Main Hương, Hồng Anh & Janny

Where is our true home? Is it a particular place with particular people within a particular culture? What if we had to leave our “home”? Or grew up in a culture vastly different from that of our parents? Main Huong, Hong Anh, and Janny, three international Wake Up sangha core members, explored these questions deeply during a retreat in Plum Village, France, for young Asian diaspora (those growing up outside of their homeland).

A “unique” retreat

Coming to Plum Village, besides enjoying meeting friends from around the world, we usually longed to connect with friends with whom we could share our background and experiences. In other retreats we previously attended, it often felt like we had to deliberately seek out these spaces which mirrored the experience many of us had growing up as ethnic minorities, where there might have been 1-2 friends in school or at work who shared a similar background.

Last June, the Finding Our True Home Retreat was the first retreat specifically for young Vietnamese and Asians from the diaspora. We have never seen so many young Asian friends together at a Plum Village retreat before. Attending the retreat surrounded by those who shared similar upbringing and challenges of being disconnected from our Vietnamese culture and our parents’ experiences was incredibly empowering. There was such a deep understanding without needing to exchange many words.

In her Dharma talk, Sr. Lang Nghiem shared about the four elements of true love and reminded us that Thay taught us that love is understanding. “True love is limitless, so is understanding and vice versa.” We felt that during this retreat we all touched a deep love that was hard to put into words: unconditional love from the monastic sisters, love for our parents and our ancestors, love for our roots that we had long thought were buried, love for our cultural practices, and love for ourselves.

During this one week that provided us a safe space, everyone practiced wholeheartedly. Every little activity became meaningful and sacred. During one gathering before our working meditation, a sister invited us to sing the song “Happiness is Here and Now” and dedicate this song to our parents. She reminded us that our parents might not have yet had the opportunity to “let go of their worries,” and we can offer them our peace and freedom while singing this song. Many friends were moved to tears.

The collective energy and quality of practice also felt very special. The sisters shared that as Asians, our ancestors had transmitted the seeds of Buddhist practice for centuries. So even though we had not practiced for many generations it only takes a sprinkle of water and the seeds would spring up like mushrooms. Combined with a strong presence of ‘the beginner’s mind’, the awakened seeds in us and the deep gratitude for having such a special space for our community to come together, created a very unique atmosphere.

Sometimes, we don’t realize something is missing until we find it right in front of us. This feeling of (finally) coming home and being able to connect with others was very unique. It was a reminder that we were not alone in our journey of healing and transformation and that we could find solace and strength in the company of others who intimately understood our experiences.

Coming back to claim our inheritance

Many of us grew up as children or descendents of Vietnamese refugees displaced by war and colonialism. Our families did the best they could given their difficult circumstances from the deep loss of their homeland while trying to navigate a different society and culture in a new country. Our sense of Vietnamese heritage was limited to our families, and often took the backseat to the heritage of the places we grew up in.

Fractured from their homeland, our family transmitted to us the language and culture as best as they could while focusing on providing for us. Being brought up in a western society, we were often torn between wanting to assimilate to Western ideals and the different ideals our families had, which often led to a rejection of our origins in order to fit in. As adults, many of us felt this loss of culture, language and heritage and a longing to reconnect and heal this part of us that we had long rejected. During this week, we were able to allow ourselves to grieve and reconcile with this wound in us by creating uplifting experiences which nurtured and healed them.

By coming together and sharing these experiences in this space of mutual understanding, we were able to not only heal but also generate a sense of community together despite living in different countries and cities. We were able to cultivate deeper compassion for ourselves, our parents, and our friends. With this, we were able to hold space for ourselves and our pain and joy, to heal the past, celebrate our culture and create a sense of home and belonging for each other and within ourselves.

While having lunch underneath the oak tree in Lower Hamlet, Sr. Dinh Nghiem shared with us that Thay gave his first few Dharma talks right here. People of our parents’ generation who came to Plum Village back in the 80s, only a few years after the war in Vietnam had ended, would sit around him to listen to his talks. Back then, mostly Vietnamese refugees and people who lived in exile like Thay came to Plum Village because it was a place where they could seek not only spiritual but also cultural refuge. They helped Thay and the monastics build and shape the Plum Village as we know it today.

In this beautifully loving and nurturing environment, our parents were able to transform their suffering and allow their young children to connect to their roots. During those years, the children could learn how to sing and speak Vietnamese, enjoy homemade Vietnamese food and the community could come together to experience a sense of belonging in this place that was home away from home.

Forty years later, we sat underneath the same oak tree. Thay was still present all around us—when a breeze prompted the leaves to send us a warm welcome or when we walked mindfully through the forest. We felt fortunate to be able to continue this beautiful legacy of Thay and our parents. To see that Plum Village could also be a place where we, like our parents, continued to celebrate our culture and heal the wounds of our ancestors, was so meaningful.

Love and transformation

Being surrounded by a strong presence of the Vietnamese language in all the activities was deeply touching. It was the first time many of us heard the orientation of a Plum Village retreat in Vietnamese. Sister Thuy Nghiem and Sister Bien Nghiem’s welcoming words in their mother tongue made us feel immediately at home. We really felt that they were sharing from their hearts; and it went straight into our hearts. We had never seen so many people cry during an orientation.

To hear some of the teachings in Vietnamese added an additional layer to the practice. Particularly, listening to the chanting in Vietnamese was such a powerful and memorable experience. It allowed us to connect with, explore and experience the Vietnamese culture on a deeper level.

For many of us who were of the post-war generation, we were only ever exposed to Vietnamese at home. Often, this language transmitted much suffering and violence to us. But here in Plum Village, we got to hear the language used with so much peace and love. It’s so hard to put into words the sense of full embrace, generosity, love and care the sisters gave to us. In Vietnamese, we say thương which describes a very deep, unconditional love—and that was what we felt throughout the whole week.

Our hope is that this retreat can continue and be a space where the Asian and Vietnamese diaspora can return to and feel at home.