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Where the Heart is

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Where the Heart is


Home. That was supposed to be our destination, back home. Somehow, though, I felt that we were moving away from it instead; and as the plane ascended, that feeling of being drifted away grew stronger and stronger'

It was summer of 2005. Our family was traveling back to Vietnam, our homeland that we left behind nearly eleven years ago for a new life here in the U.S. This was our first time back. My parents were ecstatic that their financial freedom had allowed them to pay for the trip this year. I could understand their elation to finally be able to reunite with their loved ones after all this time, but as for me, who had barely any memory of the land where my ancestors were born, whose 'home' had been America for as long as I can remember, this trip to Vietnam wasn't going to hold nearly as much excitement as the one back.

I jerked forward against my seat belt as the plane rockingly made contact with Vietnam soil. We finished our descent just as my iPod began playing my favorite song, 'Lose Yourself.' The best part came on, ''you got one shot, do not miss your chance to blow',' and right on cue, my dad began to heckle me to grab our bags from the compartments above, forcing me to cut short my enjoyment. I grumbled with annoyance. This trip was already turning into a pain. One of the things that I was going to miss the most when leaving America is technology. Vietnam wasn't as nearly as modernized as the U.S., so I didn't expect much entertainment to be had over there other than my iPod. I turned it off and started to help with the luggage. 'iPod, we're going to get lots of time together this summer,' I thought to myself, 'this is so going to be a wasted vacation.'

I did expect some tears and crying, but what I saw as I dragged all the heavy luggage out of the airport to greet my unrecognizable relatives would put the crying from the ending of Romeo





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