A Bánh Mì for Two

by Trinity Nguyen

“Maybe it’s okay to not be anything. To not have to label yourself as anything. You can be both Vietnamese and American.” It hadn’t occurred to me that I could be both before. That I shouldn’t force myself to fit into one definition of what it means to be Vietnamese, or what being an American looks like. It feels validating to know I shouldn’t—can’t—be put in a box, that it’s okay to float in this in-betweenness … to be everything at once. I don’t have to compromise my identity. I can be so many different things.

When you like someone, I’ve realized, everything they do matters to you. Everything they do suddenly becomes intimate, and I find myself wishing to remember every word she says to me. Everything she does for me. All my thoughts point to Vivi.

As Aunt Hiền leads me out of the room, I begin to understand that love contradicts. That when you have an overwhelming amount of love for someone, you can hurt them, too.