A few weeks ago, I was sat at my girlfriend’s parents’ kitchen table.
I had briefly been allowed to leave the dinner table after eating and now I had been summoned back. I was receiving a grilling. What was my work? Tell me about your family.
And then the big question.
He asked me whether I would like to ask permission to date his daughter.
Considering we had been seeing each other for some months this seemed odd. But thinking about it afterwards it follows the Vietnamese norm of official truths which exist despite real situations. Reality can easily be ignored in favour of the official line.
That said, it all seemed a bit much to go through just to request the right to date. I took a deep breath and instead I asked if I could marry her.
Now what you have to realise is that this wasn’t just us talking. My girlfriend was translating everything. This now included asking her father for her own hand in marriage on my behalf.
It wasn’t as much of a shock as it could have been – not to her at least. We had talked about it. I had even found her Googling pictures of wedding dresses.
She took a moment and translated. Her father didn’t miss a beat. He thought some more and the questions intensified. They started to come thick and fast.
Earlier, the large bottle of Johnny Walker I had brought had been gladly accepted but it was my answers now that were going to swing this one way or another.
I talked more. I spoke of my absolute commitment. I spoke of being the product of a happy marriage and of having sisters also settled. I told him Hanoi would be home – although he never insisted upon it.
He said that if he was to give the go-ahead then he didn’t want to just bump into my parents for the first time at the wedding. I explained how a meeting in the near future would be difficult but that I would ensure they would all meet ahead of the big day.
He remarked on my inability to speak Vietnamese and how he wanted to be able to talk directly to his son in law. I agreed that learning the language was a priority.
And he asked me if I could make his daughter happy. In the end, he said, that is all that matters.
I promised and he said yes. Yes, I could marry her.
Shortly afterwards I bought the ring. Nine diamonds in the shape of two stars. Both are considered lucky numbers. The number two, in particular, at Tet where people often give $2 notes as gifts.
I had already noted that the first day of the Lunar New Year was also Valentine’s Day.
We had planned a trip to Koh Libong, Thailand . I envisaged us staying up past midnight and then at one second past, in the New Year of the Tiger, I would get down on one knee with the ring in my hand.
In reality the sea air got the better of us. She said she would take a nap and I said I’d wait up and wake her at 12. And then I fell asleep too.
Around five I woke up and in our rustic beach hut there was no power. I stumbled my way to the toilet, tripping and muttering along the way. By the time I returned my noise and clumsiness had woken her.
The ring was under my pillow. Though still half asleep I still felt that now was the time. I said “chuc mung nam moi” (happy new year) and then, I can’t even remember the words, in a roundabout way full of promises, commitments and declarations of love I asked her to marry me.
She said yes and I put the (much too big) ring on her finger.
It was hours before it was light enough for her to see it.
It’s freakishly and rather worryingly warm in Hanoi right now.
I should be wearing four or five layers and I’m sweating in one.
It’s disturbing but, then again, it’s beautiful out there.
VietNamNet has an occasional weekend series entitled “My Vietnam”. In short, a foreigner outlines how he sees the country and gets to describe his relationship with it.
I’ve stepped up and you can read the full article here.
But the important bit is cut and pasted below.
I think it’s fair to say that I used to see Vietnam as somewhat rose-tinted. Inrecasingly, however, it appears more black and white and increasingly I see good versus evil struggles at all levels.
Earlier in the series Michael Brosowski of the wonderful Blue Dragon NGO said:
My Vietnam is a complex country, where hope and sorrow co-exist…
I agree entirely.
I think Vietnam is damaged and it goes way beyond physical scars. I think Vietnam often, understandably, acts out of fear.
But, in the end, it always seems to me that there is too much good here for it not to prevail. Long may that be the case.
Anyway, that snippet:
People often talk of Vietnam as a country of contrasts and they tend to mean rich and poor or city and countryside.
But I see it everywhere and in everything. I’ve been the victims of scams but also of humbling kindness. I’ve seen individuals who devote their lives to serving others for little reward and I’ve seen lazy and deceitful people who take.
I read of child traffickers, and poachers of near-extinct animals, and I can’t square such cruelty with the incredible, honest, warm people I meet every single day here.
I think this conflict is always at the heart of Vietnam. The country’s continued development could take either route. Vietnam can be a country of social responsibility, environmental concern and responsible and sustainable growth.
I am sure these ideals would have sat well with those that President Ho Chi Minh wished to build this nation on.
However, conversely, Vietnam’s continued growth could yet be characterised by greed, selfishness and cruelty.
But “My Vietnam” remains a place of warmth and smiles, kindness and humility. A place where ambition is honest and growth doesn’t come at the expense of warmth and beauty.
Finally, as a foreigner who loves Vietnam and now calls it home – I hope I will always be welcomed here.
Yesterday I met a mate for coffee and he relayed his weekend.
The day before he’d been out in Hanoi with his family, when one of a bunch of kids messing around on motorbikes couldn’t stop and hit a tree – injuring their face.
While I guess there was some gallantry in hitting the tree and not my friend’s family, his normally calm wife was still understandably furious and went ballistic.
He then told me of a friend, who was out for a Sunday morning bike ride, when a motorbike came out of nowhere and hit him side on.
His wife told my mate that she had never seen him lose his temper and, to the best of her previous knowledge, physical violence was something he wasn’t capable of. Nonetheless, he stood up, dusted himself off, and decked the guy.
Other reports include fist fights on the streets and while I try to be a Zen-like as I can, I will admit to raising my voice a couple of times recently. Face well and truly lost.
Elsewhere everyone is chasing extra cash. Bizarrely I just saw my apartment advertised on the internet at $200 a month more than I pay. I’ve decided that ignoring it is far easier than trying to seek an explanation from the landlord.
More worryingly, while normally there are few places safer to live than Vietnam, a friend recently woke up to see a burglar holding his camera. He fled. Remarkably, however, the Police found the villain and returned the camera.
Or at least, if I understand his Facebook updates correctly, they returned it once they had used the camera to record a number of other crime scenes as it was better than the one they had.
The reason for all this?
Tet is almost upon us and while, nearer the big day, Hanoi becomes a ghost town, now is a time of utter and increasing madness.
Once the festive season starts we’ve booked a ten-day escape to Thailand. Hanoi is home but sometimes a Thai island can be the perfect antidote.
However, there’s still ten days to go.
I’m going to stay in doors.
