What if I was born in Hong Kong? What if my parents had decided to move back to Hong Kong?

Our guide in Vietnam told Ta-ching and me, “You’re so lucky to be born in United States. So lucky! You can speak English!”

If I had been born in Hong Kong—it would be so different. This language barrier and cultural differences would not exist between my parents and me. I noticed this as I watched my cousin spoke freely (and yet in a rebellious way) to my aunt. My American self would hate my Hong Kong self.

My aunt’s husband—my mom’s younger brother—passed away a long time ago when I was young enough not to remember. And so the only family I had on my mom’s side are my cousin and my aunt, both living in Hong. Because my dad’s side of the family completely moved to the US, I only knew those two.

The day before I left, my aunt took me to her brother’s house to have dinner. Not wanting to stick out like an obnoxious American, I kept to myself mostly with extreme politeness, chatting occasionally about my life in a mix of broken Chinese and English, and nodding when food arrived on my plate (despite hating hating hating mushrooms).

Unlike my Hong Kong counterparts, I smiled like an American and wore less clothes (I have always worn less clothes in cold weather because I wanted to feel comfortable and not bogged down).

Shipra paused for a moment. “It’s more like India,” she said. “You’re going to have fun!”

Having realized that Tokyo was expensive and that Taiwan…was going to be pricey (and too much like Hong Kong), I decided impulsively to visit Vietnam based on a street food blog I saw passing by on my twitter feed. Vietnam was meant to be my side stop on my trip to Hong Kong. A vacation from Hong Kong from sorts.

I shall go to Saigon I had decided by late November. As I was investigating the cost of my stay and tours, it turned out it was more pricey by myself.

I read many guides—stalking the libraries and local bookstores.

When I asked a friend who went to Vietnam recently…she hadn’t been there since she was 2, she was appalled by the smells, the dirt, the hectic-ness. I remember my first experience in China back in 2002, having been surprised by the traffic. I was prepared.

Last year when I returned from Thailand, I immediately missed the cool hearts. That is, the laissez-faire attitude of the Thais. Sure, bad things happen in life, but so it goes. It’s not exactly excusing it, but to go with the flow and let irritation/anger go.

But there’s something interesting about traffic. In Bangkok, I observed our taxi drivers getting irritated at the heavy traffic, but somehow they would always find a way to get from point A to point B by squeezing through cars. Honking? Less of an issue.

In Vietnam at least in Saigon, there are barely any traffic lights. Like most Westerners, I was frightened crossing the street. Motorbikes kept going…with no stop in the traffic.

The picture above was taken from a taxi, but when I was surrounded by amounts of traffic in every direction…of course I was too panicked too pull out my camera. After reading guides online, I learned that Vietnamese drivers are polite. So I would take a deep breath and nearly walked across the street blind. It was if I had to trust everyone and slowly believe…really believe that nobody would hit me.

What I thought was amazing…was like Thailand, the Vietnamese were not angry. Yes in Saigon, I heard significantly lot more honking. If there was a car and motorbike in the way, honking would ensue. Although I was on vacation, it wasn’t the same as American honking.

Biking in San Francisco has always been nerve-wracking for me. Especially on streets lacking bike lanes. I would bike up those streets where I have the right to take the lane, but cars could not stand it…and even if they got a chance to pass me, I would easily catch up to them at the next stop sign. If blocked someone’s right turn, it was angry honking. Get out of my way! the driver would scream. As if the 10 seconds they would save…would really get them somewhere. Everyone here in the states is treated as someone to blame. Independent, because we can’t trust anyone.

I biked a bit in Vietnam…and I did get honked at. Sure, it was mostly friendly honking, but the honking was curiosity…or a Sorry Miss, I am coming your way. I am just letting you know that. In Asia, perhaps, it’s inward-looking. We are all one…we act as one…and to cross the street, to ride on the street, we are all responsible for ourselves because we trust others.

“I am 27 years old!” I kept saying over and over again in my broken Chinese.

Several months ago when I announced to my parents and grandparents (located in the Bay Area) that I was going to go to Hong Kong, there were a varied amount of reactions. My parents used to my adventures just nodded—whatever you do with your money is your decision…you’re an adult. My grandfather (father’s side) just laughed in polite amusement—my granddaughter is independent!. My grandmother (mother’s side) reacted in fear—how can she survive!.

Granted, it was expected. And perhaps it’s nice to be worried about.

But the many calls I had to make once I arrived in Hong Kong to appease my grandmother’s fears. Despite having lived in the Mission district of San Francisco for more than 3 years, having wandered the dark streets of cities…including Oakland. But I was surprised to find that my aunt several years junior my mother…that she feared for my safety.

My aunt insisted on “taking me” to my friend’s wedding which meant she rode in the taxi to my friend’s house. She wanted pick me up after the reception, but I attempted to politely refuse. And in my own independent defiant way, I flagged down a taxi and pointed to the address my aunt wrote in my book. And the taxi drove me back. The doorman acknowledge me despite my inability to say my aunt’s last name the right way…and my aunt was shocked when I rang her doorbell on the 12th floor.

“Hello!” I said in my indie designer nyc dress with my aching high heels.

My aunt let me in while saying, “Wow…you’re so strong!!!”

There’s always a moment before a huge trip that I have sudden regret. What am I doing! I don’t want to go…I feel better staying here.

But then I think of all the wondrous things I will experience, see, hear, touch, feel. No regrets whatsoever. Regrets would be not doing anything at all.

Here’s me the day before I left for Hong Kong and Vietnam.

I am showing the blank pages of my passport, which are now filled with a used Vietnam visa, an entry stamp from Vietnam, a departure stamp from Vietnam, two entry stamps from Hong Kong and two departure stamps from Hong Kong.

As I donned my rooster hat, I was thinking how sad it would be to travel without my usual companion, how I will come back with mosquito bites (and I did), how much anxiety I would have if I forgot something (and I did), and the money drain on my bank accounts. But the adventure, the experience…was right there!

When I believe that it’s going to be amazing, it becomes amazing.

It was never this way. My first word supposedly was “ball” in English meaning the round spherical usually colorful object that rolls and bounces. Or it could be “ba” the first sound of father in Cantonese.

Starting kindergarten, there was a moment when I wanted to say something in English, but it sputtered out in Cantonese. I spoke Cantonese fluidly, but then as school continued…as the desire to fit in with my classmates…and feeling inferior by going to speech therapy disqualifying me from GATE…I improved my English.

Suddenly being surrounded by Cantonese again in Hong Kong…this time by myself without an American companion, I forced myself to understand what was being said and finding the words to respond. It was all pidgin Cantonese as the words did not flow easily. There was delight yes…as I overheard a group of older ladies and an older gentlemen mocking each other in the way only Hong Kong people could on the airplane from Saigon. And the serendipity of finding a motorbike tour guide in Saigon who spoke Cantonese, but tricking me into paying more than needed. And the saleslady at the museum who walked into a failing negotiation and gave me a bargain because “she always takes care of the Cantonese…don’t worry.”

But in all, it was a struggle. I realized that’s how a lot of people felt in the states once they immigrated here. Fifty percent of the world would pass them by. Some immigrants would became more sheltered and quiet unlike their personas back in their nativeland. Others like my mom defied the odds and didn’t let language stop her.

Entering customs at SFO on Sunday morning was suddenly a relief.

Although one officer asked me if I brought durian pancake back. I simply said, “Ugh, I don’t like durian pancake.” In English.

Every so often, I come across someone who says, “You’re so laid-back and carefree. I can never imagine you angry.”

I am always surprised, because I know I can be high-strung, anxious and obsessive. And angry. And yet there are very few times in my life that my anger actually results in something drastic. Most of the time, I am able to temper it with rationale and careful analysis. But the few times…I am suddenly trapped in a narrow tunnel…tunnel vision. My own animal comes out from within—kicking and screaming. In a tantrum. Or perhaps seeking to avenge a fault. And it all comes out…still in my steady voice, never quite yelling.

This is why I am reluctant to lose control of my sound judgment. Someone once said, “Jenn, I have never seen you like this.”

First, I have to admit that I look down upon dependence. Especially when someone does have the potential at independence. Now that we have that out of the way…

In middle school, my best friend’s mom did not drive. She said that she was afraid of driving. As a stay-at-home mom, she relied on her husband to drive everywhere. And worse off, the act of not driving especially in the suburbia of California meant she was trapped.

I can’t be trapped. Yesterday at my friend’s friend, I allowed my aunt (originally from Hong Kong) to escort me to my friend’s house for the festivities. But I refused her to come pick me up after the reception. It was silly having her to take a taxi to pick me up and then take a taxi back. I insisted that I could survive in the city, having had navigated around domestically and perhaps once in Thailand/Cambodia. In almost an act of defiance, I didn’t pay attention to the cell phone (plus I still couldn’t recognize the ringtone). And as the reception wrapped up, I walked outside, flagged down a taxi and showed the address my aunt wrote down in my book. “I understand,” the driver said and then tried to figure out the directions to the building.

I was surprised when my aunt opened her door who greeted me with repeated statements “You so smart! So smart!”

[Obviously I found a power converter. My equipment is no longer dying, but quite alive!]

And at my friend’s wedding, I got to know some of my friend’s “sisters”. We talked about what we knew about Karen and our separate lives in the states (they having had gone to the states for college or graduate school). Then I met the other American during the reception who spoke no Cantonese. We joked about the food, talked about traveling, and academia.

But somehow, as I was saying goodbye for the night, there was this empty moment. Indeed, I could have gone to my shameless mode and ask for their Facebook, their email address…or something similar. But here, nothing. “Nice to meet you,” I would say. And then that would be it.

And at the end of the night, I accidentally found myself in another wedding where here the primary color was purple. I wandered outside and flagged a taxi. The driver read the address in Chinese that my aunt had written in my book. And then it was empty again, almost like how I had arrived in the morning at 8 am.

But I have shared much in my friend’s greatest moment!

Of stupidity, I did not pack the right adapter for my laptop or my ipod touch. Sure, everything can be fixed quickly by dishing out the money. But of all the frustrations I have had traveling, lugging around a dead brick is the worse thing of all.

1. NYC trip in Spring 2005. I neglected to charge BOTH of my batteries for my camera. I whined a lot and a friend lent me his camera where I put in my CF card, resolving situation.

2. Trip to Chicago in October 2006. I forgot my power charger for my laptop and ended up conserving the battery, basically lugging a brick around.

And now? We’ll see what happens. I love my electricity, why does everything have to be so difficult. PSHAW.