Episode 88: "You're On Your Own Kid, You Always Have Been" - TS

I'm in someone else's living room. A friend's. Elise's. Its beautifully decorated couches greet my eyes. The coziness of this place brings me so much joy. Last night's movie, Persuasion, was the loveliest movie. How much yearning Anne had for Wentworth. How much agony he had for her. I cried. 

Elise and I still thought about it long after.

When was the last time I was in Wesley House's living room? When was the last time I was in Haven's? And I didn't know it? 

There have been too many lasts this past week. 

Tomorrow, Sunday, May 28th marks my one-week-a-versary since my graduation. 

I don't think I've properly sat somewhere and cried yet. 

I don't think I've properly sat anywhere within myself to take it in, accept my new reality as the graduate. 

I'm a graduate. An alumni. 

I'm scared. But I mean, my reality is much better than the survival my parents fought for every day to make it in Vietnam and the U.S. I'm literally traveling around NYC right now. And planning a trip to Colombia with friends. Returning home tomorrow, finally. This whole thing of being on my own and taking care of myself is coming to an end for now. I'm scared, but it's only because of a luxury that I, not my parents, can afford. 

I'm scared of possibility, not survival. 

I am unemployed. I am part of the transition group of people. 

Mom and Dad call me every day to make sure I'm okay. I may be a graduate but I'm someone else's baby.

My friends ask how I am. My little sister updates her friendship plans. 

My salsa and bachata weekend plans with Achillea and Merna. Movie nights and lunch dates with Neha. Friendship cuddles and hanging out with Ivanna. Restaurant visits and cafe dates with Manal. Rolled ice cream dates and long walks with Phuong. Working my shifts with Achillea, Merna. Welp. Running into my boss in my opening shifts. Running into everyone ever on campus and being someone's "hello" and "I'll catch you later."

I give the longest hugs but I wish I hugged everyone longer. My all. I wish there was a return button. 

There is a flurry of memory. Of people who loved me. And I loved. I was never ready to leave. I was only ready to love.

Timoteo and Celia said it gets better after college. You're free to be who you really are.

Free of homework. Financial independence. Write.

But will I ever have that again? To live so close to friends?

I don't know how or where I am, even as I travel in space and time and meet new people everywhere, but I only know that the plane home is alone. 

I only know that the possibility I had worked so hard for these past 4 years was for myself. I only know that the surest thing is the end. The goodbye or maybe-see-you-again after I hug you. 

Were we always made to be alone again?

I'm usually the optimist. I swear I still am. 

Just, this pain, this hurt from the goodbyes over and over again, this change that I am reluctant to accept, will I always board ships of no return?

18-year-old-me could never imagine when mom and yen dropped me off at Cutter Ziskind with my bags and Cuddles, my sleeping bunny, that I would grow so attached. That Chi Xuan's words, as the gray Northampton sky touched all the windows of the Japanese restaurant, were true: these would be the happiest years.

I didn't believe it. Northampton, this tiny ass town with little to do?

The same town I'd dance bachata every other weekend.

Happiest years of my life?

Friends that gripped for my hands back. "Stay", I said in my heart. One arm wrapped around you. The other hand still holding on my new black diploma cover, the one I gave a heart to the camera and a twirl for: "DieuNgoc Khoa Nguyen."

Where was I the night of March 10th?

In Chapin House, waltzing with Neha. Her perfect curvy shape against my hand, allowing me to lead through every step. We had so much fun, we couldn't stop. We danced to songs I'd probably have at my wedding. 

At a Smith basketball game. In my pre-clubbing outfit. White on white and surprisingly, those were Smith's colors that night. Morgan, the top athlete of the year, looked riveting on the court. My eyes followed every speed and grace. The players were the monks and the court was religion. The ball, a mantra. And my favorite, #5, she made me scream so loud, dunking it every shot. My voice was sore.

At Amherst's Monkey Bar. The only one of two on the dance floor. The dance floor looks crazier and crazier with less and less people. A woman, a stranger felt my butt. She took too much. Mariem stayed at the bar, drinking an alcoholic drink more sweet than it was holic, while Achillea requested for Bad Bunny to be played. We were the only 2 on the dance floor anyways. I kept re-sticking in my ear plugs and pulling them out and re-sticking them. A man tried to dance with me. His moves sucked.

In Antonio's pizza. I left ordering nothing. Should've. Saw Kobe, an old writing mate. I was a singular girl again amongst a sea of 5'6+ white men. Such an alpha female move to be in line and order nothing. 

We made it on the bus, not before belting "A Whole New World" like we our hearts were whole.

I think about that night a lot.