Listen, Slowly

Most teenagers do not understand and respect the wisdom of the older generation. Mai is an only child, and though she does love her grandmother, she is on the precipice of becoming a teenager and prefers the company of her friends or being alone. In contrast to America, the homes in Vietnam are built to house multi-generational families, and from the moment she enters the village, Mai is swarmed by close and distant relatives fawning over her and Bà, feeding them and caring for their needs. Mai is accustomed to living alone with her family in California and at first, the crowded rooms feel suffocating, and she longs for her privacy. However, after seeing how her family members care for each other and much she can learn from her elders, Mai comes to appreciate the presence of older family members. From learning to prepare tea for the elders to accepting skincare and health advice from her aunts, Mai learns to welcome and appreciate the chance to honor the older generations. Being in Vietnam apart from the hurried and digitally connected life of an American teenager, Mai learns the necessity of slowing down, soaking up and absorbing the culture around her, and listening to the wisdom of others to learn and grow as a person.

Coming from a country where people lament growing old and see it as a curse, Mai is initially astounded at how old people look in the village, remarking on their wrinkly, weathered faces. Soon, she learns that people in the village revere these aged, creased faces for their experience and wisdom. Anh Minh teaches Mai this lesson through the symbol of the tree in the village’s center. “This tree has outlived every other livin’ thing in the village. We guess it could be three hundred years old” (53). Mai sees that the tree serves as the centerpiece of the village, and all life revolves around it. In the same way, older members of the community are respected and honored as their roots run deep and strong. Mai learns that through listening to these elders, she can learn more about her ancestral country and herself. Though she sees the detective as ancient and his overly formal speaking style frustrates her, she learns to respect him and the wisdom he uses to help Bà. Through taking the time to pause in the adventure in Hanoi and listen to the guard tell his story, Mai shows him honor and respect and learns more about what it was like to experience the war. Mai thinks, “this is the land to be old in” (222), but Vietnam is also a land in which a young person can sit at the feet of a wise great-uncle or grandmother and gain a wealth of knowledge.

By far, no elder teaches Mai more than her grandmother. Having previously taken for granted the small nuggets of culture imparted to her by Bà like Vietnamese nursery rhymes or folktales, those lessons come to life for Mai in Vietnam, and she understands what a gift she has in her grandmother’s presence. “My body loosens and expands, remembering how it used to make room for her words to wiggle deep into the tiny crevices alongside my bones, muscles, and joints” (46). Though Mai has tried to distance herself from her heritage, the one connection she held was Bà, and the trip to Vietnam deepens their relationship. Forced to physically slow down to care for her grandmother’s needs, Mai takes more time to listen to Bà’s stories and lessons. As Bà reveals more of her personal history, Mai learns about fortitude and perseverance. She learns how to control her emotions when necessary but to be vulnerable and share what hurts as well. Bà’s indomitable spirit leaps off the page, and through her words, even the reader at times feels as though they are soaking in her precious wisdom. Through Mai’s journey, the author highlights the importance of young people learning not just to respect their elders but to cherish them and spend as much time listening to and learning from them as they can while they still have the chance.