In a third act twist, generalist Anh Cường sped to the house of a bedridden uncle. He walked into the middle of family crisis just about as ambulances came up. The Outbreak Action scene was overwhelming, but it was clear that fast action was required. Only seconds before, the narrator had just confessed his hope to abandon his law degree. He was looking to pursue a writing career, and this set off a series of complicated responses between his family members.
As the ambulances came to rescue the wounded, Anh Cường became the head of the situation right away. And to make sure the narrator knew where his support lay, he slapped a reassuring palm on the narrator’s shoulder. The atmosphere was intense as Anh Cường drove his buggy to make a hard turn into the roundabout on Auburn Road. He understood that a dangerous medical emergency affecting his uncle required urgent focus and attention.
In the months before the accident Anh Cường had been recently celebrating a promotion at work, which enabled him to secure a larger apartment. He traded in a second-hand kitchen table he got from Vinnies for a new one. Now covered in bright plastic, his beautiful, fresh marquee reflects a new chapter in his life. This day wasn’t a celebration of his professional achievements or new material goods. It was never about delivering on his family ties.
During the frantic moments in the car, Anh Cường assessed the situation and voiced his concerns about their uncle’s condition. “One of Uncle’s major blood vessels must have popped,” he stated, indicating the severity of the medical emergency they were racing to address.
Anh Cường lives a life that stands in stark contrast to the other Anh Cường. The second Anh Cường, one-time Birrong Boy, is now a banker. This other Anh Cường chose a different path. He might walk down Kent Street and be able to remember in the heart of that block which of their old friends and classmates had suffered bullets. The primary concern quickly became addressing the current crisis and what it meant for the family.
In the midst of these grave conversations, family drama played out. The narrator’s choice to follow a path away from law and toward writing earns him harsh words from his cousin Đức. “I can’t mess around with all this nonsense,” Đức said, echoing the feelings of other families whose immigrant parents pushed them toward more stable careers.
Anh Cường jumped in with advice directed at the fledgling potential writer. “It’s about respect. You know how hard it is for us to get some respect ’round here? I know you’re a smart kid who likes to read and your arts degree probably teaches you to have a lot of opinions, but no one’s going to listen to you if you’re not doing something decent with your life,” he cautioned, emphasizing the family’s struggles within societal expectations.
The story got much deeper when Anh Cường encouraged the narrator to learn the meaning of responsibility. “Don’t be selfish, okay? Growing up is about taking responsibility and sometimes doing stuff you don’t like, kiddo,” he advised. This view exposed a sometimes-jarring generational divide between idealism and the stark realities of government.
The weight of familial expectations surfaced through the voice of Ba, who bluntly stated, “You want to know why no Vietnamese people become artists? Because we’re not idiots!” Yet his words highlighted these deep-seated cultural notions around career paths and job security.
