Observation: A Lower Class Vietnamese Home
Observation Site: A lower class Vietnamese home.Population: 5 people, although only three are observed in this report.Thesis Statement: That despite the hardships life has to offer, human instinct instills in most people a desire to persevere and despite how impossible it may seem, strive to create a better quality of life for themselves and those closest to them.It's 8.23 am on a Tuesday morning and already I find them at their sewing machines. The baby is in a decrepit cot on the floor staring listlessly at the ceiling while the constant drone of sewing machines lulls it into a semi-conscious state. A slight breeze blowing from a door, slightly ajar, makes swirling patterns through the dust floating though the air. Early morning light streams in little lines through the wooden blinds and makes looking at the room seem like staring into a forest mist. Neither adult is talking to the other, the only sounds filling the room being the buzz and click of the bulky, silver machines. Both seem to be on another plane of existence and I find it amazing that they can complete their work with such efficiency. The materials, pre-cut at the factory, are piled in formidable lumps according to colour and size. Smaller piles are
On putting him back in his cot, she returns to her machine and, like her husband, slowly withdraws back into the mind numbing cacophony of humming sewing machines. I wonder if they are thinking or if someone merely reached out and pressed an 'economy mode' button behind their ears, enabling them to sew quietly without the energy wasting fuss of stress, thoughts or memories. His wife does not or pretends not to notice his lack of appreciation for the food she has prepared him and comes and collects the baby from me. I feel as if I have intruded enough on their private lives, and do not have a desire to see more. The mother coughs quietly, alleviating my doubts that these may not be living, breathing creatures. Despite the cloth all being the same colour, there are varying degrees of shading according to where the material was in the dying process. Her mouth is a perfect pink rosebud, tickled by the barely visible wisps of a feminine moustache. Their motions are mechanical, robot like, in their appearance. Both faces are blank, unmoving, their eyes not even focused on the work in front of them. His earlier joy seems to have dissipated, and he has receded into his previous monotony, leaving him once again a robot. Oblivious of the cockroach that scuttles in startled surprise across the floor she sets the baby in his high chair and begins, as best she can, to rinse their only plates clean. I also know why she does it for I have known her for a long time. A thin piping wail emanates from the cot and dutifully the mother goes to pick the baby up. Balancing her son on her hip, the mother walks to the kitchen to prepare a small lunch. She never complains that times are hard, that she cannot afford clothes or shoes for herself, or that her two eldest children must go without lunch at school.
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Acceptance Essays
