commercial banking

They're all so freaking smooth. One at a time, handing me their business cards, as they sat down. 1, 2, 3, 4.

I was starstruck. 

Too bad I'm just as prepared.

"Shawn Mount. Marketing and relationship manager," I said, smiling.

Shawn looked back at me surprised, "Why, yes I am," shaking my hand firmly.

"Aaron Smith, 2 time President's club. AVP," I turned. 

Aaron smiled, "Haha, yes I am," shaking my hand, "this one's different, guys." And the men laughed.

"Steve Warren. I'm actually unsure about this one," I laughed, shaking Steve's hand. 

"Steve. No need. I'm just a lowly portfolio manager, ha," he said, also firmly shaking my hand.

"And Jason Hatcher. You must be the king of these three."

"That, I am," he agreed. Everyone laughed, a chuckle that sounded like money at the golf club.

The kind of laugh that I've made too many jokes about, here it is. 

And I am dizzy.

From the 5:20 am drive here to the disorientation of actually remembering all their names and roles. 

Why do I try so hard?

Yes, why, Ngoc?

The conversation went in and out and I felt it slowly blossom in my chest, this feeling that I've stood out. That I'm right, I usually am about my own preparation: "There can never be enough preparation. Just one more hour, scroll their LinkedIn's. Study SBA loans. Study the role. Something will come of it."

Despite my dizziness, I managed the entire day. 4 separate one-on-ones with each commercial banker. In one day. Huntington, West Virginia. My little car putting on miles. 

Ne-Yo's "She Knows" played non-stop on loop for 2 hours. So that I can own every thought in my head for more than a second and not worry that the song that plays won't be one that I won't like.

The thing is, I've been excited about commercial banking for weeks now. They're the biggest bucks in a bank, bringing almost a billion dollars in new money per year. Just 30 bankers.

It's a sales role. I know. But these guys are all about the details.

I mentioned my family's business ONE time and they all remember it. "We have 6 chairs. It's just my mom and one other person. We're a hole in the wall but we focus on only doing what we do best. Our one-on-ones."

And all 4 of them remembered eveyr detail. In every 1-on-1, they each remembered the 6 chairs and that it was just my Mom and one other person. They each hypothesized correctly that if we were to open a new salon, it would be around the same size and that the PPP loan we took out in 2020 was only enough for rent and not much else... wasn't it?

"Yes," I replied each time. Surprised.

These guys are at a whole other level.

And in each one-on-one, I did my thing. 

I didn't try to only show how much I already knew coming in.

I focused on having conversations that they'd remember for themselves too, showing my personality and how I deeply cared about the mechanics of their roles. Because I did. 

From understanding their prospecting process, to the way they managed community relationships, to only providing services that a client actually needs, to understanding their work life balance, to the business meetings that could happen impromptu at any time. 

A commercial banker is a forever advisor to the business itself. 

At lunch, the 3 of the 4 walked with me to the business bankers Christmas party. I just went through there a month ago, and already, I saw so many familiar faces that couldn't wait to hug me. 

As the king of business banking, Ken Short, introduced me to the Christmas gathering, asking, "Who in here has already met Ngoc?"

So many of them raised their hands smiling at me. I grinned back.

Shandele, Jason, Cassie, Logan (Subaru guy!), Michael, Muhammad, Darryl, and others. I went around hugging everyone, like a little celebrity.

Logan kept his gaze steady on me, eager to speak, but at every turn, there was always someone that I was in the middle of conversation with.

His smile grew when I finally turned to him. He asked, "So, your Subaru. Did you end up going to get that oil changed yet?"

"Oh my gosh, not yet! But thank you for that Subaru dealer recommendation. I'm going to go there hopefully very soon."

"They're good folks. There's nowhere else I'd take it in this area. Are the guys taking good care of you?"

"They are haha. They are," I said smiling. 

Michael behind me, one of my first interviewers for my job now, stood up and said, "Ngoc, oh my gosh how are you liking it so far?"

I gave him a big hug. "Michael, my god I'm so well taken cared of. Seriously, and Columbus is just, Columbus is unspeakably awesome. I love it there?!"

Jason tapped me lightly, signalling that we had to go.

And so we left. 

I felt so loved. I couldn't stop smiling. I didn't feel cold out in the 30 degree weather. I forgo-ed my jacket for our short walk to the next restaurant.

We headed to lunch with an attorney who was a COI, a center of influence, to us. She waited for us and quickly hugged everyone. And I knew instantly, she was a good bean.

And I'd have thought that a business meeting would be more business-y, but we ended up only talking about our hobbies, what we're reading, what their kids are up to, and all sorts. I introduced myself properly and pushed the unspoken agenda, that my company really takes great care of its employees. So much so, that there's a professional development program that I left home for.

Haha, here I am. :)

On the walk back to the office, each gentleman took their turn speaking with me. Politely. Towering above me, older, wiser, they all offered me different bits of advice. Showed me different reasons of how they got here.

I felt easy here too.

A young woman who once went to a traditionally all-women's college is now standing, however briefly, in an all-men's world. For a second. And they took good care of her. :) 

I told my new friends, Ben and Bridget, this very thing about commercial banking.

"They're flashy. They're shiny. The moment they walk into any space, they can survey the entire restaurant and know exactly where they need to be. Who they need to speak to, how that conversation's going to start and where it should end up. All the while. All the while!! Having jokes, non-stop, to make someone laugh. They're not commercial bankers if they can't make someone laugh. And they do that all the damn time."

My last one-on-one was with Aaron. A graphic designer, sound engineer, a volunteer at the local drug recovery center, and here, at Pebo. I asked him for any feedback he might have for me, after our deep conversation about all things banking, but also about the Vietnam War, about basketball, and my family's nail salon.

He responded, "After my 8 years of this program, I have to say, and I was planning on telling Jason this as well, you have got to be the best PDA that's walked through commercial's doors. You're very intelligent. You ask all the right questions. You're thoughtful, very prepared. Already, you knew about all the different SBA loans. Doing your homework like that and also knowing who everybody is like this morning, I think if you want to be here one day, you will absolutely kill it. I'm very excited about where you're going to end up."

I wanted to hug Aaron. But we simply stood up, a firm handshake. 

When a man shakes his hand firmly, unafraid of hurting yours, that's when you know, he sees you as an equal. That's how I know that that's a good man.

I rest my case.

Your girl, Ngoc, is doing shiny things. Learning about shiny things. 

Prepared, packed, one suitcase light. A black dress.

Later, she'd head back to the hotel, only to head back out into the night. She remembered the bookstore that the others had passed without a second glance. She headed in exactly there, bundled up against the cold. She walked in empty-handed. 2 hours later, she walked out with more books than she could finish before June.

Smiling. 

Gosh, I'm very proud of myself.

I try hard, I try hard all the time. And I get tired. I'm scared of burning too bright. I'm nervous about not being liked.

But how could I be nervous about that? If I'm so... I'm so good at being me? 

And by being myself, my true self, I can create a lot of joy already.

And hopefully, I don't only focus on gratification from work, but god, does it feel DAMN GOOD when it's words of affirmation from work. FUCK.

fuck. :P

-----------

As much as this adventure has felt like a real adventure, I really can't believe I'll be home in less than 5 hours. 

Houston, agh. I really do love Houston.

I can't lie anymore. I hate Houston in the summer, like a simmering hell. That won't go away. But I love Houston in December. Our 60 degree weather. No mosquitoes. Just walks and sweetness and non-stop cuteness.

I miss having all the things to do on a weekend. I miss all the things that make me feel young. 

Marietta is beautiful. I love my little walks as I put a playlist on. The leaves beneath me watch me dance and twirl and mis-step and trip. And I'd always feel safe, for the full mile back to my apartment, but... 

Houston. 

When I see that skyline as I land, I'd know where my heart is. 

And loyal to. 

So while I'm mildly dissociating and can't believe I'm where I am today,  at least in the quiet of Marietta, I can focus on what my heart wants to make.

For all that I've worked for, maybe it's not important where my heart is.

One day, I'll tell someone that this was the chapter of the heart making what it needs to make, not about where the heart needs to be. 

:)

Dear Ngoc!

Hello myself!

I have a very soft spot on me. The spot right in the middle of my chest, beneath my collarbone. 

I did the thing where I put my hand to my chest and felt my own heart beat again. I did it twice today. And when I felt my own heart beat for its own life, I grinned so big. I didn't care if I was rained on as I took my time walking to my car. Just, thankful that I made it to the end of the day. Thankful that I did a really good job, and how great that feeling is, when I know it so well deep down that yes, of course. Of course, I did a great job. I replayed what my supervisors said inside my head again, and then I smiled all over again.

Here she is. Your words of affirmation girlie.

Lately, I take my time.

I take my time walking around the block during lunch, with my hands bouncing against my hips and a permanent slight smile on me. Like I'm listening to that song I really like, because I am, fool. I take my time talking to my colleagues, who are all growing on me. I think, wait, I know, that I'm liked. I know it's a silly small thing to realize, but it means so much to me. That my company is enjoyed. That I make people laugh. It means a lot. So I always take my time with them.

I take my time making the drink in my hand last. Bridget's story makes the drink feel lighter. Is it just me, or are the lights making me feel all pretty? All cozy...? A town so small that you're bound to meet 3 of your coworkers in it, so I take my time leaving the bar. Bridget leads the way to a seedy dance floor in a seedy bar. No one but us in it. 

It's a Friday night in Marietta. I didn't expect that.

But we danced anyways. 9 PM became 11 PM. The alcohol in my system diluted, and with my mind as sober as ever, I danced harder. Running around as if my ankles are fine. And so did Bridget haha. I felt like the young miss I always was. ^-^

I take my time getting back to my car, careful not to forget the ledge out the door.

"Do you need me to walk you back to your car?" she asked. 

I shook my head sleepily and happily. "Thank you but I'm okie hehe. Tonight was great! I'll see you in Columbus. Thanksgiving!!!"

And there ya go. That's how a girl's trip is made. On a Friday night outside a seedy bar on a street in a small town where there's no body but two girls who just sober danced an empty dance floor.

I take my time driving back to my apartment. They've wrapped lights and leaves around each light post. 

If I was actually tipsy, you could convince me I was in London. Gosh, London. That's a whole other story. I've already told that one lol.

Beyond my social outings and the significant reduction in shopping because I do not want to live pay check to pay check T___T, I feel like a sponge lately. A TOTAL SPONGE. 

Risk management. Oh my god. 

I like it a lot.

I like a LOT.

I really enjoy working with customers but I was always in reacting mode.

I want to be in initiating mode now. My mid-20s are gonna be for initiating MODE :D And the team -- I think they really like me. :)

And I'm thinking about further education funded by my employer. It's very possible and your girl might have a trick up her sleeve sooner or later. ^-^ Life is too short! Life is too short.

And life is too short not to be in three-way calls as many nights as I should be. Ivanna and Yen are both doing their make-up, all cute and dainty, while I update them about our future Columbus weekend trip. Thanksgiving is gonna be very sweet. My supervisor invited me to her Thanksgiving. <3 Oh my gosh, I feel so hugged. WAH!

Not everything is wonderful. Not everything is sweet.

But when things are sweet, they really are sweet. Just gooey caramel on my skin. Sticky condensed milk left on the edge of my cup. As I scheme. And scheme myself into my new life here. One day, I'll be a local. One day, I'd have walked these hills and under these trees enough times that someone recognizes my silhouette and chases after me.

In a good way? :D

Elise will tell you that I'm good at scheming. Ivanna will tell you that I'm good at finding a good hotel within budget. Yen will tell you that I know how to talk to boys. Mom will tell you I'm bad at not eating enough citrus.

You know what's crazy?

I sat right next to someone who was sneezing and coughing Covid like crazy for an hour. I washed my hands really good after that. And every morning for a week, I drank orange juice.

3 weeks later. And that worked?

So Mom's right. ^--^ I can never drink too much citrus.

I'm 24. I'm living on my own. I'm a good bean doing better beans than I imagined. And people remember me. And that feels really warm. Really gentle.

Like tonight, as I returned the can opener I borrowed from my neighbor's sister, Austin. She remembered I played League. She took a sip of my Viet coffee that I sent it along with and smiled. She gripped my three snack bars in my hands along with my hope that she'll more than enjoy it. That she'd love it. Or seeing the way my colleagues at the Thanksgiving potluck today enjoying my Vietnamese coffee. It just makes me feel... <3

This little letter to myself is me hoping that I'll always remember the good things.

Because good things do happen to me. And because I deserve them all.

And I deserve all the quiet in my head, after the day is over. I deserve all my reading time. My calling and walking time. My time in my new favorite blue sweater. All my time talking with my new friend. And all my time re-reading old diary entries while I realize how long this journey has really been.

This long journey of designing and creating my life from scratch. All those years ago. Just as I am, today.

Episode 96: Because This is My First Life,

That is why I'm so picky about not eating pork and tear up, 10-seconds into any accidental Peta advert of male baby chicks getting murdered.

If I had lived more lives, I would eat anything. Fried crickets. Peel lobster and shrimp without gloves. 

Because this is my first life. "That's why!" I'd exclaim, after I made a left turn without stopping, when I should have stopped. Almost killed between McDonalds and the Ohio BMV.

That's why I stayed up later than I should on a Tuesday night, feeling sentimental and emo. Replayed the same song while I schemed a new Blog episode in the midst of my anxiety. Had I lived more lives, I would have long since dry brushed my arms and belly, given myself a forehead kiss, and melted into a warm mug of milk tea -- knowing just when to pick myself up. Just soon enough. Never a second too late.

That's why I keep dissociating when I'm asked "what brought you to Ohio?" Pft. Phooo-ey.

That's why I care what others think of me. All the time at work. Keeping my face poised but my voice light, as if nothing happened to me. As if, I didn't almost die between McDonalds and the Ohio BMV. Pouring nothing but good thoughts into my pretty little head as a customer tries to illegally structure their money, and I ought to report it.

That's why I craved the Vienna Mall's chicken stir fry so bad instead of craving the fried rice I made just the previous night.

And why I'm not good at interior decorating.

And why I'm the first at my job to volunteer to pass out Halloween candy at the next town's trunk-or-treat. Because I haven't done it before, and heck, I'd do a lot to give out little Wednesdays and little T-Rexes candy.

And why I still dress up for Halloween, holding out my own bag of candy shamelessly while I push my neighbor's toddler in a stroller. A bag for the baby, and a bag for me. I'm still cute, heck. 

And why I keep praying to my ancestors. I'm so freaking, FREAKING grateful. Truly. I have hardly done enough to deserve this life. So if I don't deserve this life yet still have to live it, then it must all be a gift. Living this first life of mine is a gift.... welp. :)

This is why I keep coming home with a sweet little treat, every time I've gone out. Like a kid. All the time!

And why I keep accidentally replaying cringy scenes in my head in the middle of the day, and wincing bad. "Ngoc!" escaping my lips. A delayed self-beration. In the parking lot. Whilst dishwashing. Or driving between the river and the hill. "Ngoc!"

And why I still believe I can do anything, as long as I want it enough. Even if it'll make me miserable. And why I jump into conclusions, straight to the happy ending. Like it's already mine. Convinced I can make it home safely, in my head. While some of the decisions I make, I'm practically just convinced, like a drooling, swirling alcoholic.

Why I'm so careless. Why I need to give the MRI folks a callback for my ankle, instead of being afraid. Why I mainly write when I'm bottled up and anxious and self-hating and cruel and nervous.

Why I accidentally stayed glued to the conversation with a coworker, 40 minutes in the parking lot. I'm not a drinker, but then I say "Yes, next weekend is great!"

Why I'm so devoted to the color green, instead of loving every color equally?

Why I impulsively bought a $50 hoodie from Popflex last night. :( BUT I LIKE IT HEHE.

Why I needed to set up a Christmas tree on the 1st of November just to feel like I'm a kid at home again. If I've lived more lives, I would have prioritized a dinner table or couch instead. :I But nope. CHRISTMAS!

Because this is my first life, so I'm scared of so many, many things. I'm scared of hurting myself all the time. I'm scared of making the wrong decisions. And scared of having to make the wrong decisions the right decisions, haha. Scared of ruining my life.

I'm scared of ruining my life.

^----^ 

hehe. 

Who let me drive?!

But also, I'm so glad I can drive. Thank you ancestors. <3

But Buddha, I am scared for my life, 

because this is my first life and I'm still in my early 20s. 

If I'm supposed to live out this gift of a life of mine, then welcome to the show.

Welcome to the show. :)

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

oh my gosh, your girl is nothing but silliness lately. I haven't cried in 2 weeks. 

I haven't, oh my god, cried in two weeks. I don't understand why that is. I want to cry, but then I can't and I won't. In those moments, my logic argues and fights to say that it's a waste of time to stay sad about things out of my control, so I instinctively hug myself tight, wrap my arms around myself. I whisper things like, "Ngoc, you're right here. You're nowhere else, but here, and this is a fine place to be. You have all your toes and fingers. You're still soft and always silly but you're so very strong." And then I feel a lot better again. Phew.

Because I've done a giant thing. Being out here. 

So of course, of course, it's going to be tough. And that's okay. I'm a good miss bean. I'll be a fine bean.

So maybe, it isn't my first life. Maybe I've lived it all before. Moments like these or having thoughts like these, when I know exactly how to take care of myself, are when I feel like I've lived it all before.

A song I wrote this episode to^-^: "Welcome to the Show" - Day6

how the leaves fall, in marietta, ohio

I remember always going for pad thai at Thai Garden in Northampton, advertising it nonstop on Google Reviews, and why beef and the coffee tea there paired best. My 20-minute speedy descent from the top of Smith's college gates to Thai Garden was either alone, holding bread, or with an old friend I hadn't seen for a month. When you walk in, the lights are orange and golden. Little Thai dolls of gold lined the walls and intricate wall carvings of unfamiliar gods jutted outwards. All this gold made time feel like a temperature: warm and cozy and warm again.

Before I knew the difference between a RAV4 and a 4Runner, I was a pedestrian in Massachusetts, a bus and subway rider in DC, Houston, Singapore, Orange County, Austin, Martha's vineyard, Newport R.I., and a biker on Massachusettian and DC trails. 

For all the speed that I have now, in my green Subaru Outback, her power astonishes me. I am all mine now. I don't rely or wait on anyone or anything to go anywhere I want. No more bus schedules. No more train schedules. No more, "are my legs gonna be too tired when I make it there, and can I even bike back?" questions. 

It's now, "have I renewed my car insurance yet? Fuck, that's a lot of money." 

The leaves in Marietta, Ohio fall differently. Whereas the leaves in Northampton, Massachusetts fell constantly. With wind or no wind. The leaves here, in this even smaller town, fall when you're not looking. Nothing falls when I've finally focused in. 

But when I'm not looking, that's when it rains just a couple of chonky leaves, all in my peripheral vision, and gone.

I walk the same sidewalks. Over and over again. The same ascent, descent. I call different people. Yen. Elise. Ivanna. Neha. Jillian. Mumsies.

Today, after 1.5 months of being here, I saw a woman watering her garden. 

She seemed so welcoming and sweet. Anyone who walks past her can't help but acknowledge her garden and her smile. A "Harris and Walz" sign on her porch. A small house full of golden lamps inside. She carried her watering bin delicately.

God, I wanted to be her one day.

As if on cue, I greeted her. "Hi there."

"Hello! It's a beautiful evening, isn't it? So lovely for a walk," she responded. 

My grin grew on my face.

"It truly is. The leaves won't stop raining. And that baby over there? Oh my god, that car almost ran her over."

"We won't let that happen around here haha," she laughed.

I laughed too, turning my head to check again on said-toddler.

"I actually just moved here last month. It's truly so gorgeous," I shared. This was my moment to make a new neighborhood friend. My heart pounded in my chest easily.

I've worked the teller line and seen customers all day. Right then, talking to strangers was the easiest thing in the world.

Like breathing. Like air. I'm light and I'm falling.

And I've fallen right here.

In front of Ms. Kathleen.

"Oh my gosh, welcome to Marietta! Where are you living?"

"On Tupper street down the way." :) 

"There's a wonderful miss in the green house next door then. And that blue house right there? Lovely, lovely people. And that yellow house? They're from Houston I think."

"Oh my gosh, I'm from Houston!"

And so it went on. :) 

I hope to walk into her soon again, with a "Ngoc" like "knock" for me to introduce myself with all over again.

One day, I'm going to tell someone a story. 

About how after I lived in college dormitories, played soccer in my childhood home, slept two nights on a bean bag in my ex's friend's room, and woke up to roosters in my mother's village, I found a very quiet place to start my life.

In the armpit of Ohio and West Virginia, I found myself pondering the trees and its leaves in Marietta. I found myself descending that same hill at the end of my walks into my apartment. This beautiful apartment. Empty in many ways, too full in other ways, but will always have flowers that I buy weekly and replenish, there, in my strawberry vase.

One day, I'll tell the story of how it was as painful as it was vibrant to start from scratch. I'll tell them how the trees looked like they were on fire at the end of October. How I was listening to this podcast about Harris getting on Fox News a couple nights ago as a black cemetery cat started purring against my leg. After I "rawr rawr"-ed it. How Neha and Elise all worried about me and told me they loved me. How I reassured my friends that I'm really good at this one thing.

I'm good at reminding myself, eventually, ~ eventually ~, that... I'm worth fighting for. Teeth and nail to the end. My life and its learnings are all worth fighting for. So that one day, I can stand on my own, and fight for those I care about.

This life of mine, it's still so mysterious. How I was in a freakin' Halloween town. How I flew home once every 1.25 months to cure the nostalgia. How I wondered if any of this sacrifice made sense. Until it did. In a hot second.

I sat in my quarterly review today with my supervisor. We're browsing future Professional Development Associate candidates. There, a profile. A gentleman who has ties to DC. "We like him," she says, "and he has family in DC. That's great!"

And that was my hint from the universe. That's it. 

My heart pounded like crazy.

I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be, after all.

No more doubts.

The city of my dreams. The way Congress glows at night, like a godly basilica.

All the fireflies, rising like little lanterns among the ocean that is our National Mall. Abraham Lincoln stands firm, gripping his chair looking on at all the lawmaking and remaking. The city where Ms. Jennifer, my homestay host, told me she loved me.

Where Manal and Grace are. Where a walk in the evening can lead me into any social gathering, discussing the state of the world. The state of the universe. 

Book shops, non-stop. Where I can wear all my cute dresses and feel safe. 

I can imagine my heels in that city already. The way I'll never stop being better. Quicker. Smarter. My $$$ ass apartment. Sprite and wine in my mid-20s. Hugging myself warm as the cherry blossoms bloom.

The leaves will fall differently there too,

just as I have, 

falling right into place.

a breath too big to keep in

You are the river

preparing to become the sea.

Don't fight and don't leave, 

let what may be as it be.

You are a spiraling form

cutting through trees, along a mountain, skimming the lakes,

where no one is watching

except for tiny fish and the whirr of mosquitoes. 

You are a full burst

and a breath too big to keep in.

You rest in spaces after each last breath,

like footsteps that disappear in a forest.

No one knew you were there.

Let what may be as it be.

No one is your witness.

No one remembers you.

Simply an energy, a flood of light that loses its tail over and over again.

For you are the river

preparing to become the sea.

"How strange", the stars would whisper amongst each other,

"how naive", as they forget you.

A hunger from long ago

sustains and eats

the pieces of everything that can create a dream.

You fly as if you've forgotten

That a globe continues to swirl with or without you

how small you are

wishing to be witnessed

long enough to be real

how small you are

wishing to flood forever

long enough to see yourself an ocean.

hello marietta, o-hiii-o

It's official. I've been here for 1 week, 3 days. 

I'm a little and a lot more alone than I've ever been. 

After completing a successful 1st week of work, I found myself along the Ohio river Friday night, seated on the cement edge of the boardwalk. I let the little waves from some anonymous jet ski lightly brush against my sandals. I let the beautiful memory of the sunset on the rippling water stay somewhere deep. Let this be another reason. 

I quickly pulled out my journal and wrote down sentences that sounded like: "I've made it back to the Ohio River. Away from home, not thinking about it. All its colors are too beautiful to describe and the river sways and ebbs with lines and circles of where things are. Life in water is what made a ripple. 

A blue, a white, the way I feel most myself as if crystal, clear, and empty of headtrash. I can see myself looking on forever in the wake of the speedboat that made waves that lightly splash me. I move nowhere. The sound of it like small ocean waves. I am a part of the shore, a need to be part of something more. A desire to breathe. Every breath of mine is light and airy and I'm never more real than to be a part of such a river beauty. Keep all things quiet. The waves are getting bigger and bigger and I think I'm hungry.

I hope I don't eat too much again. I hope I'll stop worrying and just do the very thing that makes me worry. I hope my mind can save this moment into a safe place I go to when I'm stuck in buildings all day. Let me live richly, all needy of the beauty around me and appreciate the beauty already within my needy body. 

My mind is my own paradise if I can memorize a place like this.

What that a gun or a firework?

Was that sweetness or fear?

It surprises me how badly I love being in myself right now. 

Let's own a boat on the river and sail nowhere, because we've got nowhere to be."

I wrote words like that in a single breath by the Ohio River. And so I did, before I packed up all my stationary and haunted main street. Every shop stayed lit within, even if closed. I walked past so many couples and into a place called the "Moose Lodge" where people in jeans played pool and young women sat together smiling warmly at each other. I felt the evening closing in on me and left the "Moose Lodge" just as quickly. I walked back to my car with not even a grin on my face, just a sober look. A young-woman-freshly-displaced look. An empty look.

I wasn't empty though. Just... living. Perhaps. Perhaps? 

The local vendors at the farmer's market yesterday all asked me after I introduced myself lightly, "What brings you here? All the way from Texas?" Their one-of-a-kind plant pots ("I don't take pictures, so none will ever be alike!"), one-of-a-kind five-dollar banana breads, or a hive of bees, stare back at me.

"Someone I really trust advised that I start my life here." In other times, I said, "A job. A really good one with great people."

I never pause at their questions. I've answered this same question so many times for co-workers, and in front of the bathroom mirror after I've cleaned my teeth. Somewhere in that mirror or in the hole in my head where something else once was, was a thought about why I was truly here. What made this so? Something I can't know well enough right now. 

Because the answer doesn't feel real yet. Even though it's the truth. 

The real answer is somewhere else. It existed once, in the hole in my head. I'm afraid of filling my head up again. 

I'm afraid of living alone. I always look back after I've turned off a light in a room, so that I can catch something that is there if it wants to be. And for what? So that I can be afraid, and maybe go home.

Haha, silly girl. 

I feel the truth of my life right now, which is, I have to stay at a place long enough to understand why I had to stay. 

Like why did I stay in Houston for so long after graduation? 

Because I needed it more than I knew it then. I needed to be at the nail salon. I needed to learn a deeper lesson about all sorts of humanity. I needed to become a better person, so that the person I am today can experience deeply all sorts of humanity here, in Ohio. And on weekends, in West Virginia.

I have to stay long enough in a place that the history in those months and years and on and on actually make sense. They can't not make sense, right? I can't live a life as silly as myself.

Some of the farmer's market vendors are happy to make my acquaintance. They're warm and cozy. I made a new friend briefly while buying cat earrings, even though I'm a dog person. She had to leave shortly after, but you should have seen the smile on my face.

From the market, I walked to the best coffee shop in town. Jeremiah's. As a Buddhist, the name of this place went way over my head. I bought a medium iced coffee and it turned out to be, basically and surprisingly, a Starbucks Venti but bigger. It was too sweet and made me all jittery while I handpicked and downloaded 200 photos/videos of my mother for her birthday video. 

I really like her video this year. It's damn good!

Today, I haunted Walmart. The instant rush of how often I'd go here with my family came back to me. I could see, as if real, my father's back in any Walmart. A resilient hobble in his walk. The gout forever crippled his ankles but will never stop him from shopping. 

Like me. 

I'm sorry dear reader. I'm throwing a bunch of random moments and details and everything is flying like a plate.

It's the transitioning. I'm in transition. I'm moving much too fast.

I turned 24 in the same week that I just got back from Viet Nam, in the same week that I had to pack my bags and make the 20-hour drive to Ohio, in the same week that I set my things down in an apartment that I'd found on Craigslist, actually.

In the same week that I said a physical good-bye to someone I liked a lot. 

I've cried in my Subaru a couple of times now. Leaving Houston, leaving Cleveland, coming back to Marietta. All roads lead to Marietta.

You know, it's the shock of transitioning. I'm in transition, after all. I'm moving much too fast. 

So give me a break, Ngoc. 

Ah, and give me a head pat too, for putting out the trash tonight. Give me a head pat too for finding a very pretty rug for my reading room. A reading rug. 

Give me a head pat for making tasty honey-glazed salmon while sad. 

And give me a head pat for remembering in a moment of delirium, that I AM liked. 

And a big, big shout out to my mother, who's always called me when I needed it most. 

I found myself on the steps of my porch earlier this evening, looking up at the sky and the birds and repeating the sentence, "I am not alone. I am not alone" over and over in my head like a haunted Asian woman. 

And that's when my mumsies video called me, posing in a cute white puffer jacket and wondering what my opinion was on it. 

Of course, you're beautiful, Mom. And I felt so much better. Gah. Gosh. Eeeeep. 

So I'm not alone, even if I'm physically alone. 

And even that's not true. I'm not physically alone. I'm now acquainted with new people who recognize that I'm not Japanese, but actually Vietnamese. 

"I have Southeast Asian calves, look at them! They're a key differentiator!" I would yell in my head.

But honestly, I take a lot of humor in it. In my legs, and in my life right now. 

It's tough, heh, to be an independent woman. 

Is. Tough. 

I'll figure out soon, hopefully, what the hole in my head is all about. :)

For now, your girl is a silly lady. Silly enough that I hope my silliness makes you feel better about your silliness-es. 

Sending a hug to you, dear reader. I like you.

ngoc's job search lessons

* it's 50% how you feel about yourself

* the other 50% is simply proof

* people know people. It's not a number's game. It's a people's game. 

* you have to take breaks. not every week is perfect where you've sent in your quota of applications. you will need days sometimes weeks simply to breathe and exist and feel grounded again. Because... oh how the days blur. Don't they? 

* if the days start blurring, call a friend. make a plan for yourself. drive to the closest place to breathe and listen to your favorite song. here's mine right now for when I want to feel myself breathe: Journey by Kim Bumsoo

* try to maybe answer this: what makes you valuable, even if you've no title, no name, no game? what makes you shine? 

* they have to want you as much as you want them.

* say thank you. all the time.

* you're more than your job status and certainly more than any feeling that gets ahold of you. you're the you that you are when you find your breath again too. 

* promise me you'll hug yourself every day. one hand on each shoulder, squeeze, and close your eyes. you're more real than you've ever imagined.

* more than ever, protect your spirit. protect your hope. protect your joy. but also hold gently, very gently, your sadnesses. hold gently, your disappointments. laugh lightly at your mistakes. laugh lovingly at what you didn't know before. while protecting your spirit, hope, and joy.

* your joy and spirit are very important. the most important during this time. please nourish both. nourish your body.

And these are the simple lessons I've learned.

the last pet

that I gave Tonia was this morning. She was on her side and when she noticed my voice, she turned her head to me. I reached down to give her a pat on her soft, flat head. Her eyes followed me while her legs stretched my way. Two of her legs lifted so she could expose her tummy. Her skin a light rosy pink where her white and black fur don't touch.

I knew what she wanted. A belly rub and pat.

She loved to sunbathe so that a little halo of sunlight reflected off her white and black dotted fur. Specifically, a black ear, and a white ear. The black covering one eye only. And at the base of her tail, she's white except for one black spot on the right of her cheek. An entirely black tail. Those little black eyes, closed, small lips rounded into a small maybe smile, taking in the sun. Whenever my shadow covered the sun on her face, she'd open her eyes and know it was me. 

She loved anything with beef in it. She once bit, maybe ate, a cat and a pigeon before, or simply bit them hard enough that they bled out and painted her white mouth red. That's when we looked at her in horror. The neighbors accused our new dog of killing their cat. Yen and I looked at our dog, innocent and small and maybe mean but a killer? A cat chewer? 

"You've got the wrong guy," we said, while we sent them our sorrows and confusion. It really can't be her. With her black dotted back turned to us, Tonia was guilty and our Dad knew that but failed to tell us, until a decade later. Yen and I stood at the bedroom door piecing together the day Tonia went rogue. 

She liked taking her rounds 'round the neighborhood and escaping the heat by lying on our cool tile floors. The constant sniffing and acquainting with different scents along the sidewalks and other people's gates and other people's dogs. She didn't grow up friendly. In fact, she never was, not to anyone wearing blue or any dog that dared to pee the sidewalk before our house or any stranger strutting beyond 10 pm, but as the years wore her down and the same mailman proved to be innocent of whatever every other dog was accusing him of, she stopped barking. 

Perhaps it wasn't because of anyone's innocence. Perhaps she simply grew tired of the fuss. The last 3 years of her life was a silence. Any bark that came out sourced from casual conversation, not accusation. 

She enjoyed being an only child, throwing the biggest fuss, the loudest barks at the newcomer. The most she ever tolerated was with our slow, fat dog, Wooly. Yet with all the confidence she had in our gated home, she was mouse-shy in unfamiliar territory, a timid, socially awkward dog in front of other people's houses.

I would learn this whilst biking with her. Unleashed, she ran freely beside me on the street. Just a few paw steps behind. If I paused, she'd pause. And if she was far off, I'd simply raise my voice, "Tonia!" Those adorable faraway steps would pitter-patter closer. It wasn't walking my dog. It was biking with her. The length of this small neighborhood became magical with her next to me. Wind in my hair, Tonia alongside me like my princess. A promise.

Once we accidentally locked her outside the house gates. We came home at 9 pm. Most dogs would search for their freedom long ago, but when our family car pulled up slowly to the entrance, her little medium-thick body stirred sleepily. She used her front legs to push herself up and her eyes slowly opened, staring at our car as if expectant. 

"Where were you?" she seemed to ask. Her little body by the exact spot where we open our gate. Oh how much we inconvenienced her that evening. And oh, how she made sure we knew it.

Her 14 years of life with us were a mix of human food and dog food. She loved anything stir fry, with beef, or a good poached egg. And smaller kibble went down easy.

She was a soccer dog. If a soccer ball came, then she was there to intercept. Never return them. Just intercept and put it in its place -- the exact way she intercepts other dogs that wander in.

I knew her as a toddler. A teenager. A middle-aged woman. And then an elderly family member.

The beautiful thing of life is sometimes what you want isn't what you need. 

I didn't want to job search for as long as I did, whilst living at home. I wanted to be on my own quick after college. 

But what I needed was to be with family and the most important family member I know, Tonia. 

I am grateful for the time given to me to properly re-learn Tonia again. As a being and as a personality. 

The first time I ever drove a car on my own, unsupervised as a licensed driver, was because I wanted to buy her a new dog bed and snacks so badly. Noting that my Dad was asleep, I stole his keys and pulled his truck out the driveway like a renegade. Giant dog-treat-shaped bed in hand and new snacks, I shoved them into the truck while I drove so carefully, butt-scared home for all of 5 minutes. She gave me all these reasons to level up in the past difficult year of my life, so I can best take care of her.

I acquainted her with the giant bed for a bit, until an hour later, I found her half on it, half off, with her hind legs touching the tile. Her front legs reaching forward, eyes closed.

She also learned my habits too. When it was me that came home late that night. When it was me that called out her name or pushed tasty stir fry onto her plate. When it was me that blew dry her fur after the warm tub bath, mosquitoes nipping us both. When it was me that rested my hand on her head and whispered on my way out/my way in, "I love you." Each time, she received it with all silence and peace in the world.

The times when I felt like she really knew who I was was when I'd first get home from a long day at the nail salon. She'd skip on past my Dad, past my Mum, and she'd walk towards me. Or whenever late at night, 11 pm and I'm walking around, checking on the moon, she'd follow me about, even if I was walking the farthest corner of the house. As long as she knew of it, she would be closely behind me, curious at my curiosity. And I knew her as well to know that she doesn't follow my Mom or Dad around so freely. That she follows me because she prefers it. In my company, she is her true, easy-going self. And I know that and how beautiful it feels, to be one of her favorites.

Perhaps she understood every time I whispered "I love you" after all.

In her last month, even if she'd struggle the long 30 seconds to get up, if I didn't already notice and help her, she'd happily try to get up and follow me on my walks around the house. Right behind me, as if we were biking. 3-5 rounds around the place like a quarter mile school loop. I would comment on a leaf or walk in silence. In those grass-and-flower-scented evenings so dark blue that Tonia almost glowed, we'd communicate to each other with our little steps in the grass, pitter patters to prove we were there. 

no one

Episode 95: Hug the Day

12.11.23.

I like holding myself softly. Whenever my body tenses up, I want to hold onto myself, softly.

Touch the soft skin on the nubs of my toes. Make myself laugh when I feel dem nubs. 

Have you been breathing softly lately? Have you also noticed your own tense body coming home?

4.2.24.

I've written a similar episode about this when I was 6 years younger. Today, I saw on Yen's friend's instagram story about how she first practiced Buddhism after studying so much for her SATs, being the anxious, busy high school student that she was. The first moment where she realized she was in the present was realizing how green the tree was. Realizing the wind blowing against her hand, her hair. "Is this what the present feels like?" she wondered. And true-er than she expected, was the green leaves of the great tree before her.

That was her moment. And what a beautiful moment that was.

My moment was very much similar. On a hammock, looking up at the sky and the wind. Dang it, it's always the wind, isn't it? Did you know our ancestors or dead loved ones can exist as a wind in our presence? Possibly guiding us, making us smile.

I think when we've gotten so used to running and feeling heavy from an entire day, the first moment where we realize how true we are, and how nothing else can be true-er, is when we realize the greatness of life. 

We are more than our emotions. We are more than our needs, desires, and at times, emptiness. 

We are the love we choose to give. We are the way we were last remembered in the eyes of our loved ones. We are the ripple of the compassion we chose to see strangers, the world, with that day.

Tonight, I hung out with a new friend again. Lydia made me smile, made me root for her. In a loud social bar garden, I learned about her anxieties. I learned about her hopes, and I was trusted. I think every choice I made tonight, was rooted with love and compassion. Lydia is such a kind, sweet, and loveable freaking person. SO CHEERY AND ADORABLE. 

I love talking with her. By the time we were parting, I realized how I wish the night didn't have to end. She felt the same way.

But throughout it, I was rooted. I was grounded in her presence. And I realized how great the joy is to meet someone who made their way to you that day, whom you put in all the effort to see. Someone who bought me my drink and listened to my excitement. Someone who I'm so excited about. 

How great that joy. How greater the laughs. She knew I'd be leaving for Ohio in September. I knew that she'd be leaving Houston for the Northeast and the real ocean one day. But despite what may be tomorrow, I knew I deeply enjoyed her lovely, sweet company. ^-^

For today, that is the greatest thing.

I sound hippy. I sound high off ginger ale again. 

I sound like a preacher who has a trophy wife and golfs to find my spirituality again. 

December, when I first started this episode, I simply wanted this episode to talk about how nice, hugging myself felt. How I didn't hug myself enough. And gosh, how true that is. 

I was running and anxious about the job search, and now that (soft launch: I found the place at the same time it found me!) I have more answers, I realized how hard I was working. How tough I was on myself.

I was scared to write emails. I was scared of saying the wrong thing, not being by my phone when any call came, I was anxious about everything. I was forever scared of not doing enough. I kept adding more to my plate without taking anything away. 

I spoke every word with fear. My self-confidence wore away. The girl that was vivacious, sassy, and confident in her last 2 months of college was no where to be found. I was a shell of that girl. No where near her confidence or self-love. Every day was a day to endure, instead of a day to experience.

And so... there was that point where I needed to redefine what I live for. What makes me whole when I don't have what I want, when I'm no where near where I want to be -- what do I still have? What can I still experience?

Buddhism really grounded me in the past few months. Being in the present. Being grateful for the present. Grateful for life, for the day. Simply rising. 

Tapping into my spirituality, into Buddhism, has enriched my job searching experience in ways I never imagined. 

More on this in the future!

But -- WAH! Thank you everyone, living or dead or godly, who have helped me guide me here. 

I love you so much and am full of gratitude. <3

Whale Watcher

I live a dozen lives in my head.

The one that keeps haunting me is one where I live as a forever whale watcher, but only from cliffs. Never in the water myself. Only ever at night. I would be bare except for boots and a curtain that I like too much to use as a curtain, letting it wrap across my broad shoulders, my broad back, and back around my broad arms. I imagine that it is too dark for anyone to gaze at me, and if they did, they'd see a shape they were only familiar with, but never got to know truly. It wouldn't even spook them. 

I'd be the ghost that existed in all their nights.

My fingers would curl tightly into the fabric whenever I'd glimpse shapes darker than the night, far from the white foamy-mouthy edge of the beach. Shapes that shift slightly before disappearing like little black horizons. I'd run further down to the edge of the cliff. Each time, running out further until one more step means turning myself into a siren for the waves below.

The spyglass would be in one hand, almost brand new except for where my fingers wore the bronze down. The full moon, wherever it glows in the sky, would reflect itself as a road towards the magnificent creatures.

My heart would lurch at their sight and tumble when they're gone, one eye more sore than the other. This would happen all the time and just when I thought I'd gotten used to feeling lost when a shape dips below the surface, I feel more lost when I see them. 

Looking at things I want to keep. Creatures that must be free. But for a second, they're mine, before they're gone. Nothing changes in that moment and I have everything. My eyesight, my boots, my whales, my cliff and ocean, and all my wonder, my youth, and my want.

By some lucky hand, I'd never be cold, no matter how windy it would be. As long as my feet are warm, I'm warm and as long as my feet are heavy, I am rooted where I am. At least, until another whale sighting. I would let my hair blow against my face. My eyes would be sore from staring, blinking only when it would need to, and no one would call me to return inside. 

They've gotten used to pretending I'm well where I am.

I'd wonder what keeps me rooted in a different spot on the cliff every night. Perhaps each spot makes the foamy teethy whites of the ocean closer or farther. Each spot makes my curtain fly differently. Perhaps I want to see all perspectives from the edges of my world and grip my curtain cloth like wings.

Suddenly, I hear it. 

My imagination would fill the spots when I don't see the whales. Images of warm liquid gold running down the tip of my head, over my silver dress, down my arms, belly, and thighs, to the floor. The shocked gazes of anyone who opens my front doors. I look too bright to be anybody's in my imagination, but I'll always want to be the friend you loved, even if I'm swallowed up. Even if I changed after rising from my dive.

But I hear it. The wind blows harder and I hear the laughter of the women I loved. At the jokes I used to make. Because I was that person.

I was the person that made the jokes, made the effort, made the last-minute plans, made half the conversation and asked for more. I was the one that was always gone and always came back. Once, I laughed, I said, weightlessly, like a whale. To be so vast and almost always more than anybody's imagination. Weightlessly moving in every shape, everywhere. 

No longer on the edge of cliffs.

Once, I never waited for things to happen.

I want to be all mine again.

I don't want to look at whales until the sun rises. Eyes aching.

Tears I'll never feel, blown away as soon as they rise. 

Hands gripping at the same places on the same spyglass.

I don't want to be the ghost that you've always known, always seen, when you've closed your eyes, then woke up in the middle of the night, and looked out the window above your bed, only to see me.

The one you've seen, every night. Different places on the same cliff. 

A shape you're familiar with, and you can't stop staring at, because it makes you feel haunted. That you might know me and you could do nothing about it.

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

oh my GOSH okay, this was an atmospheric read ummmm IM OKAY. I PROMISE.

This whale-watching thing was not supposed to be so spooky, but wELP, I went all in. Heh. :)

Maybe there is a version of me out there, sadly watching whales and never touchin' them. Maybe there is a version of you out there that sleeps every night in a house right above the ocean. 

My mom says I stay up too late writing nonsensical things that are even MORE nonsensical when Google-translated hot off the press into Vietnamese.

Alas, cheers to me, and my future home-owning self. Hopefully, I do own a home, next to friends. Or down the street from one. Hopefully, I always make friends where I live and never have to haunt anyone. :P

how Cape Cod lost all its whales

I want to look at you and not feel fear. 

For in your eyes, I am not replaceable. The first and last of my kind. 

Hold your too-good-to-be-trues. 

I am more real than life. 

Yet I am cowardly. Any glint in my eyes when I see the generous way you handle others, any strategic placement of my hands on the table right after you've asked a sincere question about myself, any laugh that turned into a cackle at your conversation, I perform. My back to the edge of the cliff.

I'm still bruising over.

Like the incarnations of our breaths on the first snow day and the steel of the library gates on your way out, my hands are cold and my heart is frozen over, waiting to survive what might be one last winter. And I'll never do it. I dare not hope beyond the last point I broke at.

Everyone starts to feel the same. Or rather, I feel the same. I learn the same lessons. I drag them out, knowing what they are. I relive them all again like a ghost on the top of the stairs, waiting for you to come home, to spook you, and watch your back as you run away. Catching only the echo of your last "arghhhhh", on your way out.

I can't have it any other way.

So why... I'm about to ask you why. I think you anticipated it. 

"Why did you choose me?" Why do you spend time with me? Why do you even like me? Why do you want me to share this mediocre steak with and stay with me all night even if I didn't let you kiss me? 

Why haven't you left by now? 

"I mean, why me?"

Your answer will only cure my fears for a weeknight, before I overthink.

Because I-- I overly want this. And when I do, things go overly wrong. Things end. Cape Cod loses all its whales. All libraries shut down and all ghosts of this physical world take a physical form and have legal rights to go to court and be the key witnesses of their own deaths.

But you're thoughtful. You're kind. It's only ever the 5th time I've done this. You are --

Where the first becomes a third becomes a fifth becomes a sort-of-commitment. 

We sit there and promise each other nothing. The steak bones on our plates are cooling. The napkin on your lap lifts gently. I don't want to be too happy that I find you sweet. And possibly good for my health.

"Why you?" you repeat. You look thoughtfully above my head. You look quickly down at your hands, one hand holding your napkin gently. "You're---" 

And you list it all so easily. It's your ease. A part of me wants to find a way off the cliff early and call you guilty. Tell you you're wrong. Call you a liar. A fraud. 

That this dinner -- 

I smile back at you. I make sure to show my teeth and fold the corners of my eyes up. I make sure to cover my mouth at some point as I smile. I lean forward, letting some hair slip out from behind my ear. And I thank you. "For answering this silly question of mine."

You remind me how good it is to adore someone easily. And earnestly. 

And I probably remind you of what an insecure soul feels like.

I only wished I could feel half as good about myself, alone, than having to be here, feeling like I have to be adored to be any good.

With ease, you wipe lightly the corner of my mouth with your napkin, before leaning back. And looking as if you're changing your mind about something, you lean back in and brush my slip of hair behind my ear. A little smile paints your face. 

My ankles don't know where to go and my breaths still feel cold. If we continue this, with my ankles and knees as fearful as they are, I fear Cape Cod will lose all its whales.

Too bad that, I only know I will feel safe wherever you're going. 

You look like you know what you're doing. You look like you know what you want and why. And you look like you want me.

So I must be onto something.

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

I wrote this poem not to reflect my present self haha. I wrote it from the perspective of my earlier youth, years ago. Back when I was a lot more inexperienced with dating. How I didn't feel all too good about myself and yet still went on dates to try to feel better. 

It obviously never worked. To love yourself through others. 

But I was reminded of how I should love myself. And that the stability I kept searching for in these romantic getaways would never be the same as the moment it clicked within. In my bouts of solitude but especially my amazing memories with friends and mentors, I developed this keen sense of who I wanted to be and why.

And that is enough, if I didn't already know who I already was.

To all the meals I've had with good men, I thank you.

To all the moments I've had with people who loved me and moments of solitude, I thank you. For allowing me to hug myself as tightly as I've always wanted to be held.

Ngoc's Musics (as of May 20, 2021, Ngoc's Vault)

My top favorite songs right now~!

[on May 20, 2021] End of sophomore year. I have a hunch I older me wanted to go into detail why I liked each song but uh, future me won't do that ha. ;D 

I hope you'll enjoy if you end up listenin' :P

Playlist:

1) Wendy - When This Rain Stops

Comforting. Wendy's strong vocals and the piano. Nothing else is needed. And the lyrics. 

2) NCT127 - Sit Down

3) Taylor Swift - Willow

4) Keshi - Drunk

5) Kim Jung Hyun - Like the First Snow

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

Episode 94: May your universe be found

There's no antidote to emptiness. That's what I thought. I've been trying to save myself over and over again this past half year. And maybe I've found it.

This is the story of how I found my antidote.

The days grow monotonous. Getting out of bed... that zest for life gone. 

On one of those slow afternoons where I escaped into sleep again, I dreamt a wild dream. My Buddhist master appeared in it. He's never been in my dreams before.

"2 minutes, I want to speak with you privately back there later," he spoke as he walked away. 

Time passed. One of his disciples walked with me to the entrance covered in fabric. 

His sharp eyes met mine. Words hit me. As they always do. They always do. 

"Your sister will succeed in her own way. She is meant for different rooms. You are meant for different rooms. Her success and yours are not to be compared. You are getting prepared for something different. Even what you like is different. What might excite you does not excite her...and ask: When you feel worthless...,where do you put value in yourself? Make a list. Of things you like about yourself if you must start there. But where is your value?"

I forgot the rest and that was the last afternoon I slept like that ever haha. Spiritual wake up call T____T, but I kept mulling over his question. Where do I put value in myself?

The answer came quite quickly.

I was cleaning and tidying the house, as always. It's my favorite hour of the day ha. I would end up cold-calling a friend or two after, because dang, it's scary whenever I realize I haven't said one word in 4-6 hours. Freakin. That's what staying at home does to ya. :(

But whenever I get on the phone, it's game over. That's when I hear myself again. The fuller, rambunctious truth of me. Out and about, silly like gout, and cackly like Dr. Pepper bubbles. Bubbly like the drink, sweet like the sugar in it. And every friend brings out something different in me.

No matter what though, it's how I end calls that matter. You never know when it might be your last. Heck, we might reconnect 2 weeks or 2 months from now. I always feel this need to tell you when we're about to leave, "I love you, my friend." My favorite words.

The instant smile it gives me to say it each time. And mean it. It's the most beautiful feeling in the world.

My Buddhist master also once said, "People won't remember what you say, but they will remember how you made them feel." Maya Angelou also said that. :P

So that's been my mission ever since. Create a feeling that I feel deep inside myself -- bring it out to the universe. Put it between my friend and me. That instant feeling of belonging in something sacred and real. It's like creating a home, a universe. It's hard to forget the universe.

Even at my lowest, I still cold call. I still want to make you laugh and tell you I love you.

Where does any of that energy come from? Even when I feel like I have nothing left in me to give? I barely have any good news to share sometimes and yet it comes out naturally, too easily -- the love left in me. Or maybe the last hope I have in myself.

So my value... when I have neither job, money, a proper 60-second elevator pitch, when do I still feel most aligned?

I feel my most purposeful, true, and beautiful when I can show my love. When I know that I've loved well and know that even you can’t doubt i do.

I want to love and love well dam it.

Ivanna said it perfectly. "So you've found your purpose, Ngoc. It's to love."

Several things I've learned since and during my sadnesses...

The first is, the most valuable things you can give are things you give when you feel like.. you  have nothing.

The second is, when you feel like shit. Perhaps purpose-less and lost. What is something that you have that won't change no matter what happens in the material world? What is something that gives you hope, energizes you, and is pure on its own?

For me, it's love and showing my love. :)

And dear reader, if you're reading this and sharing a similar bout of sorts with your fellow Ngoc here, I sincerely hope that you know how loved you are. How wanted you are. That you are worthy of all the goodness of the world and deserving of every happiness meant for you, coming for you, and belonging to you. 

In your search for your own reality, may you also always search for the good and beautiful in yourself. Because there is no greater universe than the greatness already living in you. Cheesy fuckery, all these words. 

If you're the kind of person to live through the fight on your own and tell nobody until it's done, then I hope you'll also know that even in your own sadnesses, you are worthy. Worthy of every goodness. Arrived or arriving soon. You are worthy of it all. I've said this twice for good reason haha. :) And of course, you are beautiful. There's no need to run anywhere. There's no need to introduce yourself. 

It's only time to feel one with yourself. What is left when there's nothing left? A unique question you have access to, in this difficult time... welp. 

And I'm sorry too. That it's so difficult. On you of all people, like a freak accident. This makes me think of what my Buddhist master said in my dream, "We're all being prepared for different rooms." 

Maybe... I don't know. Maybe it is, maybe it isn't a part of the process, but it would be untruthful to say that I've never found an answer after falling deep. Finding that reason for the fall and any reason that gives me the confidence and self-compassion to stay slightly hopeful and feel deserving-- it's a painful but worthy process to me.

And returning to master's words, may your room be beautiful, my friend. Your worth is certainly not determined by opportunities coming your way or defined by the trail you’ve left behind -- rather there must be something within you that exists on its own. And exists because you’re you. And it’s it.

The answers you're preparing for. The feelings you have about yourself. The unchanged truths within you. 

May your universe be found, my friend. 

With love, hope, even a tinge of sadness, but hey let's rein in that dope ass hope, it's your girl, 

Ngoc

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Oh my gosh, my blog episodes have not been very happy lately, have they? My bad and MY LORD. MY LORDIE. Something happened in the last half year where I disappeared slowly and started to do more prose poetry and hecked into it. Here I am. 

A full episode. I can't believe I'm at 94. In 10th grade, when I finally started to take this blog more seriously, my goal was to reach episode 100. I remember wondering who I'd be by episode 100. 

I also still wonder... who would I be? By 100? 

A bigger miss bean. hehe ;D

I just hope I'm not emanating toxic positivity then. That I mean it. ;)

new year fickleness

I don't want to be fickle. Writing down whatever dreams I have in my little notebook and then forgetting what and where they are. Walking the graduation stage and then walking home. Going out dancing Friday night only to come home feeling empty again. Faking how light my shoulders and life are on the dance floor... except I've carried everything up until that door. Affording the $10 cover fee like I'm not jobless.

I don't want to be loud and then disappearing, like thunder. I don't want to be so bright and oh-so-gone, like lightning. 

I am exhausted by it. By change. 

I just want to be a slow song.

The forever season. The rest, like forever rain.

The train that visits me every 2 AM. The face that changes around the eyes while the gaze stays the same. 

I want to be the gaze.

But I do still want to dance. I just want to dance honestly. 

As honest as my gaze. 

My sister and friends can feel and see it I bet. A constant whole inside me that if anyone ever mentions a topic too close to it, I start to feel unsteady. I'm smart though. I'll force out two or three sentences that resets their gazes elsewhere. 

Inside, my eyes pop out tears like daisies.

There's a crumbling mess of attempts to sustain my mouth and belly. Sustain all the pits I have. My stomach pit. My heart pit. My mind pit. 

The only time I feel sane is when I pray. How vulnerable I am. How fragile and futile all the attempts I've made for myself not to cry all the time. For if I am as honest as the type of dancing I'd like to partake in, the kind of dance that is as wicked as it is slow, as gentle as my own kisses on the back of my hands, the truth is that the skin around my pinky knuckles has all dried up.

I keep moisturizing and moisturizing but they keep drying. Never not. I come back to where I come from.

The emptiness. The home I left. For the dance I had. And to the home I left.

The home I left. For the friends I made. And to the home I left.

I'm such a bummer for this New Year. Ahhhh I'm so sorry.

And it's unfortunate. Things didn't turn out well. I'm stubborn. And that exacerbates everything haha. 

I'm still hopeful. But even my hope is fickle, always wavering like candlelight. 

I'm afraid of sending out emails now. Like, what the heck? 

For if I am honest, I am unwell.

For if I am honest, I don't want to be here, caught in a torturous wave. Tormented by constant constant hope only made to wash away. I am more fragile than I thought, and ah, I hate that as well.