Episode 93: Society Sailing (Vault)

8/2/22

Below is a much older episode I had written, pulling it out of my vault!

A truly memorable experience in DC when I spent time with my host, last summer of 2022, when I was there for my State Department internship. :)

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I didn't remember the last time a "no reaction" was a valid reaction in a social setting. 

The wind of it disoriented me. 

Ms. Jennifer, my homestay host, had invited me to her Social Sail evenings, where she can invite one guest with her to board the sailboats on Thursday evenings. She's learning how to sail her own boat lately and it's an exclusive membership. We've become closer friends over the weeks and I hang on to every word she says. The invitation came and I knew the only answer was "yes!"

I boarded the subway from work to DCA Airport where she would pick me up. I waited at the wrong part of the airport. Asked a man if he knew where I was headed and luckily, he was headed the exact same way.

"If you don't mind tagging along, please do," he said kindly, his mustache a happy shape. 

I waved a big good bye to the nice happy but tired man and jogged to Ms. Jennifer's car. 

We got in and I immediately got into navigation mode, as I realized that she had trouble getting out of the airport and onto the right highway. Your girl is an experienced navigator. I do, um, steer wrong at times haha, BUT this time. When it mattered. I got it right. :D

We arrived at the edge of a park. I ran into the bathrooms to change out of my work clothes and into my maroon leggings and a yellow top that fittingly said, "~Happiness comes in waves~". Like, come on, that's too perfect. 

I walked out with my bag of work clothes to sign up for a name tag and reserve a place in line to sail with my host. Ms. Jennifer knew a lot of folks. She says "Hi" in this, "Hiiiihaha" way. Where a hello is immediately connected to a laugh. 

Like seeing you, brings me so much joy, my smile has to move.

After turning around from the reservation table and left alone a bit, I noticed a snack table. I came up to it, hungry. It was late and I hadn't had dinner yet. But as I walked there, I noticed how all the men, who were mostly older white men in their 50s or 60s were standing and talking, while the women lounged on the benches, resting and speaking. 

I also noticed I was the only other woman of color besides Ms. Jennifer. The only Asian woman and probably one of the youngest attendees there. Everyone truly was in their 50s to 70s. 

That made me feel a little shy, but I was never one to hesitate on flat pretzel chips. And I've been around older people all my life. My father's friends have always been in their 60s or 70s and were ones to advise me against boys and to focus on studying. "Bring honor to Vietnam, little girl!" 

Pouring these pretzel chips into my bowl, I felt eyes on me. Well, many curious eyes. Mostly from the men. The women were mildly curious. But the men made me feel like I shouldn't have worn my maroon leggings after all. A man who looked like he was in his 40s side-eyed me several times as I picked up a plate in a way that made me feel uncomfortable, or whenever I turned my back, I felt his eyes on me. Probably not on the back of my head. Perhaps I look ageless so he allows himself to do so. 

Hahaha. I'm 21. But I can pass as 30 when I speak. My voice, sounding like I have reason. Maybe wisdom. Maybe smarter than you. Maybe. 

Later, I would sit down with Ms. Jennifer, digging into my plate by the edge of the water. 

The shore was beautiful. Little ducks floated by. There were rows and rows of small sailboats racked on land and groups of men pulling these big shapes from the water, carrying them easily. The water reflected the deep oranges and reds of the setting sun. It was getting late and Ms. Jennifer and I grew less and less hopeful that we'd get the chance to sail. 

That man that I saw from earlier walked towards Ms. Jennifer and I. Greeted her happily, while looking at me. 

Giving me his hand, he introduced himself as "Call me Mike." 

He was as old if not, older than my mom. And a gut feeling in me told me not to call this man by only his first name. 

"Hello, Mr. Mike," I said, shaking his hand confidently, before he started to back away in a baffled way.

"Oh my god, don't call me Mister. I'm not that old!" 

"Haha, I was taught by my parents to respect those older than me." 

I forgot how he steered us both out of the next part of the conversation. 

But he would ask me in a really abrupt way, like he's trying to size me up quickly. Like I'm not worth a second of waiting. 

Question after question. Comment after comment made with no pause. He didn't want to hear what he asked for. 

"So... what are you?" 

"I'm Vietnamese-American, born and raised in Houston, Texas."

"You're born in the U.S. Why don't you just say you're American?"

It's my turn to be baffled.

"Because the Vietnamese part is very important to me."

I'm going to assume he heard only half of what I said, before talking about some other thing loosely tied to the little we were speaking about, about his time in Asiantown in DC or something or other.

I kind of blanked out. 

First, this guy wanted to be on first name basis with me even though he is much older. Then he wants to assume what is best for me, my identity? 

I excused myself quickly, and turned my back overhearing his voice baffingly say, "I'm not that old am I, to be a mister?". He asked Ms. Jennifer this, and her voice answered him confidently, "You're almost double her age, Mike! What do you mean?" 

"Woah, really?" 

Anyways, yup, maybe I do look ageless. But also, I'd rather not call you by your first name if I don't like you. 

Later, the evening drew warmer and warmer and after successfully getting on one of the last boats, I realized the joys of sailing. It's a team effort! There's a "JIB!" moment. Always a fun moment. I forget if you duck or you seek or something, but I loved the team work and every person on my sail boat were wholesome people. That was the energy I was receiving and it was true to its course.So much laughter. 

How DC looked so pretty from where we were. The edge of the Washington Monument touching the tip of the sky. A few blocks from where my office was. Ha. Look at that. 

Look at me, in a life float. Grinning all pretty. Look at her. 

Finding out all the joys of spontaneity and doing something new, and having one really really good person next to her all along. Ms. Jennifer. 

Ms. Jennifer. Is a name, is a person, is a state of being that a powerful woman possesses. 

"Imagine," I say, "yourself as a powerful woman one day." 

I say. "Yes." 

Later, another old ass man would hit on me. I was sitting on the boardwalk, the unwet parts, legs in a criss cross, when he walked up to me and Ms. Jennifer talking. He introduced himself and in the first 3 sentences of that introduction, explained he lost his wife a while ago and goes sailing to feel new again. 

I nodded respectfully. He's like in his 60s and I mean, those folks are safe beans? 

He stayed and talked with us for a long time, and I seriously thought he had known Ms. Jennifer or something, but I guess he didn't. 

After I felt the hint from Ms. Jennifer that she wanted to leave, I excused us both from his company, "Goodbye Mister ___". Farther away, Ms. Jennifer immediately looked at me, wide-eyed, "Do you know that man or something? I certainly don't."

"Gosh, no! I thought you knew him so I stayed and talked out of respect."

She looked me up and down and whispered in a low voice, protectively. "These men." She held my eye contact, "He's never talked to me before. Never. Not until today."

And then it clicked in my head. It clicked. 

And I barfed in my brain somewhere. BLECK BLECK BLECK EW EW EW EW. 

I'm effin 21 DANG YOU PEOPLE. DANG YOU FREKIN PEEPUL.

---

Later on the walk to her car, Ms. Jennifer would tell me: "Remember that man that was shocked when you called him Mister? My father taught me that I must use respect to distance myself from unwanted attention from men. And tonight, Ngoc, you received a lot of attention. At every step of the way, you distanced yourself with your words and your respect. 

I thought you'd have trouble tonight getting through this, but you did so well, Ngoc. You're a pretty girl and I'm glad you know how to do this now." 

Get off me, old men. 

Yee.

But also, get off me, periodT. :P

These weirdOS. 

This summer in DC, I'm learning about what I'm capable of in uncomfortable social settings, or just new social settings period. I'm very good at navigating in-person experiences and very ready. Very good at excusing myself because I can put myself first. Very good. At it all. :)

English may be my second language, and I can possess all its intricacies to make a woman bean like me, feel like a safe bean. 

Words are mighty. The folks that said it first said it true. Words protected me that night.

Because I know how to use em. :)

And even better when I got to share these strange moments with someone who loves me, Ms. Jennifer. My guardian of the night. ^-^

Episode 92: who I was

to that person, a thank you. 

Today wouldn't be as easy as it was, if I wasn't who I used to be. 

I used to be really determined about my physical health. Back at Smith, in those northeast winters, I would push myself to the gym on that 3x/week schedule. Weights and back and quads. I'd meet my friends at the gym. It was a social thing too, but in those cruel winter days, some rare days, I made do with solo gym time. After weights, I'd run a mile on the outdoor track at 5:00 PM, when the sky was so blue-purple, it was practically night. I'd race across the last thing with lights, which was the red bridge at Smith that crossed Paradise Pond river. The gust of wind above that river would enliven whatever dreary feelings I had about the constant gray days of a winter that crept into March.

I'd run with my knee-length black jacket on, which quickly dropped to the ground after I upped a steep grassy incline and reached the track. 

28 degrees F? Yes, I'd run in that. 22 degrees F? Yes. Of course. But nothing lower than that haha.

In my sports bra and leggings, I ran my mile. The woods at the very edges of the track would grow scarier and scarier as darkness drew in. I tried not to stare too much into the woods and rather, just focus on the steps in front of me, in case of black ice. Luckily, they salted the track too. :) 

The darkness would swallow me whole towards the end of my run. At that point, I'm so out of breath I don't have the strength to be scared, but made my way back down the steep hill. Past the whole distance of an empty, black soccer field. Across the lighted red bridge. And back into darkness again, between two woods for a short while, before I emerged out to the lighted main road. 

From there, I'd stroll all the way back to my campus house without my jacket, just bra and leggings. My bare shoulders and the tip of my head were bare to the winds and the cold. And my tired muscles loved loved it. 

I did this before even hearing of ice baths and now I know why my stamina is so good in cold weather haha. I'm not an overheating dog, ha. Lactic acid something. Dopamine and the weather. Maybe even mixed with the fear I felt for the dark every time I did this. 

I think about those days. 

How... cool I must have looked wearing little and walking slowly home. That slow stroll, as I cooled off. Embraced the winds against my bare chest. 

I'd stay like that until I reached home and my cheeks. Gosh, my cheeks would feel amazing. Pores all closed. Sweat vanished almost. The only thing that would betray where I'd been would be the incredible amount of salt on my skin if I tasted myself. 

I think about those days. 

And then today. At the YMCA again, where I did a lot. Not as much as I used to be capable of, but I'm looking to past me for guidance. I'm trying to reincarnate again and be her... again. 

I'm very grateful how past-me taught today-me how invincible I could be. How much my body could withstand so much, do so much, and love it. 

I don't want to be scared of the dark anymore.

I want to scare myself. With all the things I thought I couldn't do before. 

I want to be so brave that I could only be scared of the feats I do or the reflection of who I'll become.

Today, I went to the town hearing at Houston's City Hall. I loved it. I thought I had to get a job at some wonderful(ly) low-paying non-profit in order to understand my community's needs, but now? I realize you just go out to the public town hall meetings every Tuesday. Listen to people. Listen, make notes. See patterns. See why. And see how my council member did or didn't respond.

I sat and learned of the rituals of City Hall. The 3-minute speeches. Gosh. I was entranced. I'd go every week, heck.

Even my interest in public policy and storytelling, past-me got that ball rolling a long, long time ago. I'm just living out her interests as an adult. I'm living it up in a City Hall meeting, held at an hour that any working person can't probably make, because of all the time I now have as a funemployed person. 

Ha. 2 pm - 5 pm on a Tuesday?? Of course, there were only 20 ish people present. Clever.

And yikes. 

But in other news, the gym. The Y. I enjoyed it so much. So many classes and so many good people. 

I feel comfortable, but of course, I could never feel as comfortable as I did at Smith. That all-women environment. I mean, the Y has that option too. A women's only space, but I try to assimilate. 

I try to be co-ed, okay? So I can toughen up my self-consciousness, but it really is all in my head.

I'm a good bean. I've ran in 22-degree weather, bare shoulders and all. I've walked home alone. At night. Cried in DC at night. 

I can damn right do the Y. And stick by it. $40/a month!? for young adults. SHEESH.

LOVE. LOVE!!!! 

So, thank you past-me. To who I was.... I was something. 

I must have been something great if I were to even get here today. And try as I do, as I did, today. :)

--------------------------------------------------------

P.S. I'm going to try to make these episodes less poetic and more honest. The first thought that came out style, like when I used to in high school haha. 

I think I've lost the art of writing just to write, just a bit. 

I'm still poetic of course, but I'd like to care less about it, in my episodes. 

So from now on, poems will be more focused on that. But episodes are where I get to be honest. Be a sille bean. :P

Honestly though, I do try to stay positive, but lately, that's what it is. I'm grasping for positivity. Every single day that I live here at home. I try to. I do have bouts of sadness and loneliness and fear. All 3 at once sometimes. But I think... as long as I keep moving, or doing, or listening. Simply listening to the world, like I did today at City Hall... I remembered that I am a part of something great. I'm a part of a community. I am a part of a city. With lots of potholes. I'm part of something, sitting in that place.

Brown wood and white speakers.

So... I don't have to get better or feel better so that when others ask me how I am, I don't have to burden them with the honesty that I'm not feeling good. 

I don't have to. 

But when I move and when I do try, when I listen to the world. When I touch the world and the weights or the track below my feet or the bus home. 

I -- I'm moving through time again. I'm not stuck in one place, not in my mind, not in my memories of Smith, or my memories of who I used to be. Happier or whatever.

I'm moving when I'm on that elliptical. When I'm shifting the weight in my hands. I'm not supposed to feel happier, but I'm responsible for something in that moment. 

I'm responsible for myself. 

And that's a privilege. An honor. A gift. 

Sometimes, I forget that privilege. Sometimes, I'm so stuck in some liminal space and I drown. 

As I have, this past week.... it was really hard.

In the gym, I looked at myself always. The way I exhaled on the way up, the way I got ready on the way down. The way I took my breaks between sets, a little dancey dance. 

"I'm cute." That thought crossed my mind quickly. My purple leggings. My orange shoes. My nose.

That's it. I'm cute. Today, I'm cute.

She's not that happy, but she's cute.