To the young girl with big dreams.
Today I want to share with you a story about a young girl and her big dreams.
It’s 6 o’clock in the morning and she wakes up at the crack of dawn to start her day. She gets ready and goes out to the market to buy ingredients. She comes home, cooks some meals, packs them along with bowls, chopsticks and spoons, straps them on a wooden bar that lies across the top of her back, where she hovers over just enough to hold it into place. Hunched over, she ventures out into the streets of Vietnam in hopes that she can sell enough bowls to make a profit for the day and feed her entire family. She was only 15 years old.
Some days she sold just enough.
Just enough to make the money back that she spent to buy the ingredients. Some days she comes home with a full pot and her family gets the leftovers. Some days she sells out and has to run home, cook more to sell more. Some days she could go the entire day without selling a single bowl. Every day she is on her feet, walking and walking, selling and selling, scooping up hot soups in hot weather, sweating, thirsting, hungry, hoping and praying that today she makes more money than yesterday.
Through this hardship, she discovered her deep love and passion for cooking. In a life of poverty, her cooking was not just a means to survive but a profound act of love and dedication. Born to an African American soldier and a Vietnamese mother, she was bullied growing up because she looked different. Her thick, nappy, curly head of hair and dark exterior against the pearl white skin of the neighboring kids was like a billboard that attracted the most ruthless of comments. Cooking was her solace. Cooking brought her the kind of peace that she could never grasp from anything else and the joy that comes from feeding people.
She had two big dreams growing up.
That one day she would meet her father and that she could open up her own restaurant. She couldn’t help but feel that it was all too impossible and far out of reach.
Until one day in 1982, the Ameriasian Immigrant Act passed and she received a life-changing letter from America. She was offered a chance to start a new life in the West. The doors began to open and the road to her dream was paved with paperwork, anticipation and persistence. In 1988, she embarked on her journey, spending year as a refugee in the Phillipines before finally arriving in America in 1989. Not only did she make it to America, because of her ties, the rest of her family was able to go too.
The young girl in this story is my mom.
And as of right now, she is in the middle of fulfilling a dream come true.
Though she never got to meet her father and I never got to meet my grandfather,
over 40 years later, her other dream is coming true.
She is opening up her own restaurant.
Only her restaurant isn’t just a restaurant—
it is a realization of a young girl’s dream,
born from her tireless effort and boundless love.
It is the embodiment of her life-long passion for cooking.
And though she never got to fulfill her dream of meeting her father,
she will finally get to warm more hearts and bellies through every bite of her cooking.
The other day, I sat down with her at her restaurant to interview her and ask her some questions about her journey. Through conducting that interview, I wrote a piece about her story. I have always known I wanted to share her story but never would I have imagined my first time sharing it publicly would be on the about page of my mom’s restaurant website. *gasp*!
Her restaurant.
Her dream come true.
Tonight as she was starting to simmer a fresh pot of pho, I came into the kitchen and asked her if she would like to hear what I wrote. I translated it from English to Vietnamese so she could really understand the depth of it.
And she listened. There were moments she smiled, moments she said “troi oi qua hay” (oh my god, it’s so good) and at the end, perhaps the most meaningful moment for me was when she hugged me so tight and said “wow, that’s my story. thank you for writing my story.”
I wonder how many other young girls there are out there who are just like her. How many young girls who have been beaten, bullied and bashed until they feel like a walking body of shame and unworthiness. How many young girls who have so much skill, talent, creativity and gifts hiding underneath because they’re too afraid to let it shine. How many young girls who have dreams they reach for and stop because the world made them believe it was too impossible. I wonder who she represents when she decided to finally walk away from decades of doing chair-bound daunting work that she dreads to say yes to her dreams.
I’m happy for her and i’m oh so proud of her.
She stands for every young girl out there who had a hope and a dream.
Even though her journey is just beginning, it is a true reflection of what is possible.
I know that when people walk through those doors and they take a sip of her broth, they will transport into a feeling of rich love and warmth. They will experience what I was blessed enough to experience growing up eating her food. Every bowl she puts out there is a tribute to her resilience, unwavering love for cooking and making people happy through her food.
To the young girl who got bullied because she was different, I hope you know the very thing that makes you different is the very thing that makes you special.
I hope you will see yourself the same way your daughter will see you one day. I hope when you look in the mirror that your gaze softens to the beauty that is right in front of you. I hope you never let the world make you so hard that a brick wall grows between you and your gifts. I hope you realize that you have a gift and that they are worthy of being seen. I hope you know the power of your own light when you’re courageous enough to let it shine. I hope you know that your pain was never in vain and that it has a purpose. I hope you know that even if you it feels like you have no one there to support you right now and sometimes you feel lonely; your true people are somewhere in your future — waiting to meet you, hug you and hold you— and you will hear them say “where have you been all my life?” I hope you know you were never alone — that the Great Father has always been with you — casting waves of possibilities until you catch one and ride it. I hope you know that one day, everything you’ve gone through will be a story of triumph and inspires other young girls who were just like you.
Your dreams are never too far fetched, too out of reach, and too impossible.
And if your mind tries to trick you into believe it’s impossible —
simply add a space.
Everything is better with a little space.
And tell yourself,
Im possible.
Let every second of your life be a story worth telling. 🍵
Warmly,
If you were an Amerasian child or know of an Amerasian child who was able to connect with your mother or father, please reach out to me. I’d love to hear your story. We’ve tried looking for my mom’s dad but without any paperwork, we have never been successful. Hearing someone else’s story of reconnection, would bring us so much joy.
Blessings to you.