This post is not about him, though. I just couldn't think of a better title, and inadvertently, he's the reason I'm writing it.
I tend to reminisce at inopportune moments. For example, when I'm on an international web conference call, and his name pops up on the list of attendees, and all I can think to myself is, "That must be a really unfortunate name for someone who deals with a largely American English-speaking based clientele on a regular basis; I wonder if it's a Vietnamese name, it sounds fairly Vietnamese; actually, it sounds a whole lot like Phuong; I wonder how that girl is doing; I should look her up on Facebook."
And before I know it, someone is tapping me on the shoulder because I'm supposed to advance to the next slide.
True facts, guys, I only think in stream-of-consciousness.
Anywho, in a rather roundabout way, this is me telling you the story of my maybe-not-so-evil twin, Phuong.
Confession #2: I'm not always an understanding person.
"You have a twin?"
Yeah, kind of not really. You see, dear readers, (and I think I've mentioned this) I grew up in a predominantly white community. It wasn't until 7th grade that I had my first Asian friend, and it wasn't until high school that I actually saw Asian people in the hallways more than once a day. However, from middle school up until the day that I graduated from grade school, there was one Asian girl who I was rather painfully aware existed. Her name was Phuong, but everyone knew her as Victoria.
Phuong, more commonly Victoria, came from a mixed Chinese/Vietnamese background, stood about half a head taller than me, had a bit of a rounder face and figure, and was probably a shade or two darker than me on the skin tone scale. She also sported a bowl cut through most of our years together (until maybe senior year when she grew it out), Not to mention, puberty hit her faster than it did me. I on the other hand, went back and forth between short and long hair, kept a straighter figure, and did not wear glasses between the ages of 13-17.
All told on the relative Victoria/Vicky venn diagram, we had about 3 things in common: Asian, violin, and Sailor Moon.
Apparently, those were all the important things. I was mistaken for Victoria on a regular basis. You may be thinking, "Are you sure? They might have just called you 'Victoria' because they didn't know you preferred 'Vicky.'" No, no. They never called me Victoria. They called me Phuong.
For the first year or two of it, I didn't mind. Believe it or not, I really wanted to be friends with Victoria. We both were in orchestra together, we both liked the same anime, and we were taking a number of the same classes. I made a few attempts to talk to her after rehearsals, but nothing ever stuck, so I eventually dropped it. Furthermore, the more I learned about her, the weirder I realized she actually was. To put it in perspective, she made me look socially competent. I came to recognize that people weren't calling her Phuong to be friendly. They were mocking her. And I wanted no part of it.
I made the clear distinction between myself and Victoria by dubbing her my Evil Twin. When people mistook me for her, I was offended and angry. Girls would shout "Phuong!" down at me as I passed in the halls and then giggle until they realized they had the wrong one. I would pause, glare, and continue on, hearing only a small, "Oops," and never a "Sorry." I was bitter about never getting an apology.
Granted, I never made any attempt to distinguish myself from her. I didn't stand out in school. I didn't dye my hair any crazy colors. I didn't make myself known. But still I was convinced that people should have known me for me. I shouldn't have had to live in her twisted shadow, and looking back on it, I think that's what made me the most angry.
Senior year was the first time it ever occurred to me that it bothered her, too.
I had mostly managed to avoid Victoria throughout high school. I was in honors and AP courses, while she mostly took honors and standard levels, we never had to share a seat in orchestra, and we had no mutual friend circles. But by the time college applications were starting, I realized that my transcript and my resumé were looking kind of scant, so I added a language course (French) and a club for good measure. Victoria was in both. I sucked it up, confident that I could ignore her.
Through the middle of the year, our French teacher had decided to change the seating arrangement, likely to force new speaking partners on us. Maybe she thought it would be witty or cute, but she assigned Victoria to the desk in front of me. I rolled my eyes at my friends in the class, who snickered in turn, then began to saunter to my new seat. Just as I was sitting down, Victoria stood straight up and said the words that still ring in my head today.
"I can't sit here. I don't want to sit next to her."
I blinked. "What, do I smell?" I joked, like the snarky f*** that I was (am, whatever.) Luckily another friend volunteered to take the seat, and I was off the hook, though very confused.
A few days later, I learned through an acquaintance the reason for the sudden outburst. Victoria resented me just as much as I did her. We wanted all the same things - good grades, friends, an afternoon to veg and watch DBZ, whatever. But through her rose-tinted lens, I was free, happy, and excelling. And in a way, at least relative to her, I was all those things. Much later, I learned that she was never allowed to host company or friends, and that her father would strike her for perceived disobedience. Her only respite was when she finished all her school work and napped, or when she was at club meetings. My sudden arrival at the club had encroached on her haven, and her seating assignment had been something of a last straw.
All along, she had really been my dark mirror. If my own upbringing had been just a little more extreme, I might have been there with her. Instead of still offering friendship, or at least just accepting that there was some girl for whom I was occasionally mistaken, I ridiculed and mocked her existence, and there was no time left to make up for it.
Graduation rolled around, and we went our separate ways. She was off to some private school near home, while I went to the other side of the state. I briefly glimpsed her once at the local mall while I was visiting my parents, but I never had hide nor hair from her after that. I looked her up on Facebook, out of curiosity, but when I couldn't find her there, I went to Google and only got scant hints of her in outdated college websites. Even now, when I type in her name, I get hits from people out in Vietnam or California. Turns out, she has a pretty common name and apparently a fairly secretive life.
I couldn't tell you why I bother looking. It's not like I'd apologize to her if I ever found her. And apologize for what, exactly? Existing? Not trying to befriend her? I guess, I just wanted to know that she turned out ok. That the person I could have been was alright, and that I had been wrong all along.
I guess there are some things we'll never really get to know.
With all apologies to Victoria,
Victoria
Until the next.
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