Like a climber prepares for Mount Everest, I prepared my body for Vietnam in two ways.
First, I suffered through the hottest summer days in Northwest Ohio without complaint, knowing the heat of home would seem like a distant oasis once I felt the heat of Vietnam.
Second, I tried raising my spice tolerance.
I didn’t avoid spicy food for the mere fact that I couldn’t handle it, but I also passionately argued that spice took away from the actual meal. I want to taste the food, not just the spice. What cook wants the biggest takeaway from their masterpiece to be “Damn. That was spicy!”
The aura spice creates around any average group of men only added to my distaste. On some level, enduring spicy food makes men (and sure, some women) feel tough. Spice level tolerances get compared and even tailgate activities center around who can eat the spiciest pepper all in an attempt to decipher the manliest man.
Oh, how laughable those men would look in Southeast Asia. And now how laughable they would look compared to me. Little, ol’ me, who just last year could not even eat too many flaming hot cheetos.
Admittedly I, too, feel a sense of pride in my newfound spice tolerance. I understand the urge to brag.
One thing I appreciate about Vietnamese cuisine is that for the most part I can determine the amount of spice in any given meal. Food rarely leaves the kitchen spicy, but restaurants have peppers, sate chili sauce, and hot sauce waiting at the table.
I already foresee lack of available spice as being one of my biggest struggles of reverse culture shock when I return home. Picture it: In Vietnam I carry a spoon everywhere in case I get a coconut. In Ohio, I’ll instead carry a packet of chili peppers.
Over the course of two months in Vietnam spent enduring a healthy amount of meals eating with one eye closed after the amature move of touching my eye after touching chilis, or walking with my motorbike mask covering my face as a way of hiding my swollen, red lips, I transformed from a Morgan who wouldn’t eat spicy doritos to a Morgan who now adds spice to nearly everything, including certain fruits.
Though I now love spice, I still find myself facing one constant struggle: acknowledging and accepting my limit. Only once my lips burn and my eyes water do I realize I pushed myself too far.
I’m doing my best not to stand out in Vietnam- failing, of course, but still trying. I dread the thought of becoming the stereotypical, white girl who cannot handle the heat. I would rather sit at a com tam table, eyes watering and lips burning and continue eating my way-too-spicy meal than concede defeat.
Having the annoying, introspective personality I have means that I find the lesson in everything. Including my newfound spice tolerance.
Similar to the way I sometimes add too much spice to my meals, I find myself adding too much baggage to my life. I don’t realize how much I’ve taken on until my load feels too heavy.
But the great thing is that unlike the permanency of spice in a meal, I can always subtract when my life becomes too much. While I feel a sense of shame in admitting defeat in the spice category, I am realizing there is no shame in admitting I’ve overwhelmed myself in life.
Admitting defeat in life takes bravery. Especially for an American with an inborn ego.
I could sit here and write about the amazingness of my life abroad, as if it is all sunshine and coconuts all the time, but I am not interested in lying to anyone - including myself.
I feel a loyalty to the truth.
While my time in Ho Chi Minh City has been such an eye opening and wonderful growing experience which I am thankful for, I have to admit that this is not what I expected.
Some days are great. Other days are filled with struggle. Honestly, though, if all the days were great, this experience abroad would hold less value for me. The challenges and hardships of living and working abroad make this experience real. I appreciate them.
There is a lot less at stake in regards to spice. I can pretend all I want that I can handle that, but in life, I now understand how important it is to acknowledge when too much becomes too much.
Some days I add a gross amount of chili peppers to my pho without worry and
some days I feel an overpowering sense of accomplishment and pride in the life I live and created for myself.
Other times I have to stop eating mid-meal and sometimes I have to look in the mirror and admit that the day beat me.
And that’s okay. This is real life and each day comes with different rewards and challenges.
