D.C. In mid July 

I have forgotten that the east coast in mid of July is also as hot as the dry air of Northern California where I now live. Woahhh, we landed in DC and got blasted with 90F and humidity. It’s still tolerable, though.

Oh D.C., the last time we were here was in August of 2014. Mr. O and I took the boys on a road trip from Minnesota traveling through and stopping by Chicago and Cleveland before reaching D.C.  

Well, since then, D.C. has change drastically, and I am not talking about the physical landscape. I am glad that we get to see the White House from outside. Now I am getting nauseous thinking of being in its close proximity. 

Anyway, I better not get distracted. 

Mr. O is here for a conference and we are tagging along for summer vacation. It’s not Hawaii, and there are no nice beaches with turquoise blue water, and no lush tropical trees, but the boys don’t seem to complain at all. They still bicker and poke and fight every five minutes or less. Are they going through a phase of sibling rivalry and if so, will it pass? I just can’t handle the constant competition between these boys. Urghh!

At dinner today I met a nice Vietnamese man who served at the restaurant that we visited. He and I founded a common ground in being refugees and had our time in Bataan refugee camp. He was in group cycle 134 and I was 136 and we overlapped for a few months before he left for settlement in the U.S. Although today was the first time we met each other, that one common ground connected us with a string of  live-through experience that seems lost as part of our history. I don’t think many of us talk about Bataan refugee camp that much anymore and that physical place had been demolished to become something else with new name and new identity; just like how we have become dissolved into the fabric of American lives and that small part of our identity also vanished. But it was nice to have someone who had gone through that same experience, with knowledge of the same physical landscape, to know how we lived through those days. 

I am still proud of my American identity that began with a refugee experience!

So much of yaddiyahdiyah… I started writing this post since Monday when we just got to D.C. And it’s already midweek. 


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