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From Mensagenda - September 2001
Notes from Afar
Susanne Heimbuch
"I like," she smiled at me.
"Hair," she continued, pointing at my hair. I thanked her for the
compliment and she set up a tiny fan to dry my now perfect toes.
"No like me," she said, running her hands upward through her own shag-cut
hair, frowning.
"For me?" she asked, pointing again at my hair. I handed her the
fashion magazine I held, pointing to a movie star with a similar do.
She studied it, still straddling her pedicure workstation, chin in hands,
elbows on knees, like the girl-child in that Norman Rockwell painting.
"I
too young for this?" she asked. Looking at her, I saw her few gray
hairs and smiling crow's feet. She meant "too old," not yet fluent in
opposites. When I said no, she stood to confer with her coworkers,
chatting Vietnamese like a fast-paced chorus sung in rounds. They
passed the magazine back and forth.
Two Minnesota friends recently told me I have courage — and I do. But
it is nothing compared to these young women, who traveled across an ocean to
live in Southern California. Like my own great grandmother, who as a
young girl left Budejovice, Czechoslovakia, in 1860, they speak little
English, and rely on themselves to learn it here.
The eight or so 'Vietnamese women who work at my favorite nail shop in L.A.
own one car together, and live together in a small apartment. They
wear each other's clothes. They have each other for support and the
support of other family members. It is a kind of togetherness that is the
opposite of the autonomy I sought.
One self-help guru says we know our true friends because they say,
"Congratulations," when they hear we have dyed our hair purple and run off
with a twisted rock star to live in Maui.
Thus I was surprised to receive so little Minnesota support ahead of my move
to L.A. just over three years ago. Of my many Minnesota acquaintances,
only a precious few cheered wholeheartedly. One critic even sent a
hand-written note to say, "Choose any place but L.A., that most evil of
places." I paraphrase, of course, but not by much.
Perhaps I had begun to believe my detractors, because living in L.A. was
easier than even I expected, more safe and tons more fun. I know that
many, when criticizing my decision, voiced the fear they would have for
their own safety should they ever leave Minnesota.
Of
all the blessings I received in L.A., my favorite is a freedom I'm still not
totally able to name. The pressure to conform is absent for me in L.A.
and, in that absence, I felt safe in a more profound safety than physical.
Somewhere between the fabled extremes of wealth and poverty, of
entertainment success and street people, there is generous room for my kind
of imagination, my kind of creative soul search.
In
retrospect I did not risk much, and compared to my great grandmother and
these Vietnamese women nothing at all, relative to what I gained.
May we meet again under sunny blue skies.
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