Rockin' Wet Christmas

In Minnesota, nearly every year I sit next to a fireplace with a hand warmer, otherwise known as a mug of hot chocolate, while blistering snow flakes dust the evergreens and a heated game of Scrabble convenes in the background. When feeling active, I plummet down on a miniature mountain with a makeshift sled in the middle of the night. When the windchill is below zero, I crowd to the malls wishing and hoping that toy or gadget of the season is available as a one of a kind Christmas gift.

To me, Christmas stands for the chitter chatter while making cookies, the uncontrollable laughter that leaves you breathless and blue, and the epiphany and joy that completes the last word in a crossword. For many Vietnamese Americans, Christmas represents a time for friends and family.

This is my first Christmas in Twenty-four years without the white flakes from heaven and moreover, this is my first Christmas without my family and close friends. Unlike the past years, there was no after-Thankgiving holiday sale or Salvation Army Santa ringing his bell. Thus, as December 25th approached this year, I was oblivious of the holiday spirit.

Seven percent of the population is Christian, but curiously that’s only slightly less than the leading ten percent of population that professes to be Buddhist according to a 1999 census. However reality is that most Vietnamese connect themselves to Buddhism and philosophies like Taoism and Confucianism occasionally going to temples for tradition and community gatherings. That is, religion in Viet Nam represents an opportunity to come together as a family or community. So Christianity in Viet Nam manifests this phenomenon through Christmas as an “occasion and a festival” rather than a biblical experience.

The Vietnamese holiday spirit has its own sparkle and glitter. Every corner had Old Saint Nick outfits for big ones and little ones. Lights dangled from window sills and flying little angels on Christmas trees. The Viet Christmas version means crowding the streets and celebrating the night away rather than staying at home with family.

I experienced bits of that on Friday night while the masses were out on the streets watching the vendors flipping on flashing toys and balloons whipping in the soft wind. Colorful lights illuminated Viet Nam, making the sun obsolete. Unfortunately the night of Christmas Eve when the real fun begins instead came with a downpour of rain. Rain in Viet Nam is a curse. It soaks you to the bone while you ride your motorbike. It killed lots of the energy that night, but a good number were still out.

We tried to go see a movie, but the parking lot was full at the movie theater. So we drove off dripping wet to a little place called Yoko, a rock joint. The place was full of foreigners. One singer did an entire set of Alanis Morissette which impressed me. Otherwise most of the songs flickered from Guns N’ Roses and Hoobastank to the Cranberries and Joan Osborne. I enjoyed my cold glass of black ice coffee while throwing around my plethora of rock knowledge. But it’s hard to rock out when the band doesn’t rock out, sitting like mannequins. I still give them A for effort and ambition.

Although the rain saturated my clothes, the clouds ignored my plea for a white dusting, and my family just woke up thousands of miles away from me, I found Christmas in Vietnam. I found chitter chatter; I had tear-releasing laughter; and I realized the epiphany that makes Christmas great: Christmas is a world holiday.