Celebrating Tết (Spring Festival) at the Little Saigon Night Market

Phước Lộc Thọ, meaning fortune, wealth, and longevity, is the name of one of the most well-known Vietnamese tourist hotspots in Southern California. You might know it as the Asian Garden Mall.

Like many Vietnamese immigrant families in Cali, my mom and I have been coming here since 1997. That’s the year that we immigrated to CA. Sounds a little ancient when I recall that date, but I was about five years old back then. Even though the rest of CA seemed cold and foreign, we found a safe haven in Little Saigon where we could freely speak our mother tongue, eat our unique cuisine, and completely be ourselves without fear of judgment.

It’s been several years since I’ve last visited Phước Lộc Thọ, but this time, I came with both my mom and my Taiwanese husband. It was his first time celebrating Tết (Vietnamese New Year). Tbh, I was secretly afraid that the boisterous music and general frenzy would overwhelm him, but he kept an open mind and had a lot of fun. At one point, he even said, “Wow, it’s like watching your inner child come out!” I think most of his fun came from watching me enjoy Tết so much.

I was running around taking pictures of everything because it was truly sensory overload. I was overwhelmed with nostalgia and sheer delight. Everyone looked like they could be my mom or dad. Ladies at the food stand would call me, “Con,” which means, “my child.” The Vietnamese culture is so warm and welcoming. I’m grateful for such a strong Vietnamese community here in the heart of SoCal.

Perhaps the reason why Tết holds such a special place in my heart is because amidst the toil of immigration and the culture shock that came with moving to a new country, Tết provided a reason for all of us to gather together in celebration. It was a reminder of our family-like bond, cultural resilience, and determination to belong.

When I first moved from Vietnam to CA at the age of four, my immediate family squeezed into a small bedroom at my aunt’s house in Pasadena. We were, by all measures, dirt poor. We gave away our newly built home in Vietnam to my uncle, sold the few things that we had, and moved to CA with only a few hundred dollars to our name.

But more than just the financial lack was the overwhelming sense of loneliness. Even at the age of four, I could almost tangibly feel just how lonely my parents were. l vividly remember my dad secretly bringing home roasted BBQ pork in a styrofoam container and telling me to eat it behind the bed so no one would see. He was afraid that if my aunt saw, she would yell at him for spending our money “recklessly.” As I devoured the precious BBQ pork without making a sound, I saw my dad shed quiet tears while sitting on the lookout. I couldn’t fully understand it at the time, but my stomach sank when I saw my strong and rigid father cry.

The dark and decrepit rhythm of our daily lives stood in stark contrast to the warm, vibrant, and almost-saccharine atmosphere of Little Saigon during the Tết festival. Compared to the cold and detached place that we thought CA to be, Little Saigon gave us a firm sense of hope. If other Vietnamese families who looked like us and had trauma like us could find joy in this decrepit place, so could we. That was the camaraderie we felt whenever we visited Phước Lộc Thọ as a family. It was like a home base for those of us who felt like aliens in a foreign land.

This year was an especially profound experience for me because I’m returning to my home base with a different family member: my husband. Though he was born in the US, he’s heard stories of how his Chinese parents white-knuckled their way to the US with a few hundred dollars in their pocket. Over the years, he, too, has learned to take pride in his roots and appreciate the resilience of other immigrant families. We both acknowledge that we stand on the shoulders of those who came before us.

Being able to share in the rich joys of Tết with Jonathan is nothing less than a depiction of God’s grace. Of all the people that we got to marry, God chose us for each other: two very different people with very different childhoods, preferences, and approaches to life. Yet, there is no one else who would shed quiet tears for his daughter quite like Jonathan if he were to be put in the same circumstances. I’ve always told him that if my dad were to meet him, he would be so proud because Jon is such a good man. You could feel it after just talking to him once or twice.

As we ate our way through the festival, I suddenly had this feeling of it being “too good to be true.” Do you know what I’m talking about? It’s that sense of, oh man, this is way too perfect to be real. What’s the catch? But then I recognized this pause as a trauma response and stopped myself from spiraling further.

Before, I would’ve completely ruined the moment for myself by getting paranoid that something bad would happen next. I used to temper my joys out of my fear of disappointment. Thankfully, God had been faithful in keeping His word:

The blessing of the LORD enriches, and He adds no sorrow to it. — Proverbs 10:22

If you’re in an unusually peaceful season but you’re hard-wired to stay alert, this verse is for you. When God blesses you richly, he adds no sorrow to it. Hold fast to that promise and see how it transforms your quality of life.

I personally never thought that I’d be able to live more than a few months without a big, life-altering crisis popping up. My high alertness came from a childhood that was riddled with crises. My brain adapted to those conditions and was constantly bracing itself for the next catastrophe. Yet, once I put in the work of active healing (therapy, reading self-help books, distancing myself from stressors, etc.), I found an unfamiliar quiet that felt like relief from a storm.

Though I was mistrustful of that quiet, God reassured me again and again through His consistent nurture and provision that He was here to bless me without adding any sorrow to it. If you find yourself feeling like your newfound peace and joy are “too good to be true,” I have some good news: get used to it. This is the abundant life that God had intended for you all along.

Left to right: Bánh Khọt (Vietnamese Mini Savory Pancakes), Bắp Nướng Mỡ Hành (Grilled Corn with Scallion Oil), Thịt Nướng (Grilled Pork), Gỏi Đu Đủ Khô Bò (Vietnamese Papaya Salad with Beef Jerky)

These photos were taken ~23 years apart, yet my mother looks no different…? She must be a vampire. Just kidding of course, it’s that meticulous skincare regimen and some winning genes.

It’s hard to believe that we started our journey on these steps and have made it all the way back here 23 years later, albeit with scars that only God could see. If people walked in our shoes, they would not be envious of our journey… but I would go through it over again just to have the restored relationships that I do now.

This is the abundant life; a glimmer of heaven on Earth.

Pictured: Mom in cool mom jeans and baby Anh in Vietnam during Tết, circa 1995.