Writer Nhung Dam is increasingly embracing her Vietnamese roots. 'My background is also a gift.'

Writer and theatre maker Nhung Dam (38) tried to be as Dutch as possible, but is increasingly embracing her Vietnamese roots. Because they make her unique, she now realises, and offer a wealth of stories. Including for her second novel, Definition of love.

Two worlds

Nhung Dam (38) more or less grew up in two worlds. Her cradle was in Groningen, where her Vietnamese parents ended up after fleeing their war-ravaged country and being rescued at sea by a Dutch freighter. At home, they spoke Vietnamese and Nhung received a Vietnamese upbringing; outside the house, she spoke Dutch with a Groningen accent and lived in a much more free-spirited society.

Dam reflects her Vietnamese roots in her new novel Definition of love, which will be released next Tuesday. Main character Rose is a successful American-Vietnamese actress in New Orleans, who discovers just before she goes to Europe for a theatre tour that she is pregnant. When her fiancé abandons her, Rose is faced with the choice of whether to keep the child. She visits her Vietnamese parents, who run a chip shop across the river and live in a world completely different from hers.

Definition of love is a novel about migration and identity, love and grief, desires and ambitions, and above all, motherhood. A theme that the 38-year-old writer and actress has been working on herself, she says. "I have always thought of motherhood quite easily, as something natural. When I was in a long relationship, I thought motherhood would be the next step. Until we broke up. There I was, in my mid-thirties, with my bruised dreams. I had a lot of trouble adjusting those. In a society where everything is so malleable, there are certain things we have to be humble about as human beings anyway."

Maternity

When did you know this was the subject for a new novel?

"When this happened, I started talking a lot about this topic with women around me. Not yet with the aim of writing a book about it, but to explore my relationship to motherhood. There is no woman who should not relate to motherhood. Just because of the question of whether or not you want children. Sometimes someone wants to but doesn't succeed, or it has succeeded but the woman regrets it afterwards.

Later, I also spoke to women in New Orleans, where a grant from the Dutch Foundation for Literature allowed me to deepen my research. One woman told me she had endured seven miscarriages. Another had been on a path to becoming pregnant for a long time and wondered: how long do you go on, how far do you stretch social engineering? All those stories touched me; I felt so much pain and loneliness. Motherhood is so comprehensive. That's when I knew: that's what I want to write about."

You not only give Rose the perspective, but also the unborn child. How did that idea come about?

"The voice of the unborn child forced itself on me more and more emphatically. 'Why am I not allowed to tell my story too?', I heard in my head, 'don't I matter?' Even before birth, the unborn child can be a clear presence in a woman's life. Therefore, I wanted to give the unborn child a powerful voice and a place in this world, even though there is little room for this in our western society. I was brought up with Buddhism, and Buddhists see life as circular rather than linear: without beginning or end. A child who is not born has no material existence, but at the same time it will always be there. I like that thought."

Migration

Besides parenting, the book also deals with the impact of migration on the second generation, i.e. children of parents with a migration background. How big is that influence?

"Ever since childhood, it has played a role in everything I do and every choice I make in my adult life. It has such an impact, it almost feels like a ballast; like being 10-0 behind from childhood. Just because of my appearance, I face rejection, stereotyping or racism.

When I graduated from drama school 12 years ago, I dreamed of being in the play Three Sisters by Anton Chekhov. The director said to me: 'That dream will never come true, because with your looks, what must the audience think? That one of the three sisters is adopted?' At an audition, I was told: 'It just looks really weird when a Chinese girl does a Shakespeare monologue.'

That was very painful to hear. I thought I had rid myself of my background; I managed to get rid of my Groningen and Vietnamese accents, I tried so hard to fit into this society. How hard do you have to work so that your background no longer matters? When are you seen and recognised as a human being, as someone who belongs here just as much as anyone else? Will I experience that in my lifetime, or will that only happen in the next generation?"

As white as possible

How did that affect your self-image?

"The main thing is that you feel very small. Whatever steps I have taken and taken, it doesn't matter if you end up being thrown back to where you came from today. So you depend on how the other person sees you and the cards they assign you. Instead of being able to decide for yourself how you want to be seen. That is difficult for your identity determination.

As first-generation Vietnamese migrants, my parents felt - and still feel - like guests in this country. As a child, I watched people joke about my father at his spring roll stand. Then they called him 'Mr Ching Chang Chong' and addressed him in a way as if he was very stupid because he did not have a good command of the language. But my father is a knackered smart man. He endured the insults, saying nothing back. As a young daughter, I found that painful to watch.

I tried to be as white as possible, calling chicory with ham and cheese my favourite food. Most telling is how hard I worked to get rid of my accent: parroting newscasters, practising endlessly on my bike and in the shower. But in fact, like Rose, I polished away part of my identity."

Role model

Through your work, you can now be a role model for other Asian Dutch people.

"Yes, I hope so. When I was little, there were very few faces or voices on television or in books that I could recognise myself in. You do need that as a child, to be able to reach for something. I knew I wanted to write and act, but I didn't have a role model like Beyoncé. That's precisely why I feel a great need to write about these themes. When you have to start over in another country, with all the disadvantage and inequality, it seeps into your family dynamics and into who you are in that country as a citizen. That is so complicated and far-reaching. It would be nice if readers can recognise themselves in it or maybe actually wonder if they should rethink their preconceptions."

What has writing this novel given you?

"I felt for a long time that there were gaps in my identity. There were, because I was hiding away a part of myself. But now, at thirty-eight, I feel: maybe they are no longer holes if I give them a voice. My background is also a gift, I realise now. I have a suitcase full of stories! For me as a writer and theatre-maker, that is an enormous wealth. My book is about learning to be a mother to yourself before you get older. That includes those voids and gaps. By no longer ignoring or punishing them, but embracing them, I have found reconciliation with the past."