Amidst the vibrant chatter of my Vietnamese family, my eyes wandered around the

room, taking in the contrasting elements. Classical American architecture with its
white picket fence framed the suburban cul-de-sac, while traditional Vietnamese
adornments adorned the space - lunar calendars, a warmly lit ancestral altar on the
wall, and scattered silicone slippers on the bamboo-floored ground. The aroma of
Vietnamese spices wafted from the kitchen, a blend of fish sauce and lemongrass that
enveloped my senses, grounding me in my heritage.

These two worlds, so distinct yet beautifully intertwined, created an atmosphere both
comforting and disorienting. My attention returned to the people around me: aunts,
uncles, cousins, engaged in overlapping conversations that resembled a harmonious
symphony of syllables, as enchanting as they were elusive. I was keenly aware of the
language that danced beyond my comprehension. I sat there, an observer amidst my
own family, a traveler in a land that was undeniably mine.
I strained to catch a single word, a lifeline that could connect me to the narrative
unfolding around me. But the words slipped through my grasp like sand, leaving me
adrift in a sea of voices, feeling lost in this labyrinth of sound. Suddenly, amidst the
chaos, I heard it: "Thi," my name. A common Vietnamese name, yet in that moment,
it was the only word I understood. That single syllable forged a bridge that connected
me to the familial chorus, creating a sense of belonging that transcended language.
As someone holding an American passport, my early years spent in Ho Chi Minh
City, Vietnam, and most of my life in Shanghai, China, I always felt like an outsider
in the places I was meant to feel most at home. I couldn't understand Vietnamese in
Vietnam, and my slightest accent when speaking Mandarin in China would give me
away. However, growing up in an international school environment offered a new
sense of home.

In this diverse setting, I found familiarity and comfort in every face and every voice.
My social circle evolved into a kaleidoscope of cultures and backgrounds. It allowed
me to gain insights into different cultures on a deeply personal level, something
history books could never teach me. From Friday night Shabbat dinners to celebrating
the Holi Festival of Colors, my friends opened the doors of their backgrounds, just as I
shared my experiences at Chinese New Year dinners. Each time I entered their homes,
listening to the myriad of languages being exchanged, I may not have comprehended
the words, but in some way, they still sounded like home. Perhaps because my friends
felt like home as well.

Reflecting upon my own background, I realized it didn't matter that I didn't fit neatly
into one of the cultural boxes I was expected to inhabit. I am as much American,
Vietnamese, and Chinese as I am meant to be. My love and appreciation for these
cultures run deeper than words can express, yet I am equally a citizen of the world.
My passion for travel, for learning different cultures, and exploring languages has
always been a priority. I refuse to be confined by the boundaries of my background.
This mindset has translated into my artistic practice in more ways than one. From my
elementary school years, I constantly picked up new hobbies, from ceramics classes to
guitar lessons, and exploring different forms of art. Just as I embrace my multicultural
identity, I embrace the diverse range of artistic expressions the world offers.