Forty years have passed since the Vietnam War ended and still I struggle to define my constantly changing relationship with my homeland.
I was 11 when my family and I left Vietnam as refugees at the end of the war. Having lost everything when we came to America, we started over from the bottom. There was a period in which we lived as impoverished exiles, sharing an apartment with two other Vietnamese refugee families in the part of Mission Street where San Francisco ends and the working class neighborhood of Daly City begins. We struggled for some time to make it to the middle class.Details