A Dream

By Johnny Nghiem

January 22^nd, 2018

"If you don't have bean sprouts, you're not Vietnamese." - Mom

We often forget where we come from and for someone like me, my own identity has been a constant crisis since being given a Shabba Ranks cassette tape back in the early '90s only to be further confused by the weekly karaoke parties I was forced to attend.

Yes, I was that kid like a lot of my peers growing up in Toronto; cultured at home, struggled outside, and always conflicted of what and who I really am.

I used to just tell people, when asked about my background, that I'm just Johnny to avoid any confusion as to what a "Canadian" is and to avoid having to answer again that I'm of Asian descent and to avoid having to answer that that type of Asian is Vietnamese.

See the conundrum?

Well, here's a little story about the most recent version of me.

Before my grandparents decided to settle for Toronto with every aunt and uncle associated with the family name (like 20x total I kid you not), there was a brief time where Paris was referred to as home.

I recently visited Paris for what I referred to as the first time since I don't really remember much of the actual first trip. On one hand I was there for work, on the other hand I was there to see what my life could have been and if anything, if anything at all, would be different in terms of perspective.

And in short, who really knows.

It's a curiosity I'll always have and that's something I'm blessed with, not cursed as I once thought.

It's a bit unusual and mildly uncomfortable trying to figure it all that out.

What I tend to do or did was to think about the people I've met and the time we met and if that moment was shifted +/- days, months, or years, would it be the same?

And in short, who really knows.

Even though my self identity has been the cause of a lot of headaches and heartaches recently, I just try to remain steady and keep my eyes and ears open.