Christina Vo is a Santa Fe-based author. (Click photo to learn more.)
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Nghia M. Vo is a retired physician who independently researches Vietnamese history and culture.
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My Vietnam, Your Vietnam: A Father Flees. A Daughter Returns. A Dual Memoir. by Christina Vo and Nghia M. Vo (Three Rooms Press, 2024)
This dual memoir interweaves the story of Christina Vo, a second-generation Vietnamese American who grew up across the U.S. South and journeys to Vietnam after college, and her father Nghia M. Vo, a first-generation Vietnamese refugee who fled his beloved homeland and rebuilt his life in the U.S. As both writers negotiate their divergent relationships to Vietnam, they find resonances between their stories, sparking recognition and mutual healing. In his narrative, Nghia M. Vo details his escape from Phú Quốc by ship and his processing in Guam during Operation New Life, before transferring to Fort Indiantown Gap in Pennsylvania. A retired physical and independent researcher, Nghia writes books on Vietnam and the Vietnamese refugee history, including Vietnam War Refugees in Guam: A History of Operation New Life (McFarland, 2022).
“Around midnight of the seventh day of the sea trio out of Phú Quốc, while the skies were still dark, part of the horizon suddenly lit up. A few people woke up, surprised by the brightness of the sky. Their excitement in turn stirred other people. . . . The ship slowly approached the land mass. The magical place turned out to be the island of Guam–thirty-two miles long by four-to-twelve miles wide and home to 80,000 people–somewhere in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. It seemed unbelievable that 80,000 people could light up all the sky in the middle of the night” (85).
“I found the food they served there hot and delicious, much better than what had been provided on the ship. There in Guam, we ate hamburgers, chicken, mashed potatoes, and green beans–the staples of American food–for the first time in our lives. This was also our official introduction to American society and way of life. Fruit cocktail, uncommonly seen in Việt Nam, was abundant in the camp. Apples and yellow-skinned oranges were served later. In our tropical Việt Nam, oranges tended to come with green skins; these small differences piqued our curiosity and reminded us we were in a different country.
I spent another five or six days there doing nothing except watching a large number of people moving in and out of the area. Each time one group departed, another group came in.
The idleness on the island provided me a lot of time to think about our lives, families, and country. No information came out of the hermetically closed communist Việt Nam; all news was blacked out. I did not know what happened to my family, still trapped there. On this bright and sunny tropical island, we remained in total communication darkness.
So many questions ran through my mind: What were we doing on this island? How could we have lost the whole country? This must be a bad dream. How could a country of 17 million people surrender to the enemy and collapse overnight? Why had the U.S. not helped us in this tragic moment? Were our leaders inept to the point of losing the war? Have we done our share to fight? Should we have done more?” (87-88).
This dual memoir interweaves the story of Christina Vo, a second-generation Vietnamese American who grew up across the U.S. South and journeys to Vietnam after college, and her father Nghia M. Vo, a first-generation Vietnamese refugee who fled his beloved homeland and rebuilt his life in the U.S. As both writers negotiate their divergent relationships to Vietnam, they find resonances between their stories, sparking recognition and mutual healing. In his narrative, Nghia M. Vo details his escape from Phú Quốc by ship and his processing in Guam during Operation New Life, before transferring to Fort Indiantown Gap in Pennsylvania. A retired physical and independent researcher, Nghia writes books on Vietnam and the Vietnamese refugee history, including Vietnam War Refugees in Guam: A History of Operation New Life (McFarland, 2022).
“Around midnight of the seventh day of the sea trio out of Phú Quốc, while the skies were still dark, part of the horizon suddenly lit up. A few people woke up, surprised by the brightness of the sky. Their excitement in turn stirred other people. . . . The ship slowly approached the land mass. The magical place turned out to be the island of Guam–thirty-two miles long by four-to-twelve miles wide and home to 80,000 people–somewhere in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. It seemed unbelievable that 80,000 people could light up all the sky in the middle of the night” (85).
“I found the food they served there hot and delicious, much better than what had been provided on the ship. There in Guam, we ate hamburgers, chicken, mashed potatoes, and green beans–the staples of American food–for the first time in our lives. This was also our official introduction to American society and way of life. Fruit cocktail, uncommonly seen in Việt Nam, was abundant in the camp. Apples and yellow-skinned oranges were served later. In our tropical Việt Nam, oranges tended to come with green skins; these small differences piqued our curiosity and reminded us we were in a different country.
I spent another five or six days there doing nothing except watching a large number of people moving in and out of the area. Each time one group departed, another group came in.
The idleness on the island provided me a lot of time to think about our lives, families, and country. No information came out of the hermetically closed communist Việt Nam; all news was blacked out. I did not know what happened to my family, still trapped there. On this bright and sunny tropical island, we remained in total communication darkness.
So many questions ran through my mind: What were we doing on this island? How could we have lost the whole country? This must be a bad dream. How could a country of 17 million people surrender to the enemy and collapse overnight? Why had the U.S. not helped us in this tragic moment? Were our leaders inept to the point of losing the war? Have we done our share to fight? Should we have done more?” (87-88).