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Fansyacegill
Fansyacegill
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Wednesday 10 June 2026 14:55:18 GMT
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Only in Daytona. #PassTheBIC #fyp #daytonabeach
Only in Daytona. #PassTheBIC #fyp #daytonabeach


Как вам такое новшество? Напишите свое мнение в комментариях! Автор: Акнур Толегенова
Как вам такое новшество? Напишите свое мнение в комментариях! Автор: Акнур Толегенова
يا صاحب الزمان يا مولاي يا حسين #ياحسين #ياصاحب_الزمان #السلام_عليك_يااباعبد_الله_الحسين #اللهم_عجل_لوليك_الفرج #كربلاء_مدينة_العشق_والعاشقين
يا صاحب الزمان يا مولاي يا حسين #ياحسين #ياصاحب_الزمان #السلام_عليك_يااباعبد_الله_الحسين #اللهم_عجل_لوليك_الفرج #كربلاء_مدينة_العشق_والعاشقين
DJMARIIO LE MUESTRA LA COPA DEL MUNDO A LA COBRA #argentina #españa #djmariio #lacobra #mikemaquinadelmal
DJMARIIO LE MUESTRA LA COPA DEL MUNDO A LA COBRA #argentina #españa #djmariio #lacobra #mikemaquinadelmal
Dear my Vietnamese American friends, I remember the first time I learned how my grandfather died from talking to my dad. He was killed during the war by the Việt Cộng, literally got stabbed 60 times in the chest. That’s what my grandma told me as well when she had to hold his body after the army dropped him off at her house. For a long time, I didn’t know what to do with that kind of tragic information. I think a lot of people expected me to automatically inherit a certain perspective because of it. To be angry. To be resentful. To hate the people that killed my grandpa. And to be fair those same people probably still hold that hate in their heart for people like my grandpa. The people that seek refuge in other countries after the war. But now, the more questions I started asking. Not about who I should blame. But about what actually happened. The more I researched the war, the less black and white it became. What I found wasn’t heroes and villains. It was Vietnamese people killing Vietnamese people. Families torn apart. Young men on both sides who probably would’ve rather been home with their families than carrying a rifle through the jungle. I kept thinking about this idea. If I was born in a different village, under different circumstances, at a different time, would I have made different choices? Would my grandfather have? Would they? I don’t know. And I think that’s what keeps me from hatred. Not because what happened wasn’t tragic. It was terrible. My grandfather never got to meet me. My father grew up without his dad. Maybe that’s why my dad has always been there for me. But I also know that carrying resentment for people I’ve never met, over a war that ended before I was born, isn’t going to bring him back. A few years ago, I started going back to Vietnam regularly. 3 years in a row now. Some people told me I was romanticizing it, and that I am privileged. Maybe I am. But I’m using that privilege to reconnect rather than to separate. Some people told me I was forgetting history. Some people even called it betrayal. But honestly, going back did the opposite. It made everything feel more human. I met people. I sat with families. I listened to stories. I spent time with relatives. And the Vietnam I found wasn’t the Vietnam I inherited through other people’s fears. The same thing our parents were trying to do when they came to America. I think that’s why I struggle when people tell me loving Vietnam means forgetting what happened. Because for me, loving Vietnam came after learning what happened. Not before. Learning more about the war didn’t make me hate more. It made me understand more. I don’t want to spend my life choosing sides in a war that already took so much from our people. I’d rather spend it building bridges. I’d rather spend it reconnecting with family. I’d rather spend it understanding where I come from. Maybe some people will never agree with that. And that’s completely fine with me, But I refuse to believe that the only thing we inherited from our elders was pain. I think we inherited resilience too. And maybe it’s our turn to decide what happens next. It is our generation’s duty to stop this cycle. #vietnameseamerican #vietnamese #vietnam
Dear my Vietnamese American friends, I remember the first time I learned how my grandfather died from talking to my dad. He was killed during the war by the Việt Cộng, literally got stabbed 60 times in the chest. That’s what my grandma told me as well when she had to hold his body after the army dropped him off at her house. For a long time, I didn’t know what to do with that kind of tragic information. I think a lot of people expected me to automatically inherit a certain perspective because of it. To be angry. To be resentful. To hate the people that killed my grandpa. And to be fair those same people probably still hold that hate in their heart for people like my grandpa. The people that seek refuge in other countries after the war. But now, the more questions I started asking. Not about who I should blame. But about what actually happened. The more I researched the war, the less black and white it became. What I found wasn’t heroes and villains. It was Vietnamese people killing Vietnamese people. Families torn apart. Young men on both sides who probably would’ve rather been home with their families than carrying a rifle through the jungle. I kept thinking about this idea. If I was born in a different village, under different circumstances, at a different time, would I have made different choices? Would my grandfather have? Would they? I don’t know. And I think that’s what keeps me from hatred. Not because what happened wasn’t tragic. It was terrible. My grandfather never got to meet me. My father grew up without his dad. Maybe that’s why my dad has always been there for me. But I also know that carrying resentment for people I’ve never met, over a war that ended before I was born, isn’t going to bring him back. A few years ago, I started going back to Vietnam regularly. 3 years in a row now. Some people told me I was romanticizing it, and that I am privileged. Maybe I am. But I’m using that privilege to reconnect rather than to separate. Some people told me I was forgetting history. Some people even called it betrayal. But honestly, going back did the opposite. It made everything feel more human. I met people. I sat with families. I listened to stories. I spent time with relatives. And the Vietnam I found wasn’t the Vietnam I inherited through other people’s fears. The same thing our parents were trying to do when they came to America. I think that’s why I struggle when people tell me loving Vietnam means forgetting what happened. Because for me, loving Vietnam came after learning what happened. Not before. Learning more about the war didn’t make me hate more. It made me understand more. I don’t want to spend my life choosing sides in a war that already took so much from our people. I’d rather spend it building bridges. I’d rather spend it reconnecting with family. I’d rather spend it understanding where I come from. Maybe some people will never agree with that. And that’s completely fine with me, But I refuse to believe that the only thing we inherited from our elders was pain. I think we inherited resilience too. And maybe it’s our turn to decide what happens next. It is our generation’s duty to stop this cycle. #vietnameseamerican #vietnamese #vietnam

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