A sense of nostalgia washes over me. Home but not home. Scents I’ve always known, and a language spoken throughout Little Saigon, and yet it’s the first time I’m here. Sure, I look Vietnamese, and I can somewhat speak Vietnamese, although I’m not really fluent. I feel like I’m not Vietnamese enough, but I’m not American enough, either. Unlike other students in the program, I can’t just pass as a foreigner, but I can’t blend in with the locals, either.
