My mother is a big fan of the delicate "ao dai". As a diplomat, she has always brought "ao dai" to introduce to our neighbours around the region. She has a full admirable album of the pictures she took of her dressed gracefully in different types of "ao dai", which I have always looked at with pure admiration. There, I grew up, taking great pride in my traditional costume. Wearing traditional costume shows a sense of loyalty and pride of one's nation; and long ago, I made a promise to myself that one day, I would be like my mother, sharing our love for "ao dai" to the world.
That day had come. Last year, I had the first chance to showcase my "ao dai" to my Singaporean friends during Racial Harmony Day celebration. The schoolyard was painted with a myriad of colours from the traditional costumes. However, I realised that nobody was wearing their ethnic costumes; they were all in the clothes of other races. In one corner, my Chinese-descended friends were struggling to tug the nine-meter-strip of silk into their PE shorts instead of the traditional petticoat of the elegant Indian ladies. I had never expected anything like that. The traditional costume of a race or a nation is something sacred, something that I will never compromise over. It is the symbol of one tradition, a signature of honour and loyalty for a historic culture. Putting on another traditional costume in my opinion then, was plain disrespectful for your own