oh, and he absolutely hated Champaign’s government. I would say about 70% of the time he cursed, it was in reference to Champaign’s city council. I vaguely recall him saying that the Champaign City Council can go to hell. He talked about how the Champaign City Council tended to lean more Republican and were more resistant to Champaign becoming a sanctuary city than Urbana. Up to this point, all the differences between Champaign and Urbana felt pretty trivial and non consequential in my eyes. In some ways, while Champaign and Urbana have different characters, I always viewed them as dependent on each other — I always felt they would make the same choices. I guess, I didn’t realize how the differences in Champaign and Urbana could lead to two different city councils with opposing views on one issue. 

All in all, I’m glad to live in Champaign-Urbana and experience the culture in both Urbana and Champaign. I appreciate the hyphen in Champaign-Urbana.   

Sources used: https://champaignil.gov/about-champaign/history/ 

Common App is Hell on Earth, Change my Mind

It’s October. It’s spooky month. It’s almost Halloween. So, in honor of Halloween, I’ll describe to you the spookiest thing known to seniors — The Common App. So for all the out of the loop, the Common Application (Common App) is a website where seniors can apply to many colleges. During the application process, seniors have to write essays, get teacher’s recs, write down their extracurriculars and other such things. In short, the Common App is hell on earth and you can’t change my mind. 

When I first googled, “Common App” the page that comes up fills me with dread. First off, there’s this huge picture of a smiling woman that takes up all of the screen. Her eyes are closed. She’s listening to music. She looks at peace. Normally I’d be fine with this smiling woman, but not when she’s plastered all over the Common App home page. I don’t hate the Common App home page because it’s scary but because there’s such a huge disconnect between the vibes the Common App homepage is giving off and the burning rollercoaster that represents my emotions throughout the month of October. Also, can we talk about the words on the Common App home page? “Your future starts here,” is displayed in huge white letters in the middle of the home page. And I get that these words are supposed to be inspiring but they just fill me with dread. The idea that someday I’ll graduate from high school, move out from my childhood home, and become an adult with some sort of “future” scares me. I don’t want my future to start yet, I just want to enjoy being an unstressed kid for just a while longer. 

What’s the scariest color? Red. R’s are red. Teacher’s grade with a red pen. Red lights are red. And you know what else is red? Common’s app cursed timer from hell. All of the schools you will apply to show up on the “Dashboard” tab of the Common App — like a checklist of sorts. In addition, the due date of applications along with a countdown is displayed on the “Dashboard” tab. And this year’s senior class has made the unfortunate discovery that two weeks before an app is due the countdown turns a bright red. So picture this mostly white page with a few accents of gray. Peaceful, right? Now imagine that same webpage but there’s now there’s this burning red text that says “7 days left until deadline”. And maybe it’s because my blood is 50% caffeine by now or because of the white background, but that red color is scarier than normal. There’s something about the saturation and hue of those words that makes me feel like I’m being judged. Whenever I see that countdown, I’m reminded of the fact that I’m not currently working on my essays. And each day you log on to the common app, this number keeps getting smaller and smaller and smaller. 

In the Common App tab, there’s another tab labeled “Writing” where your common app essay goes. Not gonna lie, this tab is the bane of my existence partially because writing essays is hard and partially because the interface just sucks. So after you scroll through a whole entire list of prompts that basically ask you to describe your entire personality and life experience in 650 words, you’ll see this tiny text box where you're expected to write your essay. The worst part of this text box for me is that it’s blank. I’ve spent hours staring at this little blank text box filled completely with unblemished whiteness, and I stress. The textbox’s blankness intimidates me. I type out one sentence in the text box. Then, after staring at the text box for a minute I delete the sentence. And so the cycle continues. And then there’s the interface. First off, when you copy-paste your essay from google docs to the common app, everything becomes bolded. I don’t know why common app does this but I hate it. Secondly, you can’t indent in Common App. Instead, you have to leave a blank line after each of your paragraphs or I guess you can just use the space bar if you’re really dedicated. And all of these little quirks are okay by themselves but by combining these quirks, Common App becomes hell on earth. 

So after ranting about Common App for a whole four paragraphs, I feel like I should complement the Common App for something just to be a little nice. Except I can’t think of anything to say so... .the Common App is hell on earth, change my mind. This essay/rant did help me feel less stressed though so everything’s not all bad. 

Disclaimer: I don’t know if the Common App counts as an object or animal but I’ve spent enough time on that cursed website that I can definitely write a detailed portrait of it. I’d also like to say that although I rant about Common App a lot, the current version of common app looks so much better than last year’s version, which looked liked it was made in the 90s.

stop asking me how to pronounce my last name -- I don't know how to pronounce it

The name on my birth certificate is Betty Nguyen. The name I write at the top corner of all my school assignments is Betty Nguyen. Betty Nguyen is how my name is displayed on the class roster. And, at least once every year, someone will ask me: "Betty, how do you pronounce your last name?" And my go to response to that question is, "I don't know." To be honest, this answer is a bit of a cop-out. I don't want to explain to someone how to pronounce my last name for the fiftieth time, and I honestly do not care how bad you mangle my last name. Why don't I care about my last name being mispronounced? It's a long story.

I know how to pronounce my last name . . . kind of. I pronounce "Nguyen" the same my parents pronounce "Nguyen" and my parents pronounce “Nguyen” the same way my grandparents pronounce it. So, from my perspective, there is a correct way to pronounce my last name and my pronunciation is correct. But the thing is, Vietnam has three very distinct regional dialects. As a result, there are some Vietnamese words that are pronounced differently according to which region of Vietnam you are from. According to which dialect you speak, certain syllables are pronounced differently as well. I think of the syllables “ch” and “tr” that are usually placed at the beginning of words. In some dialects these two syllables are pronounced differently. However, in the dialect I use, I can’t differentiate between the two syllables (And, of course, these syllables were the bane of my existence because I’d always use the wrong ones on spelling tests). And of course, the pronunciation of “Nguyen” is not uniform in Vietnamese. I remember watching a buzzfeed video where a Vietnamese woman was trying to teach people how to pronounce “Nguyen”. Except her pronunciation was wrong (according to me at least). So I decided to browse through youtube comments for validation, and that was the day I learned the word “Nguyen” had regional variants. So it’s hard for me to give people a definitive way to pronounce “Nguyen”, since there are variations in punctuation. So what I’m trying to say is, no matter how hard you try to pronounce Nguyen correctly, it will always be wrong according to someone. And even if there weren’t different but still correct ways to pronounce Nguyen, I would still be uncomfortable teaching you how to pronounce my last name simply because my Vietnamese sucks. Since I was born in America and English was my first language, I have a janky accent when I try to speak Vietnamese, and feel self-conscious when I have to speak Vietnamese. 

Whenever I explain how to say my last name to someone, I never expect them to get it right in the first try or the tenth try. Here's how my last name is spelled in Vietnamese: Nguyễn. See that little squiggly thing (the tilde) on top of the e? In Vietnamese this accent is called “dấu ngã” and it represents a certain tone. Tones are essential in Vietnamese and messing up a tone can completely change the meaning of a word (Trust me, my parents have laughed at me for messing up tones and completely changing the meaning of sentences multiple times) There aren’t any tones in English, so it’s really hard for me (an already crummy Vietnamese speaker) to explain how to pronounce the accent in my last name. The best way I can explain tones is to compare it to a question mark. Compare the words dog and dog? It’s technically the same word but both versions of dog don’t sound exactly the same. Tones kind of work like that except, in Vietnamese except there are five tones. Anyways, the squiggly line/tilde in Nguyễn signifies that your tone should rise then fall, kind of. Most Americans mispronounce Vietnamese and my last name because of these tones. (Heck, even, I mess up on my tones all the time). Because of this linguistic divide between English and Vietnamese, I kind of expect people to mispronounce my last name. When anglicizing my last name something is literally lost in translation — since there are no accents, you have no idea what tone goes where. 

I’m going off on a bit of a tangent here, but this’ll make sense, I swear. Even though literally everyone in my family has the last name Nguyen, I’ve never felt like I was part of some “Nguyen” gang. And I’m not exaggerating by saying everyone in my family is named Nguyen. I never learned what maiden names were until I was fourteen, because my mother’s last name was already Nguyen before she married my dad even though they aren’t related. (You can’t judge me too hard for not knowing what maiden names are because I’m 99% sure my dad thinks maiden names are just janky middle names). People constantly ask me if I’m so and so’s brother or sister since we both share the same last name, but, usually, I’ve never seen that person in my entire life. What I’m trying to say is, for me personally, there isn’t a strong sense of community around the last name Nguyen. I’ve always been fascinated by genealogy and the idea of finding your ancestors’ family history. But the issue is, I can’t just look up my last name because thousands of people have the same last name as me and none of us are related in the slightest (except the fact that we all have Vietnamese ancestry). There’s a historical reason why so many unrelated people have the last name “Nguyen”. I know because I googled my last name for a fifth grade project once. The last dynasty that ruled Vietnam had the surname Nguyen. After the Nguyen dynasty took power, many Vietnamese people changed their last names to Nguyen because they were forced to or because changing your last name Nguyen was a sign of loyalty to the emperor. So there isn’t some grand family story or history behind my last name. My ancestors were probably some rice farmers who decided to change their last name to Nguyen out of loyalty to the emperor or something. So when people mispronounce my last name, it doesn’t feel like an attack on my identity, because I don’t attach any strong sense of identity to my last name, especially since I’ve lived in America for all my life. 

What I’m about to say is going to sound cheesy, but for me, I don’t care about people’s pronunciation of my last name because it’s the thought that counts. As long as you make an effort at pronouncing my last name, I couldn't care how bad you butcher it. Part of this fluidity around my last name stems from me living in America for my whole life. As a person who has lived in America for my whole life, I’ve probably heard the mispronounced version of my last name more time then I’ve heard the correct pronunciation. I’ve grown a little attached to the bastardized mispronunciations of my name (And I’m really fond of the Nguyen-Win puns even though that pronunciation’s wrong). Even, I’ve started to code-switch a little by saying my last name differently when I’m around vietnamese or non-vietnamese people. Most days it’s really hard to differentiate which parts of me are Vietnamese and which parts or American and the pronunciation of my last name is a reflection of that. Of course, all of this is just my opinion and you might meet someone who’s a stickler for pronouncing Nguyen correctly.

And if you still, for some reason, want to know how to pronounce my last name just google it or something.

Ugly Christmas Sweaters

If I had to pick an article of clothing to represent me, I'd pick an ugly Christmas sweater, like one of those gaudy sweaters composed of two extremely saturated and unflattering colors. I'm thinking highlighter green so bright it sears your retinas and red so burnt it's basically mud brown. Maybe one with a super tacky Christmas pun on it and the sweater has to be knitted, of course. Why an ugly Christmas sweater, specifically? Well, I have a list.

So here are three reasons why I identify with ugly Christmas sweaters.

1. It's just for kicks

Why do I want to wear an ugly Christmas sweater? Simple. It's because I can. Not every action needs an explanation. There's a part of me that wants to justify everything I do. There's a part of me that wants to link all my experiences to one cohesive narrative. All of these thoughts are intensified by my kinda low-key toxic mentality toward looming college apps. I think thoughts like: Why am I studying so hard? By doing this activity? Does this activity strengthen my college apps? Why am I taking this class? Does this class relate to my future major which will relate to my future career? And sometimes these thoughts keep me organized but other times they just give me stress. So sometimes, I just want to do things for kicks. I want to stop assigning meanings to everything. I want to stop believing that there's some sort of divine plan that my life adheres to. 

And maybe this is just some facet of teenage rebellion. Maybe I've finally digested all those ideas from 21st Century Novel, and subconsciously decided that Camus and those existentialist dudes were right -- the universe is meaningless and it's up for the individuals themselves to derive meaning in an absurd and indifferent world. Maybe I'm just tired of always trying to explain my actions to myself. All I know is that just once, when someone asks me about college or my future or adulthood, I just to be able to say, "I don't know" without any shame. 

2. It's a fashion statement

Not gonna lie, ugly Christmas sweaters are, well, ugly. But it feels freeing to wear something ugly in public and not care at all about how people perceive you. Stressing over how people perceive me is an issue of mine. I'm worried about looking ugly or answering a question wrong and being thought of as dumb. I'm worried about not being smart enough for Uni and being thought of as an imposter. And so it's super freeing to be able to wear a sweater and declare, "I look ugly and I don't care." It's freeing to say, "Here are my unfiltered thoughts and I don't care if they make me seem dumb." By wearing a Christmas Sweater, you're throwing away societal expectations and norms of beauty and embracing ugliness. I want to be brave enough to openly speak about my insecurities and fears. I'm tired of letting my metaphorical ugly Christmas Sweater fester in the closet. You need a certain amount of self-confidence to wear an ugly Christmas sweater and one day I hope I'll be that self-confident.

3. It's a joke

So yeah, wearing an ugly Christmas sweater both embraces the ugliness in life and is apparently, possibly an existentialist statement??? (I'm still a little skeptical and worried about my 12 p.m. jumps in logic, but hey, I personally derived meaning from an ugly Christmas sweater so what are the existentialist dudes gonna do? Say I'm wrong?) But one of the best things about ugly Christmas sweaters is that they're jokes. At the end of the day, if you get a negative reaction, you can always just claim that it's a joke. And you know what, it's easy to use humor as armor. I make jokes about being bad at math or failing a test but underneath that veneer of light-heartedness, these are reals concerns of mine. In that situation, I want to talk about failure but I'm scared of being thought of as a failure. So, I make a joke about failure. Because, at the end of the day, you can still revert back to the status quo. After the holidays, you can easily take the ugly Christmas sweater off. Similarly, I'm not forced to commit to being some sort of existentialist, ugly Christmas sweater wearing confused teenager. I can just claim that this entire blog post is a shitpost and thus meaningless. 

tl;dr I'm scared of committing myself to my ideals.

So there you have it. There are my thoughts on ugly Christmas sweaters. They might seem a little dumb and crazy but sometimes you just have to get the words out of your mouth. 

Disclaimer: I've never owned an ugly Christmas sweater (I've owned some unflattering sweaters but I've never owned An Ugly Christmas Sweater tm). 

Here is The Beginning of My Posts For Non-Fiction Writing

Everything after this post is for Coming-of-Age Novel. You can read it if you have any particular love for confused teenagers/young adults trying to find their place in life, I guess.