One year ago, Mr. Christopher Ha had the privilege of escorting his mother Nguyen Thi Dao, a Vietnam War refugee, back to the country she had not visited in nearly forty years. Now, he reflects on the long-lasting impact of their journey.

“This was a very emotional and difficult trip for my mother to make,” Mr. Ha said.

In the late 1970s, Dao had supported the Southern Democratic Republic of Vietnam by assisting the Red Cross and serving as a secretary for a man named Ngo Hong Hai who now lives in Australia.

“They helped source food items, blankets, clothes, vaccines, and other goods for people living in extreme poverty and refugees from bordering countries,” Mr. Ha said.

Because the political climate was very hostile to those living in south Vietnam, Dao and her family decided to flee by boat to neutral territory in the Philippines.

“There on that island, my mother survived for two years before being sponsored by her biological brother Nguyen Van Hung to come to the United States in June of 1980,” Mr. Ha said. “She was 23 and came over with friends from her village. He had emigrated five years earlier.”

For Mr. Ha, traveling to his mother’s home country was an emotional, brand-new experience.

“I saw how vastly different the lives that we have here in the U.S. are compared to those who live in Vietnam,” Mr. Ha said. “As a child from an immigrant family, finding your identity can be quite challenging. Do you integrate in with your surrounding culture as much as you can so that you can fit in and make friends? Do you abandon the past in an attempt to be viewed as ‘American’?”

Mr. Ha feels that he will never be seen as just “American” but instead will always be seen as “Asian-American.”

“It was at the intersection of cultural identity and cultural loss that I realized that I wanted to learn as much about my family as I could before these things would be lost to time,” Mr. Ha said. “In just one generation, the native language, cultural practices, and traditions can be wiped out.”

Out of the second-generation American-born members of Mr. Ha’s family – his nieces and nephews, only one can sort of speak and understand Vietnamese.

“I was the only one in the first-generation of American-born members who stayed here after high school, and because of my proximity to my mom and grandma, I was in a unique position to document and experience these things to hopefully preserve them for the future,” Mr. Ha said. “I recorded lots of conversations and took lots of pictures for the specific reason of preservation for my family’s sake.”

In Vietnam, Mr. Ha and his mother met with all seven siblings of her adopted family. As the oldest child, she sat at the top of the familial hierarchy.

“Because I am the son of the oldest child, I was also at the top of the hierarchy, and so all my cousins, even those much older than me addressed me with a familial honorific,” Mr. Ha said. “This was very unusual to me because here in the U.S. I’m the youngest of my generation.”

During his exploration, Mr. Ha noted details about Vietnamese lifestyle. For example, the motorbike is by far the most common mode of transportation. In rural cities, it helps people travel between the “jungle” and the town. In large cities, hundreds of thousands of motorbikes flood the streets, weaving and bobbing between the larger vehicles like buses and cars.

“Imagine a busy coral reef, with all sizes of fish: the motorbikes are the massive schools of bait fish that swarm through,” Mr. Ha said. “Motorbikes are connected to the livelihoods of each family, and naturally, bike repair shops are also an integral part of life in Vietnam.”

One of the things that was very striking to Mr. Ha was how nearly every street is lined with vendors of foods, fruit, vegetables, fish and meats — nearly anything you can think of.

“Unlike in the U.S. where groceries are mostly located in stores, everyday Vietnamese citizens get what they need from vendors from streetside markets,” Mr. Ha said.

In the more rural states or “ruong” of Vietnam, people travel by canoe to get to the villages further in the jungle that may be more difficult to get to by land.

“My mother grew up in such villages, far away from the main town,” Mr. Ha said.

Many houses in Vietnam also include outdoor areas for cooking and washing as well as barrels to collect rain for general, non-drinking use.

“Nearly every home I visited had some sort of rain-collecting system,” Mr. Ha said.

In Mr. Ha’s mother’s village home, there also exists a nursery where various herons and water birds nest and call home.

“Part of my family’s income is hosting tourists that come to see the birds,” Mr. Ha said.

Parts of Vietnam, including the rural villages, have more modern updates. Better bridges, roads and infrastructure sometimes render obsolete the older structures like the long-abandoned bridge that Mr. Ha’s mother used to go into town for school.

Mr. Ha and his mother enjoyed a family meal held on the floor of his Uncle Nguyen Hong’s open-air, straw and bamboo roof home in the “ruong” or jungle. The siblings served a massive spread of foods.

“Strangely enough, my uncle also owns a large flat-screen TV and wifi internet connection,” Mr. Ha said. “It was a huge juxtaposition of modern and traditional.”

Because Vietnam is also a coastal country, beachfront visits are a common getaway for a night of food and fun. Street vendors and markets are ever-present, and many homes are built along the river. Travel by boat or barge is common.

Despite all the differences between the U.S. and Vietnam, one thing that Mr. Ha noticed as being exactly the same is the chaos and traffic at the end of the school day. However, unlike in the U.S. with many cars, it’s motorbikes. Americans enjoy free public education; however, Vietnamese must pay tuition.

“Unfortunately, many children in the rural and poorer parts of Vietnam simply do not have the opportunity to go to school,” Mr. Ha said.

Another striking thing to Mr. Ha was the big differences of wealth between the cities, towns, and villages – all in relatively close proximity to each other.

“Saigon, the capital city, has a sprawling cityscape, towers, a nightlife, and huge shopping centers; yet, just an hour outside, you’re almost immediately in a rural area with many smaller villages dotting the landscape,” Mr. Ha said.

Seeing Vietnam for himself helped Mr. Ha feel even more thankful that he grew up in America.

“Of course, people do struggle and there is grief here; it’s not a perfect country, however, I didn’t have to worry about affording public education, I have a machine that washes my clothes, a shower and tub, and a car for transportation,” Mr. Ha said. “I do recognize my own privilege of my upbringing, but I cannot say for certain that we would have had these things had I lived in Vietnam. We Americans take so much for granted, even unintentionally and having all these comforts and conveniences suddenly be taken away was a wake-up call.”

In the year since his journey to Vietnam, Mr. Ha identified family connection and a new confidence in his cultural identity as his biggest takeaways from the experience. Growing up, it was very difficult for him to complete any of the “family tree” assignments during elementary school because he did not know much beyond his grandparents.

“The other kids had massive trees, spanning generations and generations,” Mr. Ha said. “This trip opened up my family tree. Before I felt like I didn’t have much to connect to, but this experience helped connect me to a monumental past, a culture, a people, and a family. I think about the things my family overcame living in rural Vietnam, the war, the horrible journey of fleeing the country, the dangers and uncertainty. The fact that I am where I am is nothing short of a miracle. It gives me strength in times I feel weak and gives me confidence in times that I falter. It reminds me that the human spirit is resilient.”