Becoming Américain

By Quan | 06 September 2019 | 4 min read

Approaching Mid-life by Picking French Back Up After a Nearly 20-Year Hiatus

It’s been about 18 years since I last took French. I thought about taking Spanish, since it’d be more pragmatic here in Texas, but decided to take French since there’s some familiarity and I’ll be going there a few times in the next calendar year (hopefully to catch Christo’s work next year). I decided to enroll at Alliance Française de Dallas.

Christo with a sketch for L'Arc de Triomphe, Wrapped. ©2019 Estate of Christo Javacheff

My teacher happens to be from Vietnam, part of that diaspora. During our break I started up a conversation in French with her to practice. It was very elementary and broken as all get out, but she’s really great at putting you at ease and using her hands to gesture ideas. Those hand gestures worked well and we shared our family history.

After the war, her father went to Paris and worked for the French government. He was able to bring over his family later on. She was 4 years-old at the time and lived in Paris from then on. She studied at The Sorbonne. Her husband got a job in Dallas and they relocated about four years ago. The rest of her immediate family is still in France.

Whiteboard at Alliance Française de Dallas.

Day 1 at Alliance Francaise Dallas

I shared how we fled to Indonesia after the war, which is where I was born. Then we had a sponsor that brought us to Houston. And so on.

She asked me if I had been to Vietnam, I told her the years I had been. She replied she had never been. I asked if she spoke Vietnamese and she said, “Non. Je connais trois mots. Cam on (No, I know three words. Thank you — in Vietnamese).” She gave a wry smile. We shared a laugh.

Je suis Française (I am French) she said. “Oui,” I said.

Identity is a funny thing. Years ago, I had looked into whether I had Indonesian citizenship because I was born there (‘cuz you know, an extra passport is always nice), but learned that I didn’t because the refugee camp wasn’t recognized. Plus, Indonesia is extremely strict about how it grants citizenship in the first place. It’s not easy.

“Je suis Française,” my teacher had said. Even though she looked like me.

My parents both became citizens later on during my teen years and I automatically became a US citizen when they did because I was under 18. Up until then, I was a citizen of no country and a resident alien of the US.

In today’s climate, I’ve heard stories from acquaintances about people who had traveled back to Vietnam for a visit and have been stuck there because of some crime they committed when they were young (and had served time for in the States). I’ve looked into where I would be sent back to out of curiosity with my past of being a refugee. It would be Vietnam. That is, if they were to take me back in the first place.

The late Houston comedian Bill Hicks had a funny and poignant routine about nationalism and patriotism. When some people from Australia asked him if he were proud to be an American. He said:

“I was like, ‘I don’t know. I didn’t have a lot to do with it, you know. My parents f**ked there, that’s about all. You know, I was in the spirit realm at that time. “F*** in Paris! F*** in Paris!” but they couldn’t hear me, cos I didn’t have a mouth. I was a spirit without lungs or a mouth or vocal cords.’ They f***d here. OK, I’m proud …”

You really have zero say in a matter that could set your course for life. It really is a lottery in life.

“Je suis Française,” my teacher had said. Even though she looked like me.

I thought to myself, Je suis Américain. But then another thought occurred. I’m a Texan.

Quelle chance.