Family History

The last two books I read, "100 Year of Solitude," Gabriel Garcia Marquez and "Everything is Illuminating," Jonathan Sofran Foer dealt with a lot of family relationships and history which has made me look more into my own family's history. They were both great books. Foer's book started out light and comical and somehow ended on the totally opposit end of the spectrum. Not that it was a bad thing, but it was shocking. I think it was very ambitious and there are a lot of these brillant moments in the book.

Anyway, It got me thinking about my relationship I have with my family and its history. There are a lot of stories out there still to be told. My great grandfather was a fisherman who died at sea while my great grandmother was pregnant with my grandmother. Before then, they had migrated from China. My grandmother had twin girls, one of whom died while trying to escape Vietnam after the war. My mom, dad, his brother and two sisters all escaped Vietnam on a fishing boat on their first attempt (which I am told was incredibly lucky). They spent three days at sea, went through a storm, were almost killed by pirates and ended up in Maylasia at a refugee camp for six months. My older Aunt had met her future husband on that island. He was the son of a high ranking officer who was personal friends with the General of the Southern Vietnamese army. My uncle had spent 30 days at sea and had eaten a fish raw and once asked the people on the boat to throw him overboard. My older Aunt was shy and they did not meet again until they had all ended up in Boston by coincidence. My family almost ended up in Australia. My dad was arrested once for stealing from the communist. My grandmother had to sell all the pigs to pay for his debt and to get him released. My uncle, who spent 30 days at sea, was part of the resistance that kept on fighting the Northern Army in the jungles until one day he came back to the village where they kept there stores and found everyone gone. He also once ran into a fox hole while being chased by the Northern Army. He left Vietnam soon after that.

As much as I try, I can't seem to make stories out of them yet. They are too close to my heart. I wonder if my Great Grandfather dying at sea has was a small reason for me being afraid of deep water...like collective memory. I also feel the weight of their stories, like I am an answer to their questions, like their struggle is for my success.

I just wanted to get that out there. I'm not feeling very poetic, just very desperate to write.