Episode 105: I don't want to waste breath

Warning: Hard read. Violence. Bad thoughts.

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I didn't foresee running out of the house today. On the most peaceful, unsuspecting Sunday. But maybe I should have known. That's how things are here. I knew this when I came back. Sundays are when the worst things happen. But hey, I'll be back shortly, in a week or two. Things cool off. Back when things cooled off, and I didn't have a car, it was harder then.

This time, I can run whenever I want. And I know exactly where to this time.

All I know is I do my best. I always do my best. I will tell it like it is. I'll leave the worst details out. This blog was never intended to be a sad brain dump, and never will be. 

So for all purposes, I will stick to the facts best I can. Heck, I've even got cute Korean music in the background.

Dad likes to be driven out to Asiantown on Sunday mornings for the weekly South Vietnamese veterans flag-raising ceremony. He meets old friends. His name is mentioned on the microphone. He grins bigger. He sits with a cigarette and a makeshift walking cane, when I pushed him to use my rainbow umbrella as a cane for now. He always forgets his cane, and by extension, I do too. :(

For the full 2 hours, I find shade to sit in. I call a friend or two. I start processing a couple post cards. I buy tasty Viet snacks to bring home. I help the others set up the flags. I chat with people on the edges of the events. A friend of my dad's recognizes me, and implores me to take 2 of his homegrown squashes, out of his plastic bag. Another man knows I'm Loc's daughter.

Loc, the same guy who has several police reports under his name for starting fights in the past few years. 

In a dream 3 months ago, my grandmother directly communicated with my mother, "He is a car without brakes." And like a wisp, she left. I can imagine she feels like a warm person. I hope my grandmother is a warm person, because most of her children suck. Egotistical. Comparative. Bad gossips. Old randown shows. Anyways. T__T

The same words, "a car without brakes", I would repeat to myself so I don't react in any way. I could just keep things at teeth level. Not a facial expression. Just teeth grinding together inside. I must have done this enough times that 2 dentists recommended a night guard. I remind myself these very words whenever he shows me the first signs of resentment. Whenever he stirs my stomach with cruel words. About anyone I know. About myself. That's where it lightly starts, before he claims I must hate him for not taking him to the highly popular dimsum place after the 2-hour flag raising ceremony, and when he does this while I'm driving us at 65 mph on 59-S, he self-escalates.

A fist to the window. A struggle with the door to jump out. Or three words, "Drop me off."

It's funny because, once, I so desperately wanted to be torn open by the highway. I forget why now, but I was factually 15. In the passenger's seat. I wanted to rip open his truck door, roll out in one motion, and be so scraped up by the concrete, so scraped up that people can see the uneven open, meaty gashes. There wouldn't even be skin left. I wanted to look like a nightmare. Be living proof that he can't look away from, how cruel he is. Scars that prove it.

But I know deep down, he'd just scoff. And make some hearty response at my torn up body, how fucking stupid I am.

If I hadn't gone to Smith and met wonderful, sweet people. If I hadn't gone to DeBakey HS and met sweet folks there too. If I hadn't been so loved in Ohio, or wherever else -- I'm sure I wouldn't be as stable as I did today.

I really was there today, waiting for my Dad patiently. Conversing. Being a part of. I never rushed him, unlike the way he used to. I never rushed him today.

When he was ready, I was ready. I bought him banh tet with the pork filling. I bought myself a banh bao. "Let's eat dim sum," he said.

"Let's." 

"That place we went to last time."

"No, that place is too crowded. I know a better place with less people. A crowd gives me a headache."

"Okay," he agreed.

So we get there in the parking lot. He gives it one glance. "I don't like this view. You're bringing me to a Chinese place. I'm not eating here."

"But it's really good. And we've been here before."

"I don't want it. You can go in but I'll stay in the car." Things were calm.

"Then we're leaving," I say in disbelief. Pulling out of the plaza and driving straight home. I had a long morning so I took a nap.

I woke up to my Mum storming my room in tears.

"He's threatening to burn the house down. I've been trying to cook but I've been shaking, Ngoc. He said he's poured a tank of gasoline in the garage. He's going to burn this house down. Did you not take him out to lunch today, Ngoc??"

What the heck.

My mother was panicking, and angry and sad and shivering. God, a ghost would make her shake that way, but he makes her shake harder. And fucking hell. All of this started from him not wanting to eat at a place that didn't fit him. I truly couldn't deal with that stupid dim sum place he wanted, with the 30 minute wait. I'd already done lots in the heat that morning. God, I was so tired. We had driven home peacefully. Nothing happened in the car. 

"What kind of daughter doesn't take her father out to eat?" he would last ask me.

"What kind of daughter spends all of her Sunday morning and noon to take her father out?" I retorted.

It really all started when he didn't get his way, on one thing. On one tiny stupid thing, related to his fucking cravings. Related to his mouth. 

Everything starts at his mouth. Or maybe his sick brain. Bad thoughts make bad actions. Good thoughts make good actions, I learned, at my last Wednesday meditation.

That's the thing with my Dad. 

You can pour every good thing into him, go out of your way all FUCKING DAY FOR HIM. 

All fucking day. You can run yourself ragged doing every good thing for him, doing nothing for yourself. Maybe he finds you resting for 5 minutes on your butt and he'd find something else you can do for him. It's never fucking enough. It's never fucking ever, ever enough. Every second of your life is his. 

And if you do one thing, or say one thing, or not do one thing, or not say one thing that he wanted, he'll cling onto that one thing like a broken clock. 2:09 PM every second of the day.

Everything he wants he gets, or it's a living hell for everyone else. The threat of losing our lives. All the time.

My mother is shaking from the threat of the gasoline tank somewhere she can't see. "Maybe he's really poured already. I got to find it." I stop her. 

She was shaking and I held her close. I patted her hair and that's all I saw, this small little lady who's tried to balance everything. Every living threat still a wound on her body, all from one man. 

"We have to leave, right now," I tell her. "He can burn this house down if he wants to. If he wants a divorce, let's."

I can't believe we're still here, afraid of losing our lives, afraid of losing our house, our cars, important personal documents in a fire. That he made, because I didn't please him with my dim sum place choice.

Fuck, it's a famous dim sum place. It just happens to not be crowded. What the actual fuck.

"A car without brakes."

A fire doesn't have brakes either.

I used to see red whenever he took things this far. I remember throwing lots of things at the ground behind him, but never at him. 

I remember being so angry at how easily he treats us, like food in the fridge that could spoil at any time. Ready to be tossed out. Our lives are there to please him.

To feed him. To take him out to wherever he wants. He never asks how we are. Truly, a second of a break is a second he could have. A meal that we made, he would leave nothing left for anyone else. It's all his. If he sees it, he's not sharing. 

You can pour every good intention to being a part of his life, but it's all absorbed, like a bank after I'm dead.

It is a meaningless life, I feel, loving a black hole like him. Any step out of line, and his tail wraps around me, biting at every slight thing he remembers I did today or years ago. 

But I can't run away from how I feel. Of course, I love him. 

But my poor mother. He is a blackhole she can't escape.

"Grandma wasn't around to teach you anything. You didn't have a father, Mom, and yet, still, you're so patient, so kind, so sweet, so true to someone who doesn't deserve it. No one raised you Mom, you raised yourself and god, you are so beautiful. You are such a gem. You are such a gem. I want to protect you. Let's please leave. Let's leave and let's go somewhere we can sleep without fear. Please. Mom."

And so we do. 

And I'm driving. I'm running away.

It's not like the time I ran away when I was 12 and I disappeared at a park. My mother drove over, crying when she found me on a swing. 

We ran away back in July again, when he threatened to kill himself in front of my sister and I with his shotgun, because I didn't have the fucking energy left to drive him out to Asiantown, when he wanted to go. He really did bring out his shotgun. We pulled out of the driveway just in time.

Yen ran away again, on her own, when he forgot to turn off the fire in our house and we must have all had carbon monoxide poisoning. Because dang, my brain and heart felt so weird then. 

There are so many wounds in my family, you know? So many wounds on my sweet, poor mother. So many wounds on Yen. Poor fucking Yen, who has panic attacks whenever there's a raised voice. She was born in the sweetest way, so giving and loving and believing and for someone to take all of that from her. 

I can never forgive you for doing that to her. 

I can never forgive you for threatening our lives, all of our life, for the slightest thing. 

I can never forgive you for hurting Mum over and over again in all the ways you can cut a woman down to a smaller part than before. You fucking did that to her.

I can never forgive you for all the gashes I have but can't see on myself, until I'm in some sweet man's arms and can't believe it when he tells me he cares about me or if his mood changes even slightly, I almost believe it's all my fault. I almost believe it. I live on a precipice, a cliff along the angry ocean all the time, with my friendships. I fear I'll lose anyone at any second if I say or do something wrong. 

I'm afraid of being the reason I lose everything in a second. But we all know that's a lie now.

I can't lose something that didn't want to be there in the first place.

So that's how I've held everything. That's how I've seen the world.

So I've ran away tonight. In my own car. I'll be back. 

I know I'll be back. Give it a week. I'll be back, taking out his trash, digging out all the wrong things he put into the recycling bin into the right trash bin. I'll be back to mow his lawn.

In a week, I could talk to him again. Pretend like he didn't just want to kill us all again. 

So that's what I'm coming back to. I do have a night guard now. That helps. 

I'm just a really little bean tonight and Monday is tomorrow and I have to go to work and pretend nothing like this happened. It's just us and everything else. Tonight, I truly feel so small you can't possibly cut me down further.

How can I let myself feel this way? When none of it is my fault? How can I, with 25 years of this exact experience, still cry over this? It's not like it hasn't happened before. It's not like it won't happen again.

It'll happen again. And I'll be fine again after. 

I'm afraid, I really am, of losing everything I have in a fire. I don't want to die in a fire either caused by a mad man.

My mom doesn't deserve it. Welp.

So we ran tonight, and when he saw my packed suitcase, he realized too late how much I meant that, "I really see you for what you are, Dad. A pit of trying to fulfill his every need, his every happiness, his every craving. You are the main character in your story and until you're happy and satiated, no one else can take care of anything else but you first. You must have everything you want or you'd threaten to burn our house down. Well then, you'll certainly live a very long life doing that, focused on filling every craving you have. Fill up that mouth. I can't believe you're your Dad's son and your Mom's son, because you have not an ounce of any kindness and thoughtfulness and selflessness that you claimed they must have had."

I didn't tell him I was leaving. I just left. I don't want to waste breath.

Episode 104: Dramathic

100 years are vanishing like snakes. 

    I place my hand on the cool car glass and then, I'm there, to the time when time didn't vanish.

100 years are vibrating through a hot coil. A circular shape heating the universe or someone's car.

    But it is a mere 100 years. I won't even make it to know what's beyond

    a pond or a lake. 

100 years and my name will be deleted from all financial institutions. The banks will swallow my debts.

    "What's left over, is absorbed?" I asked the teller. He nods, "Yes, any amount over what you paid today will go to your next bill." 

    I look down at the ground. "I see."

    I'm being dramatic haha. I'm being dramaticccccc.

    Dramathicc.

    I'm turning 25 soon and I'M BEING DRAMATHICCC HELPPP.

    I feel it you know? Time slipping?!

    It's just 25, boo hoo, but dang what the heck. Where has the time gone ever since, well, ever since?!

    EVER?!

    I'm not panicking, I'm simply feeling it all run like sand. Some ice engineer, idk what that is, told me ice is the best insulator. Well fuck that, because I feel like I'm just CONDUCTING. Heat, all the damn time.

    Heat, the moment I got home. The moment I saw that evening skyline, my heart leaped. And I've been running. I've been running my Subaru ragged, all across Houston every day, at the whim of family and needs ever since I got back from Ohio. My poor Bean. That's her racially insensitive name because she's green and kinda a smaller SUV, so Bean felt right. I'm not right too often, so I take pride in this. And also, my favorite word, haha.

Anyways, I got what I wanted, coming home right when I caught momentum. I got my family back. Now, my Sundays aren't filled with a long silence between making the bed and making a quiet breakfast. Now, my Sundays, heck all my mornings, have a thud at my door, from my dog's snout hitting it hard to open it. And once Lucky makes it through, he goes for my toes, nibbles, and licks, and paws on the bed. I don't have a choice and in mere seconds, I am out of bed. I start my day sooo quick. Not checking my phone. Just dog. Oh, Lucky. And honestly, look at me still being scared of being in my own head too long, haha. >-<

    Ohio seems like a story that happened to somebody else. Which is the silliest damn thing. Isn't it? Am I a newborn with no sense of object permanence? Just because I'm not in Ohio doesn't mean Ohio doesn't exist. T__T But ohhhh, does Ohio exist. Ohio is fucking real. 

    It was all, so so so real. 

    Don't deny it, Ngoc.

    It's Sunday night, in my childhood room again. Yes. I'm going to re-decorate this. And YES, of course, I'm going to add in my signature Christmas lights. And yes, I'll make sure all my dresses are color-coded.

    25. What does that even mean?! What did 24 even mean!?

    I want to take bigger risks this time around. I want to find my people. I want to make tons of new friends in Houston this time around. Slowburn, so be it. I did it at Smith. I did it in Ohio. I can do it again. I want to find my Sangha in Houston. The first time around, when I borrowed my family's car and snooped around like a little biatch -- THAT is a story that happened to somebody else, because poor me, poor thing, was a very tiny miss bean. Now, I'm a bigger miss bean. 

    BIGGER. BIG. LARGE. YES.

    When Bean merged from I-10 to I-45 and hopped right into the city, that skyline, at the tail end of my road trip. Oh my god. That skyline. Is kinda crazy. That was when I knew, like a crossbow to my heart. A cupid KO shot. Dang it. Fuck. Houston is real. Houston is so, so real.

    This was the city I left for other dreams. This was the city I left, to do what I thought I could never do.

    This was the city I left, like a test I had to pass. No one told me to pass anything. Perhaps, in your eyes, I was a mad woman too stubborn to turn around. 70 mph on the highway. 80 mph in my heart, until I could figure out the next thing.

    I once cried in someone's car, feeling the weight of it all. The weight of a yes, that I stubbornly made happen. Stubborn like the dragon I was born as. Stubborn and silly and stupid and crazy and wrong. It was hard to explain and be vulnerable then and confess under the weight of a Houston night, "There's no other choice I have! There's no other choice! It doesn't make sense, that it's me, or you, or anyone, but there's no choice."

    Does that make it right? Looking back? Was Ohio right, in the end?

    There was never even a hurricane to ruin my life here, yet I left stubbornly. Only to come to Ohio and be afraid to open all personal mail. :I

    Even I can't believe it, but I drove the full 20 hours back home. I did! My little sister was my cold noodle passenger princess. Every stop from Ohio to Texas was for Korean food, the search for the best cold noodle. LMAO. LMAOOO. I know. T__T

    And you know what? The best cold noodle was in Columbus, Ohio. Of all the places. It was in Ohio.

    I joked last time that all roads lead to Ohio. I think I was onto something then.

    But fuck.

    25. How darling. What a darling number.

    I will look back one day and admit that I wish I was 25 and awkward and wrong all the dang time again (gosh, I'm always wrong, about everything), and spontaneous and always perking up when I heard the word "pistachio"-flavored anything and so so so wrong, again and again. Today, as I turn 25, the actual 25, I am bleeding glitter, like Taylor Swift's "Anti-Hero" MV. Exactly that.

    That effin' MV is how I actually feel, about all of this.

    And gosh, they're getting married!!!!!! TAYVIS IS REAL. End game with a man whose hand envelopes the entire wine glass and who actually is in awe of her and all the big words she uses. How fucking perfect. <3 GOSH. I just want her to be happy already. Can't we all be happy already?

    My life has spun into an unexpected pre-ending this August 2025.

    I'll have not one, but two jobs. Happening at the same time.

    I know. I am doing the crazy shit.

    And I'll attend Wednesday meditations like a little miss bean. I'll volunteer my time. I'll take care of Lucky and Dad and Mum. I'll call my friends. I'll write them letters and stamp them with my manatee stamps. I'll get my bad ankle to be a good ankle. I'll play soccer again. I'll do it all. I'll find time to even, like Claudia, who inspires me every single fucking day to be better, do better, my gosh she is such a beautiful creature inside and out, MY GOSH! That's MY FRIEND! MY FUCKING FRIEND OMG!!!!  I'll find time to even re-decorate and re-garden my beautiful little home. The very home I keep leaving, again and again. For college. For study abroad. For internships. For Ohio. 

    Hello home. 

    As I turn 25, maybe that's all that it is. I'm greeting my home peacefully. No one can take this third job from me.

    I promise to take care of the home I have. I promise to protect the home I have. And all the people and beautiful creatures that live in it, except for the rats and roaches. :I And of course, I promise to take good care of myself. 

    I promise to find people who uplift and inspire me. Who rejuvenate my energy, my spirit, my heart, and my ideas. I promise to never forget my dreams and what they mean. I promise to never forget how it feels to even work tangentially to policymaking. I promise to never forget how it feels to say the word, "Love."

    I love Love. I'll always love, Love. I love Love. So much.

    May I glance into every mirror and whisper and believe it at the same time that "wow, I am beautiful indeed."

    I'm going to escape into bed soon and read the dystopian, sad-ass Handmaid's Tale. 

    25, and wrong about everything.

    25 and dramathic.

August rawr rawr - goodbye Ohio

My goodbye ode to Ohio. :)

This is a voice memo from August 8th, with just 2 days left to pack and return to Houston, and the biggest scatter of things in my kitchen still. These were my final thoughts, then, as I strolled along my empty apartment and leaned long against that double sink, staring at my vine plant. My mind touched on everything that I ever cared about in Marietta.

In voice form. Ah. Click Here.

Such a long goodbye. Such a warm stay. A sweetness lingers still, today.

There are shapes that haunt me still and people I miss dearly, and there will always be a version of me that risks it all, all over again, just to prove myself right forever, for the second time.

That I can, and I will.

Pinkston

I'm not a Mom yet, but I imagine if I was, I'd be better with everyone else's kids than my own. My own wouldn't bother listening to me. They'd pull me into one of their long-winded arguments and know I'd end up saying yes anyways.

"Yes! Fine! I'm getting you Chick-Fil-A, dang it!"

I can hear us in the car now. The evening sky a dusty orange-rose, everything else blue. It would feel like deja vu, the same sky that a certain Michelle Pinkston and I drove under, somewhere in Vienna, WV, long ago, before I started my career and suddenly moved back to Houston. Before I really took care of their grandfather and truly lived it up in Houston. Before I fell in love with their Dad and became their Mom. And how could I say no to those chubby cheeks and chubby fists? 

I'm not even in that future, because tonight? Tonight, I rode along in Michelle Pinkston's car for a matinee showing of the Fantastic 4. She picked me up and dropped me home because yes, my car is still in the body shop. :( Now the movie was sooo good. Michelle has 2 grand-children and they are the cutest. They fight the way my little sister and I used to fight and just overhearing them, made me laugh hard. as. hell. It was too much of Yen and I.

The younger one, "Oh my god, did you step out there barefoot??"

The older one responded, "Yes."

"But there are so many diseases out there!"

The older one didn't hesitate, "YOU'RE a disease."

"Oh!"

And I laughed so, so hard in the front seat. Oh. My. Gosh, repeating softly as if I had been the one to say it, "you're a disease..." T___T

How did Yen and I ever mellow out to who we are today, because she and I were too much back then. We fought all the time, talked all the time. We were too much. All we wanted was to be good in front of strangers, but in private, I was a mean older sister too. T__T It made me adore Yen even more, for dealing with me and all my moods. For being persistent and persistently warm. >-< And always wanting to braid my hair ahh.

Sigh. Oh gosh. 

Anyways, this isn't really an episode. It won't be. It's just a vibe, that I have tonight.

Michelle is soft-spoken, incredibly patient. Incredibly kind woman, who sincerely spends lots of lovely money on her grandchildren and her kids. She isn't fully appreciated, but she is a stellar grandmother. Unable to say no to those darn grandkids and I get it. I'd have a hard time saying no to them too.

I just want a childhood to feel like a childhood, you know? Where everything feels easy, even when it's not. When your mother suddenly has an inspiration to buy clip-on jewelry from the 99 cent store when you're 6, so you can look all magical at a family's wedding, in the middle of the night, at 10 pm. 

I remember the late night drives back from Bellaire, with my Dad in the drivers' seat, no matter how drunk. Taking the wheel, and always convincing my mother that he's not too drunk, that in fact, the alcohol is making him even more alert. My little self believed all of it. 

I always felt safe, even with him drunk-driving. But he didn't lie. He never swerved, never sped up, never drove too slow when drunk. It was a perfect medium.

There's something so lovely being a passenger, not the driver haha, at night. That's when I feel like my mind's opened up. That's when I feel transported to that sweet time when everything still felt safe, when I felt like a small bean.

Perhaps that's why I always insist to my dates, even when yes, I do love to drive that I love being passenger princess. It reminds me of that time, when I didn't have to be big bean yet. When I could just hold onto an arm and curl up and make it home safe. Of course, I'm not going to trust just any nice guy. I want to trust the right one.

Tonight wasn't exactly that, because I prodded Michelle with questions. Prodded the little girls in the backseat enjoying their post-movie Chick-Fil-A. I kept their minds alive in the dark. 

"Can you hear us back there girls?" I asked.

"No, Grandma, can you speak louder? I want to hear about your car accidents too."

Awww. 

And so Michelle spoke about all the supernatural car accidents she's been in. Her body bore the brunt of 3 big ones. 

A supernatural one, included, where bumper-to-bumper traffic disappeared the moment her car started to spin 360 across 3 lanes. And yes, traffic disappeared at exactly that moment, and when she stopped spinning, her car stopped into a perfect parallel park alongside the highway. She hit no cars... at all. All the way down an incline. When she started pedaling, the traffic returned as if it had always been there, as if cars could disappear and come back. At exactly the moment you need them to. 

Gosh.

She was meant to live, but not just that. 

Michelle Pinkston is unconditionally loved by such great powers.

An unconditional love. A truly unconditional love so great, they had power of intervention.

I kept calling her a liar, just to make fun, but it was all serious what this story means to her.

I think we each have our own stories you know? The ones that remind us how loved we are. How seen we are, by the powers that be or by the ones we don't see but love us far too great.

The stories that remind us that we are not forgotten. We are important. Our life means absolutely everything. And so does our joy. She is so selfless, with abundant love in her body. And I always feel so seen. So confirmed that she would never judge me, would always think positively of me, and is a rock to all around her.

She is a pillar. And she is a person. And she is a Pinkston.

I prayed to her, in that car ride, sometime in the middle of it, that she make it out to Alaska one day. I wished that she could see the aurora borealis someday. I wished there was a gift she can gift herself to celebrate such a beautiful life with. As hard as I wished that I can swim alongside the whales one day, I wished quietly, that she sees Alaska. 

Episode 103: That's Ngoc

Our new class of PDAs joined us more than a month ago. 

For context, I'm a PDA too haha: a professional development associate. A year-long fellowship/internship program where I shadow all aspects of banking and pursue my own projects. The goal has been a permanent placement. It's been the loveliest time. It really has. I've met so many kinds of people. I've hit most of the Appalachian territories in my little green Subaru, heard so many stories of the white struggle out here, and really got to actually know and be attached to every individual I've met. I've really changed, as a person, in perspective, in the rear view mirror. I have belonged to no one but myself this past year. 

I'm not even your girl. 

Professionally? Dang, this girl has been nothing but a hit in every department she's rotated in. Nothing but a hit. I am adored. The word is "adored" and I feel it so deeply, you know? I'm not even an accountant, but our accounting team has really hugged me into their group. Every project I've helped on has been met with positive feedback, alike as it is in Risk Management, and alike as it is in Project Management. I've been a... what you call... "value add". Aheh.

I didn't get there easily. It's one thing to get a job and do it well and introduce yourself, shake everyone's hands and have people smile back. It's another to get to the level of walking into a room, without introducing myself, and everyone already knows who I am, and what I'm about, and how much they see me on their team already.

It's truly another worldly feeling.

I really didn't get here easily. And I know, I know I'm leaving for Houston in 2 weeks time. It hasn't hit me yet, but I am. I know that I've built up so much momentum for myself only to leave at my highest point. 

I'm not even at the dinner table, but Jana, my friend from Risk, overheard her Chief of Risk inquiring what my post-PDA plans are, if I'm still considering Risk? That I'm very bright and could be on any team. :) And yeah... Saundra had to break the news to him. :( I feel bad for making Saundra my bearer of bad news.

I learned that my friend from accounting, who happens to be Senior VP of Accounting, really vouched for my name in a remote opportunity with our Leasing line of business. An opportunity where I can work from Texas. Even if it didn't work out in the end, now I understand what she meant when she said she was working on something for me... Gosh. I just wanna hug her. I just wanna hug her lots.

I learned that the pickleball club I started has its own momentum of people who want it to live. People who are looking for indoor courts so that we don't have to be dependent on sun and rain anymore. People who are looking for a new leader and are sad I'm leaving too. :(

I came to work today, with a lunch plan scheduled by the accounting team, who never come in, haha, besides the end of a quarter or a bank audit. But they came in for me. Bearing gifts. Bearing the most perfect gifts, and the most perfect good-bye card, one that made me... cry. :(

Oh, Elizabeth. Gosh, Elizabeth. Thank you for letting me get to know you and care about you so much. So, so much.

I learned that Items Processing, haha, a team that I really just vibe with so hard are now the biggest supporters of pickleball, haha. I will never stop laughing about that. I will never stop loving that. The most outgoing people, you'd never know it. We are having a good-bye Wednesday dinner this week at my favorite restaurant in town. Gosh. I just want to... I just want to burst.

I learned that, well, my car! My car is getting back to me in time! I called them every day for a week and a half now, and that's gotten me... a lot of good results. Jeremy IS THE BEST. PIONEER COLLISION CENTER for the win. <3 It will come back to me nice and new for next week, for my move out of Ohio. GOSH. GOSH. I am... blown away. Everything is working out. Everything. Absolutely everything that I can think of.

Socially, I am abundant. It's the truest of truths. I am deeply in love with the abundant love in my life from people who used to be strangers, and who all love me now in all their truest forms. And who all want to actually get to know me.

Sushi all-you-can-eat-dinner and a theatre show with Austin and Kelly again. The night was warm, the little lights hanging from streetlight to streetlight once we left the theatre in fits of giggles, the way the air was scented with some specie of purple flower, and the way I felt so hugged by my emerald thigh-slit dress-- a part of me will always feel so beautiful, so stunning, somewhere in Parkersburg, West Virginia.

Socially, I didn't get here easily. When I started as a PDA, the PDAs that came before me never offered to do any joint things and any outings/plans made felt exclusive to the ones who already knew each other. I was getting accustomed to seeing pictures of the gatherings, not knowing where or when they had happened. Besides Gino, Ben, and a handful of others, the most important ones I should be getting along with felt like a wall, which is harsh, I know. But, it was hard to come from a traditionally all-women's college and feel feelings I never really had before, specifically with other gals. I really was so used to a sister-culture at Smith. Is it crazy? It felt like I was welcoming them to the PDA program, despite coming in later.

I remember the one-worded responses to my open-ended questions. I remember it was 90% me initiating, I did my best guys, I did my best.

At some point, as I was making friends in other departments, and then I remembered, "Dang, I'm very love-able, actually. Even a nail salon customer mailed me flowers all the way from Texas to my Ohio doorstep. >-<" So, from those realizations, and from trial and error, I pulled away the way they had, even if it was the moment they met me when they did so.

But the new PDAs, our new class just got here over a month ago. And they're all so sweet. Brock, Jordan, and Isaac. They're really all so kind to each other and I could feel how equal their energy exchanges were, each excitedly connecting about the next thing, and the next thing. Gino left earlier on, so as a-still-there PDA, I really did my best to make a welcoming atmosphere and truly get to know them. What brought them here? What do they like? To do? And why? And we'd vibe plenty, and if there's anything to do in town, I let them know.

I wanted them to know that I really cared about how they feel and help them ease into their first weeks here. 

Today, we left trivia, and the other older PDAs, from my class, couldn't make it. But the new PDAs, especially the ones that lived an hour away each, made it to Marietta for trivia. So our small little group vibed through the whole thing.

It would be my last time to see some of them. It really would.

At the end of the night, Brock kindly turned to me and said it was very nice getting to know me. That I would succeed no matter where I was.

And Jordan said something similar, that he felt so welcomed by my presence. That knowing I would also be in the office made him feel at ease.

Awww-- these babies!!

I think I did my job best I can, you know? I didn't have the best welcome coming here. I struggled with feeling like I belonged, but it was never about me. 

All I can do is make sure no one feels the way I did, as someone completely new to town, who knew not a soul, I never want someone to feel like they don't belong. I want them to feel good about themselves, and feel like, they're perfectly enough.

Because it's true too, you know?

Everyone is enough. Everyone is whole. And if you're hurting, it's okay. But I hope you'll always know that I care and that I care deeply about you and your success. It all means a lot to me.

And I'm here, if you ever need a little safety to fall on.

:) That's me. ^-^

That's the Ngoc that I've become for others here. It is in my design. And it makes me feel... so whole to know that I have enough energy to feed others and never feel like I'm drained.

Love is still the one thing that I can give away and still have more of. Love is always the answer.

Professionally, haha. Yes! Professionally.

And socially.

And spiritually. :) 

That's me! That's Ngoc haha. ^-^

this will be short

I left aquatic zumba, a little drippy, a strong sent of chlorine all over me. No bra, just dress, just towel, just one glow bracelet and one glow necklace on me. I felt like a little girl that just left a pool party. 

Well, yes, that's what it was. A pool party. Pitbull, latin music, Bruno Mars, that's how you know. 

I locked the car, the left bumper still damaged and seen even in the dark, and it's night. It was 10:30 PM, getting home.

I stood still in the middle of the red brick road, between my car and the curb, looking up at the sky. I felt my lips part, opening slightly in awe as I took in everything, absolutely everything around me. I felt like I was bleeding through time. I use the word bleeding a lot but my mind was rushing through time, as I stood still on that hill, like the first deer I ever saw that stood in the exact same spot. Perhaps the same deer that ate Maeghen's flowers. Or the same deer that ate everyone else's flowers. So I stood still, on this red bricked hill, and breathed through that nostalgic feeling. I remembered that it looked just like that, that darkness, those crickets, the tall grass, the stars, the same uneven cement steps, the duplex I rented, I remembered the pit in my belly that it was, "Oh, it is this. This is what I have to start my life with." It looked just as scenic as this the first time I arrived. I remembered the bags and bags in the car. I stared longer at the street corner where Sixth met Tupper St, and remembered what it was like to finally discover I could park my car overnight next to the cemetery, and how slow and sad my first walks home from work were. My ankle was less stiff back then than it is today. I had a boyfriend then whom made the trip with me and dropped me off. Jorge was probably as confused as I was, why I ever left Houston when he saw the sight, and was probably timing when was the best day to leave me. Maybe let himself care only enough about me, but not too much. Maybe let his mind wander to the colleague that called him at midnight, of all times in a day to call, and about whom, to me, when caught, he brushed off too easily. I never believed him when he said he felt nothing of her, not in the way her name often rested in his mouth. The gut feeling I had never changed. If any of those feelings stayed, and they did, then we were doomed. So with stupid feelings like that and a homesickness that lingered everywhere, I started from zero. I had no friends in town. I had no plans in town. 

I held a winter alone.

As I breathed in the heartbreak of that first nostalgia, I took in the crickets. Gosh, they're loud. And the stars are still there, bright as always. As many as I remember the first night, or that first winter, or that night I got back from the drag circus show haha with Maeghen and Austin and we laughed all the way home as I dropped them off, or the Halloween trick-or-treating night with little Sabrina before she could walk, or the night I crawled back to bed after pickleball and smiled myself into the sheets for being such a big girl and hosting a crowd, or at Enit's, where he didn't hold me for long but was warm regardless, or calling Yen or Ivanna or Elise late, late into the night, losing track of time as we got lost in each other's drama. That's what a night looks like in Marietta.

And I took it in. Gosh. I've come so far, truly. After seeing Cindy and Hannah tonight, another spontaneous plan. Their laughter tonight. Pitbull and Bruno Mars and Ariana Grande still pulsing through my little body, it wasn't the club. It wasn't anything like that. It was a little blip of time, where the sunset reverberated across a spray of clouds above, right above that beautiful pool, that I'll remember. I'll remember the way Cindy and Hannah looked at me, so kindly. So happily. The three of us softly teasing each other into giggles. I will remember tonight, like any other night. 

I'll remember Boondocks in McConnelsville. That mac and cheese hamburger scrambling to stay a burger. Jessica's beautiful smile across the table as I shared silly Houston stories. The same smile I put on Jing whenever I admitted that guns do feel like home, especially hearing them for New Years Eve, Christmas, and July 4th. An AK being an AK for the holidays was the one time it could be an AK. That's my hot take. Shove me out the door now. 

Ah, and my landlord and I. My landlord and I. She is a sweet woman. The best of the best. Creme of the creme. Kindest of the kind.

I am thankfully, not the blindest of the blind. #Lasik.

This whole little random bit that's not really even a blog episode feels like I wrote this after chugging my expired Chocolatini. But no. I didn't drink it tonight. And it's expired because I left it in the Subaru too long and only realized I probably forgot it for too long because I left work, only to see in a vast parking lot FULL of cars, at least 15 dragonflies swarmed ONLY my car. I managed to scramble through their fast, circling aggressive flight patterns to get in. And drive fast. But fuck, one dragonfly managed to chase me all the way to Star of India. And yeah. That's how I knew I fucked up.

I won't even drink it tomorrow night. I only drink if it's a chance to see Jana at the bar or tell Enit that he's too damn easy to read and that no, I won't go to Red Lobster with him even if the new CEO is hot, because I don't fuck with crawfish. Or lobsters. I'm sorry.

And Jana! Gosh. A break feels like a REAL break with Jana at work. She's my actual work friend. She makes me laugh alll the damn time. ALL THE DANG TIME. This woman is so charming, even when her little emotion's sign says she's probably "Exhausted". It's crazy. And when you have a work friend that's sitting across your boss BOSS at some obscure good-bye dinner for some lady, repping you up? Crazy. Fucking crazy. Jana is my goat. The goat. She picked me up from the body shop and took me to work with her because I am baby girl. I can be baby girl with Ms. Jana. I can be soft bean. 

I am tired. I AM TIRED of the lack of chances to be baby girl lately. It is PHENOMENALLY EXHAUSTING to be responsible all the time. I just want to be chased out of work and yelled at for not being baby girl enough. ENOUGH. 

Tell no one, but the moment I get home, I don't even take off my ankle brace. I turn the AC on high. I flick on my lights, and fall face down into bed with the room all bright, so I don't fall asleep at 5 and ruin my sleep schedule. My face buried into my blanket. Breathing is near impossible, and I swear, I could feel time be easy on me. I could feel all the tension melting into my sheets and running away. I could feel my eyeballs massaged by the pressure of the pillow I chose to fall on.

So guys, I'm still standing at the top of this hill. I'm still there, where that deer last was. I'm still reflecting. Follow me, will you?

I haven't gone anywhere, as I reflect how...

wow. I started with nobody. And in my mentoring call today, I told this incredibly established individual, this amazing woman, something I'm so proud about, "I knew not a soul coming into this town, into this great State of Ohio, but... now I'm leaving it with at least one hundred people who actually know me and care about me. That's how things have been like out here. :)"

I do. 

Rick, my favorite mailman, always asks me in third person, with that glint in his eye. Despite the fact that he ought to be retired, he lightly pitter patters everywhere across our bank providing mail. He always asks me in third person, looking on kindly "How is Ngoc doing today?"

If Rick happened to send me mail at that exact moment, at 10:30 PM on a Friday night, walking past me with his little mail cart, polite and cordial and wholesome, I'd answer him softly that, "I never would have expected to feel so full tonight. So, so whole. So deserving of every person who now cares about me. I feel like a very sweet little lady tonight, Rick. Stay out of trouble, too, little man."

So I climbed up those steps. Dodged the crazy fat bugs zipping in the tall grass. The chlorine on my body lingered, layering the flower-tea-ish scent of a cool summer night. 

This is all that I have, everything that I have, here in Marietta Ohio, to be very brief with you.

Episode 102: Postcard from Me

I can't write it all down. Not on a postcard. But if I could, I'd tell you about how it felt to make a "Bpah!" every time I hit the pickleball, in an unofficial beginner's league that I started here in Marietta. 

I made too many promises across my bank not to. I was too angsty, needed a Thursday evening plan too much, not to send the email out. Jana was my automatic duo, her easy, free-flying optimism and she were both my right hand. I'd tell you how much I smile to play alongside her, our energies connecting fluidly. 

I'd tell you how damn good it feels to yell profanities at my colleagues, in a public park.

I felt light as a bird saying "Fuck!" and "Shit!" and "Crap!" every time I missed a ball, right in front of the Risk Officer herself or whoever else was lucky enough to have gotten a ball past me.

I'd tell you about the way my ankle would cooperate, only swelling after the game, not during. For that, I'm grateful. 

I'd tell you about how everyone in Marietta enables my shenanigans. I wanted to name us the "Pebo Pickles" and everyone was immediately on board. I've created such a beginner-friendly club. People of all ages across our bank are joining. From the little lady that crawls under the table haha in Items Processing, to my friend Ben who always air guns me, to possibly, the Chief of Risk himself who emails me immediately if he can or can't make it. 

I've caught a couple Pebo Pokemons.

I wish I could fit into the same postcard Elizabeth, my friend in Accounting, and how much she believes in me. She calls me brilliant and hard-working and tells me I'm beautiful. And how clever she is, piecing together every idea that crosses my mind seriously. Like a little thought advisor. She happens to be the SVP of Accounting and it makes all the more sense. 

I want to write about the crazy time I discovered that my favorite online pilates instructor had a new athleisure line only available in Target. The nearest one to Marietta was 1.5 hours away and in Elizabeth's town, so in exactly 5 minutes, I texted miss ma'am and hatched a real plan to visit her home and get my ass carpooled to Target. 

I want to write about how freaking beautiful that whole day with Elizabeth was, from meeting her 3-year-old son who was the darn cutest and made me want to have a baby, haha. I kept saying, "awwww" in my head, to arriving at Target and realizing that none of the athleisure line was actually in store. I'd have saved a crazy 1.5-hour trip to Lancaster had I checked the Target app, but I'm glad my constant airheadedness led me to Elizabeth, into her car, into that TJ Maxx, trying on cute sunglasses until we each found a new pair.

In the same postcard, I'd tell you about how Jana almost didn't join our 2nd pickleball meet one afternoon. I felt her man. It was really hot that day. With just 2 hours before the club meet, she was the only duo that I wanted to play with. I told her gently but firmly, "We have somewhere to go. Let's get... a refresher from All Pro. Mhm, we're gonna do this. Let's go."

For all the little initial complaints Jana had about the heat, the moment her peach refresher got in her system, she was a new lady.

"Maybe... it's not too bad to go to pickleball today after all..." she looked at me slyly. I grinned. Pickleball wouldn't be the same without her, my favorite hooman.

I'd tell you about the tasty burgers that Kelly's family made that Sunday evening. I spontaneously drove over to her place after she kindly invited me and there, I met her husband's little sister, who was a rockstar at Mario. I felt bad about it after, but after noticing how her boyfriend didn't do shit for her while she limped around the house getting herself things, I put her little boyfriend on the spot when I asked him what his favorite things about her were, since they've been together for 1.5 years now. 

And he answered, "I like that she shares the same religion as I do. And that she'd make a great Mom."

The girl is 16.

I let the entire room guffaw at his answer and learned my own lesson maybe not do that again, but also, gosh, what the heck. That was supposed to be an easy question?!

I'd want to tell you about the delicious peach cobbler ice cream that quickly melted and ran down my hand. I licked most of it while gazing at the big yonder, the Ohio river, while Maeghen and her little girl, Sabrina, were with me. We talked about court systems and baby mama things and witchcraft. They're all connected, that's all I can tell you. And I can tell you, pushing a baby during peak shopping hours, got us a lot of warm attention. I tried to get Sabrina to interact with the other babies but this girl did not care about anybody elseee. She only cared about the scooter that some little boy skid past us on. 

I'd tell you about how much Elizabeth likes deep, dark rap. It threw me off, since she lived in such an isolated, scenic little place in Ohio. Never underestimate a pretty white lady in her 30s.

I'd tell you about my attempt at book binding. Gosh, don't remind me about my attempt at book binding.

I'd tell you about the big dent in my rear bumper. 

I'd tell you about how I hit an ambulance. Exhibit A: reason I have said-dent.

It was an ambulance on its way to the hospital too ;(. I'd know, because I've been to that hospital. And I'd know I was hit, because I was there, accelerating at the last possible second and got hit perfectly in the space between my left rear door and the left back light. The light still worked. The bumper flaps, unfortunately. Currently, two almost-melted rubber bands hold it together. I fucked up. I know.

The nice lady at the Autoparts store recommended duct tape instead. Thank goodness though, that all engine tests are green and passing; there was not one serious issue. Of course(!) my Little Bean passes her tests. I just... god I'm such a fucking idiot for hitting an ambulance. Little Bean has taken such such good care of me and I really messed her up. :( It's the almost-equivalent feeling of having my own dog ran over. Preventable.

I'd tell you about the really kind officer who wrote me off as a failure to yield. I remember imagining the ticket to be 1000 dollars or something, for hitting an emergency vehicle. :I

I'd tell you about how Jana brought me to the correct courthouse, since she used to work there, when I told her about paying for my ticket haha. We played mini-golf with her friend, the Judge, and I bet against him that, "If I make this hole right here? Can you waive my ticket, Judge?"

"We'll see," he answered calmly. Jana laughed.

I made the hole, and he said, "No." :(

Thank god it only came to $222. :D

I'd tell you about my lunches at Huck's with Jana. We'd take the window seat so we could people watch and they'd watch us too. I'd tell her all about the crazy shenanigans I get into at the Sunday trivia nights at our local bar. I told her about the rowdy man, who despite already having his own date, kept staring at me even when I sat behind him. Despite his drunken state, he had the gall to walk up to Austin, Kelly, and I, and advertise his friend who was drinking alone at the bar. He had the same amount of stupidity when he couldn't answer the simple question Austin asked, "wait, is the woman next to you, your date?"

He extra-pretended to be drunk. And when I repeated Austin's question for her, he leaned really close to my face, his eyes widened, a little too hungry about me speaking up. I repeated the question yet again. He leaned in closer. And he still couldn't answer. And again, maybe I shouldn't have, but I saw how his date instantly answered the question for herself, "shit, I'm nothing to you, aren't I?"

And when he realized he fucked up, or maybe in his head, that we fucked up his night, he looked both angry and lost at me. "See what you've done? I need a... I need a... here, shake my mind. At least shake my hand," while his date stood behind him, already needing to leave. I didn't shake his hand. My mind scrambled for a way to save myself tonight. With the trivia pen still in my hand, that moments ago I had commented how cute it was to everyone, I reluctantly sacrificed it to him. "How about this pen?" I asked. He slyly slid it behind his ear, "you know what, I'll take it." And left. A huge sigh of relief when he was gone. That he didn't take the same pen and stab me with it.

In the same postcard, I'd tell you about taking myself out on Tuesday evenings to matinee hour and watching How to Train Your Dragon and The Materialists. I cried in both. They were so incredible in their own ways and god, how much I love the way the seats deeply reclined. I was practically 150 degrees. I'd remove my boots and fold my knees up to my chest, a self-hug while I watched the big screen. Tuesdays are for hugging myself at the movies.

I'd tell you about my July 4th weekend in Houston. How my Dad asked me to drive him everywhere now that he couldn't. How happy I felt to be the family's taxi driver and hiding the very fact, the entire time, that just 2 weeks prior, I hit an ambulance. No one knows to this day, except Yen. And... Ivanna. And... Elise. And... a lot of people at work. 

After asking Gina, my former supervisor on a big project, if now that she knows I've hit an ambulance, if her thoughts on me have changed, she quickly laughed and nodded, "Nope, of course not, haha." I breathed a huge sigh of relief.

I'd tell you about how awesome I was when a total stranger infiltrated our pickleball group seamlessly. The young man looked sweet but took pickleball too seriously. He was clearly much more experienced than our beginner group, returning the balls really hard at our Day Ones. And he spent too much time explaining the rules to my friends/colleagues. 2 people left because of him. :( I noticed and called for a huddle, talked over possible new locations to play pickleball in, and turned to the young man, "I saw how you play. I think you've definitely played much longer than us here. The more experienced league is over there. We have many beginners here, so we're not a good match to your level. I think it's best you join the experienced league, but I'm glad you could join us briefly today." I offered a fist bump to the young man. He returned it and walked away calmly.

I remember feeling my pickleball group breathe a sigh of relief and everyone lightening up. And how at the very end of our pickleball time together, I could feel everyone see me in a different light.

I think to everyone, I'm a very bubbly, happy-go-lucky person, but in that moment, as things started to feel uncertain and uneasy all because of one person, they saw me step up. They saw the unleashed, hardened version of me, the one that's dealt with some shit, some kind of customer-facing shit, some kind of urgent-level shit, you know? My eyes were on the back of the gentleman leaving, but I felt everyone's eyes on me, just shocked. Ben looked at me wide-eyed, "Wow, that was really good customer service, Ngoc. Crazy." I grinned. 

So that afternoon, I unleashed my own version of a bite.

Because of pickleball, I have another definition to add to the word "leader". 

You protect, by making the hard decisions, all on the spot sometimes. You say the things that need to be said so that you can protect the peace.

I felt very proud of myself then as we all left happily, our last games felt light and I felt so connected with everyone, after we did our little chant, "On 1, 2, 3, go Pebo Pickles!" I felt comforted knowing that I really did have it in me to stand up to anybody, at any time. And that's the best feeling ever.

I'd tell you too about my flight back to Houston for July 4th weekend, when I was stopped at Cleveland TSA. I had bought 4 big bags of coffee and TSA scanned my bags, removed all my coffee, and started opening every single one. Even opening and leaving my suitcase wide open. They said I had dangerous ass things in the coffee bags, ingredients that would make a bomb, so they must go. I stayed there and said I'd like to see them re-test the coffee bags, because no way. No way.

They refused, especially the black officer who got so instantly frustrated with me, so hugely angry at me, for simply asking for a retest and that I'd like to see it. And that I'd like the exact reason for my coffee being confiscated.

He said, "No. No re-dos. That's the policy." And when I questioned his policy, he was like my Dad, instantly angry, instantly loud. Everyone could see me calmly receiving the end of it. I hated how unjustifiably loud and angry he was at me, for questioning the system that didn't let my small-town coffee beans through. 

"Young lady. You are on my last nerve," when I simply asked the singular, simple question of wanting to see them re-test. "I need a witness! You, TSA officer over here, come here. Witness how I'm telling this young lady no re-dos. That the computer found something and she can't take it in with her."

I asked him right back, "What do you think are in my coffee beans then? Why is it being held back? What did the computer say?"

He shot back at me roughly, "What do you think is in your coffee beans? YOU bought them, didn't you?" The whites of his eyes shot wide.

They had no grounds, not even an inkling of why they were held back for, except for the system raising a flag. They had already opened every bag of my delicious Ohio coffee that were meant for family and friends. I felt like tearing up, but I didn't. 

I've been through worse before. Someone on the outside would have seen how I didn't falter. How calm I was with the angry man, disproportionately angry to my questioning. I was a bug under his shoe, that's how it felt like. My panties and bras were in slight display, after they dug through everything I had. It felt so violating already. 

He gave me two options. Like a bitch that he was.

And I stood up, "I'm leaving the TSA line. It's for my family. They're gifts."

So I left the TSA line, limping away on my bad ankle, again, it's still bad. It sucks. I hated that day. And I checked my bag instead. And then it was all green from there, but still, little moments like that when I can deal with authority so calmly, my heart as smooth as silk, my heartbeat speeding up, but my mind rolling on, like a wave. 

Maybe it's a gift you know? Having already seen some of the worst already in my life, so that I can be out in the world and blink at the same rate. And still breathe okay, and self-soothe quickly, and take nothing personally. And get back to homeostasis quickly. I'm good at taking injustice, because it's a reflection of him, not me. So his anger was his and not mine to keep. 

This postcard is getting really long. 

Some of the last things I want to add are that, I also call my friends from Singapore. And because of me, we're going to start a real letter-writing chain. The 6 of us. Me, Neha, Naina, Garima, Nicholas, and Ian. All across the world, 4 different countries. The US, India, Singapore, and S. Korea. :)

It's going to be the best.

And another thing is, I'm scheming how to celebrate my 25th birthday. 

Quarter-life birthday. 

What to do. 

And another thing is, I'm moving back home to Houston, permanently. My family needs me, more than ever before. And my heart needs them back. We have a puppy. We have a Dad who's very sad. We have a very hardworking Mum. I need to be home to help put pieces together. We can't continue on as this disjointed family. This isn't the vision I had for us. And my joys are with them, even as I grow new joys. So you're probably wondering, why didn't I do this sooner? 

It wasn't the right time then. I still wanted to believe in my original bets. I still wanted to end up in Washington, DC. I love DC. I love that city still, but my compass has changed. I'm more sure than ever before. With or without a job lined up, I'm coming home. I've saved up enough. I'm still young. I'm capable. I'm really really smart. Like, really, really smart. And I'm someone you want to work with. 

I think those are more than enough reasons to bet on myself. No one else will, but I will.

There's enough proof in the way that people see me, speak of me, my reputation at the bank, so much so that the Gina of Peoples Bank, told my Chief of Staff, "Of all the Development Associates, I want to work with Ngoc the most."

And when Scott from Learning and Development, a much older gentleman who must be one of the most most pure of men, said under his breath, as I left his hometown, "A lot of PDAs I've seen, but you're my favorite Ngoc."

And to both Gina and Scott, I smiled. I don't have to be the favorite to be happy here, but it means something when people think so kindly of me. 

:) 

It means a lot to me, as I take on the next uncertain chapter of my life. 

Like the uncertainty of a Trump tariff, but also like the the certainty of TACO, I ease on, unafraid. Back to Houston. Back to family. Back to my roots. I'm a Houstonian for god's sake. I'm a little miss bean, yet I've driven on these Ohioian and West-Virginian hills enough times now to see how my richer my life has been when this non-linear timeline brought such sweet people into my life. Such sweet plans. Such sweet memories and exchanges of adult friendships and colleagues.

I'll never forget this past, life-changing year that I spent growing many beautiful things, out of nothing.

I'm a magician, you know? Because I feel it. I am loved. I am very loved. I am remembered. And I am adored, here in this small town. Gosh, what a gift it is for such things, such feelings, such memories to grow in my garden.

But August is almost upon us. Houston is almost here. The 20-hour drive back is wholly mine this time.

"Marietta. Ngoc and friends. Pickleball. Trivia. Elizabeth. Jana. Austin. Kelly. Cayla. Maeghen. Sabrina. PDAs. New lippie. Sips. Ambulance. Bar Man. Trump tariffs. Work. Car insurance. July 4th. No whales to be found. Waterpark. Huck's. Refreshers. Baby mama. August. Houston." On a postcard, maybe that's what I'll write for the months of June and July.

midnight

My heart beats faster, whenever he dips me. His tougher, experienced hands, guide me through it. A bachata. And then a salsa. And I can't stop smiling, as he twirls me again and again, gazing on me softly.

The little hairs on his hard, bare chest. Midnight skin, under my tannish hand. The sight of it makes me want to pause and just, stare, but I don't. I don't want to stop. 

With a slight tug of his hand, I know to spin to him.

A gentle press on my back. I should press my chest against his. 

A smile against my hair means I stay there.

And we sway. As if we've known each other for much longer. And maybe that's true, in some other life, but in this life, it's our dance. And all dances end. 

Prince Royce plays on and I'm cheek to chest with a gentle bean. A soft bean. A tough bean.

And I feel like a princess, when he dips me. His arms, as thick as his neck, bulging under a tattoo that laces around and around, are dependable. I trust them, so I let myself dip so completely. And just as I suspected, he catches me steadily, as I "yelp". I swear I almost...

His cocky grin hovers close above my face. Nose to nose. A tease, and my breath hitches. 

"You didn't think I could handle you, huh?" he asks, smirking, after pulling me close again.

I mumble into his chest something about being a thick Vietnamese bean, about really putting my weight into that one, about how much of a little ass man he was--

He's had enough. 

"Let's see what I can do," and he makes me really yelp this time, picking me up and spinning with me in his arms, bridal style.

His beard tickles my chest and I laugh whole-heartedly.

This is what it means to be a princess.

The rest of the evening, I found him kissing my forehead and making me cry all over his chest, when he recounted the story of towns that flooded and drowned Black residents overnight. "Families gone. Just like that. People hated black excellence back then."

More injustice to cry about. Agh. 

Agh. The Christmas lights on my curtain cast a dewy glow on his face. His chest. His mind.

There, I am lost in all the stories of American history, written and re-written and re-packaged and at some point, we find some kind of truth in it together. And we twist away quickly when we realize that-- shit. 

Is it already midnight?

Is it already, truly? 

Midnight is when we make sure you make it home. Midnight is when I kiss you good-bye on my stairs, in my little Asian pajamas.

Midnight is when I have all of myself again. My body still remembering how incredible it was to dance bachata again with a good leader. God, you move your shoulders like you've partied all your life. You dance sooo good, you make me smile like a kid. And you're so smart, yet so arrogant. Agh. So cocky to a fault, knowing how good you look walking into any party, any social. And you're right. You do.

Despite your silliness to a fault, I'm glad I met you.

To dance the way that I love to dance felt like muscle memory. Like a poem that someone is writing for me, somewhere in his corporate or blue-collared job somewhere in America. As if he's speaking to me through all the boys I've loved before.

He's probably whispering out there, somewhere at midnight, "Little lady, I'm coming for you. You better hold yourself together. You better be ready when we meet. Game over."

For now, I hold my midnights in little places. I hold myself at midnights mostly. I try not to lose myself in all this social dancing. I just wonder, if you're out there, and you're going through your own things right now. Maybe you're out tonight, enjoying several High Noons with the boys, while I'm out here, calling my girlfriends and giving them free virtual tarot card readings. 

Maybe you're ready to throw me into the truck and drive us out to see the Milky Way galaxy. Finally.

Maybe you're ready to cry with me about all the history of social injustice in America and the world. Pressing a thumb to my cheek and catching one, before pulling me to your chest while I sob forever about something I just read.

Maybe you're going to send me letters and flowers, no matter where I am in the world, simply because you missed me and my voice. I hope you do. >-<

This poem isn't about young woman empowerment. This poem isn't about being Miss Independent, I'm sorryyyyyy T__T, because...

midnight is for feeling romantic and reminding someone out there that I'm soft bean. :)

Episode 101: farmer's market, cash only

I suspected as such, today. There are not going to be a lot of people with sophisticated merchant service machines. Not here, not at Marietta's weekly Saturday farmer's market. 

These are mainly farmers, creators, makers, selling out of their trucks. Why would they let some merchant service provider charge them 10% for their $3.00 beet plant? Or on their $5.00 handmade German silver bracelet, that I bought two of? Because dang, the story of his grandma wearing it into the bath all the time and not seeing a change to it, just about took me out. 

As you can tell, I love stories. Gosh, I adore stories. I'll take about anything. 

Austin and Kelly and I finally met outside of our Sunday trivias. I was a teeny late, running up to them with Korean coconut and pistachio popsicles. I was so sure they'd survive the light Marietta heat. It was only 73 after all. No way would they...

"melted, Ngoc. I think so, because it's kinda goopy, unless you're supposed to um, drink this ice cream?" Austin asked me, while she squeezed the popsicle bag. Kelly did too, and finally, I did. We laughed and were disappointed we couldn't eat it after all, but alas, "um, let's get Sips then. :)"

With coffee in hand, the three of us explored each stall excitedly. We started at 10 AM. 

And somehow, left each other hugging around 4:00 PM. 

I think when you meet good people, you know very early on if you could accompany them for 6 hours straight. And with these good beans, I did just that. All of 6 hours, it was pure wholesomeness. 

Dear new adult friendships, 

you feel sweet too. 

Thank gosh.

Kelly knew a little about just everything. She walked around the entire market as if her side bag didn't weigh at least 15 pounds. And maybe it's because of how distinctive she is, a tall dark pixie wearing a bright yellow shirt, "You're my favorite human", that I feel so drawn and curious all those months ago. She's so warm and darn sweet. And Austin has just about every reply ready in the book. She's so empathetic and fun, with her whimsical bags, whimsical shoe choices-- she is a fully developed bundle of positive energy. Pure. 

And here I am, just as wholesome bean (when I wanna be ;D). Pulling us into all the shops. Being the last to make decisions, "Seated inside, please!". Starting conversations with each vendor at the market, taking pictures with the vendors themselves. I was a bit chaotic, in a good way I think. :)

When you mix all three of us together, gosh we are so sweet to each other. So attentive. I'm usually an anxious person. No, wait, I'm always an anxious person. Calculating every damn thing. "Am I possibly making anyone unhappy or uncomfortable.?" But with the girls today, I felt so much easiness and the true comfort of being silly ol' me.

A characteristic about all my friendships is how kind we are to each other. Just, kindness. Openness. Vulnerability. Listening. Deep listening. And returning to that softness. The hug you do with those that have been vulnerable with you.

How can a relationship deepen if we weren't allowed to be vulnerable? 

I let my guard down all the time nowadays, because the best surprises are ones like today: realizing that it's only been 6 hours and I could see us spending a whole day together.

But everyone's boyfriends started calling them separately by the 4th hour, "Where are you? When are you coming back?" And I wasn't envious of that, only disappointed that we couldn't maybe spend the whole evening together too, but that would be hecking silly haha. Who would walk Murphy, Kelly's dog? And who would put something in the oven other than Austin? 

So after taking turns trying on tiaras in the antique store and glancing at ourselves in the mirror just to recognize how beautiful we were, discovering my new favorite candle shop after hogging the stall for 7 minutes with all my sniffing ;(, learning that Kelly and Austin know too much about mushrooms with the vendor, buying the best homemade lip balm ever in my life made of something called bees and wax, eating lunch for 2 hours in the best restaurant in town with a tiny ass charcuterie board between us, reading a little sign on a vendor's stall that all the wood he used to make the kitchenware came from the trees on his property, feeding a business owner's grey-eyed dog treats limitlessly, realizing that the same business owner was also a psychic tarot card spiritual healer (lol), not buying the beautiful vintage books and then returning to the shop just to get them after lunch, twirling around each other in every store we were in and excitedly picking something cute to show everyone else, and hugging each other sweetly before we separated to our cars.

So with that, Marietta is even more special in my heart.

I saw glimpses of Ivanna in that antique store, her high energy walking all over it, showing me the same dog and asking the business owner if I could give it a treat like she did. And that was 6 months ago. Fast-forward to today, among 2 new friends, we feed the same dog all over again, smiling amongst each other, the way I smiled at Ivanna then.

There are so many time loops aren't there? If you really look for them, they're all there. Happiness returns again and again. Joy never leaves us. It simply reincarnates endlessly if I allow myself to see it. 

This has been the most comforting fact of it all. 

Of getting older, haha. 

There is so much more to say, you know? Like how the people of Marietta are so earnest. They try to give you the best price they know, at a farmer's market. 

They give you stories of how that item came to be and all the advice on how to take care of what you bought. They are the PhDs of their fields.

It makes my heart smile so much, seeing all the creativity and hard efforts that people put into their businesses, on a street blocked off in front of CVS. They sit patiently, watch people pass by, and when the opportunity is there to share with someone like me, someone whom doesn't know any better, they do. And they do so, so brightly. So kindly.

My first time at this farmer's market was sooo different from today.

That means.... things have certainly changed. I've earned all this easiness, you know? I've earned the good company I was with, you know? I've earned--

and that's not the point. But it certainly took a lot to get me to this joy today.

I did a lot to be here. I did a lot to have this weekend plan be so sweet.

I did a lot yesterday, so I could smile as if I've nothing to worry about today, laugh as if I had air in my belly and my head, and do my little dance-y dance when the band started playing, because I can't stop myself when the music starts.

My white romper swirled around me while I moved and Austin and Kelly nodded along to the beat, and that was where I was, with the green chandeliers above us in that restaurant and the band right before us, when I felt myself breathe so softly and my little smile, so honest.

Wildfire Everywhere

Friends, family. Even family. :I

A poem I once wrote about a man I loved, in early 2023, back at Smith. Gosh, the surprise, right? How does a girl fall in love with a man while going to a traditionally all-women's college? Sigh.

I really am just running through my unpublished poems and publishing them. There are many that I simply don't like enough to edit properly and finish. But there are some that stand out, despite the test of time. Oh gosh, but dang, I was such a hopeless romantic. An intense-ass romantic. Jesus.

I had no chill pill to take back then. Just, every feeling I felt at 22, felt like fire. Anything new would make me vulnerable, and being the free bean that I was, I let my guard down. 

This poem reminds me what it feels like to just BE intense and be obsessed. It's a reminder of how my youth was such an up and such a down. How silly and intense I was and how I don't deviate too far from it today, 2 years later. Crazy right? No more craziness, going forward. 

Future Ngoc, if you're reading this poem again, no more craziness. No more letting feelings overwhelm. Just be a calm, easy, cheesy bean.

He is no longer mine, but

here is: Wildfire Everywhere

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

He caught onto me like wildfire. I burned everywhere.

Even in the middle of a cool night, heat made my toes curl and lips swear

that I can't just be doe-eyed while his fire searched for my blood. 

I lived on a boat alone once, hoping he'd never find me.

But like air, he is everywhere. He knows exactly how to fill our conversations with bubbles. So many bubbles. Is he

another whale swirling around me? 

I could dream up every Taylor Swift song with "golden" in it to remind me of him.

We just met. We're both burning. Every waking hour is an hour I want to touch him.

And his laugh can lull any girl into his calm part of the ocean.

That deep, godly voice. A hunter. Poseidon. Trident beaming. 

My ears yearned to make him laugh again and again, because I swear that's when I drown, somewhere in the Gulf of Mexico. And from his lips, would be a wit that matched mine. A witty remark and he'd make me say "god" with it. Sometimes I'd roll my eyes, sometimes I'd squint just to hear his voice better, maybe see him through the phone separating us.

On him are lips I once wanted. 

On him are eyes I once wished on. 

Features I painted on and painted on until I can't see. 

I can't see the mess in front of me.

The mess of the trees, peoples' homes, their gates and gardens, my only boat sinking,

because it's all wildfire. 

    I can't breathe. 

        Wildfire everywhere and he burns my heart enough

to burn me back into ash soil 

when he's no god

no god of mine.

the first time the lake moved

I left a coconut candle burning on too long

in my clean kitchen, above my clean floors, 

somewhere in Ohio,

a singular wasp is crafting a bulging nest next to the door that I actually want open

out to the outside world.

My Mum once promised that animals have memory, especially wasps,

that if you ruin their homes, they will remember.

It's best not to poke them. But I also learned from Facebook that you could easily remove a wasp nest with gasoline in a jar.  

I just wish it were gone, so that I could open that back door to let the air in.

With the coconut candle still burning, I reached for my father, my phone dialing for his,

and it is with the sun lightly on my back that I hear him pick up.

I've always wondered a specific question. 

A question that I wonder if other daughters ever had,

what if I dated a 52-year-old, as a 24-year-old? 

What would he think? How would he react?

How do I want him to react?

So I lied on the phone, my imagination running quickly, that I was seeing a white man. 52. That he has kids and a late wife. A lawyer. He treats me well. 

My father's initial reaction was "wow, he's much older than you."

Which I retorted quickly with a "but you and mom are 30 years apart. It's just a 28-year difference here, so it's not as bad as you think."

I knew what I was poking for. I knew what I wanted to truly know. It's a mix you know? 

What does he really think about the age gap he has with my mother, and would he treat a similar age gap any differently if it was his own daughter?

I've always wondered, you could say.

He followed up quickly. "It's good he's white at least, but if you were to marry him, he would write off his house to his kids. You'd have nothing."

There was no anger. Not even sadness. He was just calm. I was searching for a drop

to fall into the lake and move it.

How silly I am.

I should have known his reaction, his answer, his hesitations if any, 

would be the very same to

the first time the lake moved.

I once asked him months ago, on the phone,

because when you're a daughter like me to a father like him,

the easiest things to ask are spoken never in person. I'd be too vulnerable.

My face too easy to read and his face too cold to give an answer I'd need

but fuck what I want,

because even as the truth fucks me over, 

the truth still captivates me.

So on the phone, and never in person, I learned that it was a different time back then:

"Girls her age marrying at 23 is actually quite old. Girls matured much earlier back then, because of hard work. Your mother was beautiful."

"I wanted to pursue her, so I asked the district officer what her home address was, and followed her home."

"I wanted to marry the poorest woman in the country. Who had a pretty face. Both, I needed. And that she's close to Buddha."

Maybe what you wanted, I wanted to say, was a pretty retirement plan.

A set-in-stone home health program in the body of a young wife, once your gout is overgrown and once your brain can't decide the difference between a spoon and a fire.

I must give him some credit. 

He's pretty freaking smart.

But the first time the lake moved, 

was when I asked a different question.

"What would you do if you found out my boyfriend hits me?"

The lake was still still. The sun was setting too slowly, giving me enough time 

to examine the surface. This metaphorical surface. Because I ain't been to no lake out here yet.

Where not even a small fish was flipping.

His voice a calm blur, "It's your decision. It's always your decision and I won't get involved. You're old enough to make your own decisions."

And that's when the lake moved.

I didn't know I was waiting all my life to be calm,

believing my father would be kind as long as I was his girl. That there was no

moment's difference between me at 10 and me at 24.

I am now a woman, so I must protect myself? That he won't want to

intervene? 

And that's what this is, isn't it? 

Or is it, by admitting that he would want to do something for me then,

that he should do something about it now?

The art of the deal 

is admitting no wrong.

Rather, it must be my own wrong

if my partner hurts me, because I chose wrong. 

And that you'd never protect me, or fight for me, or be angry for me, --

can you please just be angry for me and grab the gun,

can you want to set his house on fire,

can you please just come and grab my hand,

can you beat him to a pulp the way you beat someone else's husband

when you were 14 and saw a man abusing his wife in the streets?

how are you so capable of protecting strangers,

but be so devilishly, unforgivingly calm when it's about us? about me?

Now that I've learned the truth, I won't forgive you,

but I get it. 

Because needing to do any of that,

means you must do all of it, right now. 

God, the crude awakening

the one I wished I died never understanding 

because now that I do 

see him as the truth; I'll never have the father I imagined.

ambrosia

I never finish a drink because I want to.

The tactile cold of a glass bottle as if something is coming for me, 

no matter what I do, tied to the bar or the dancefloor or the uneven, amused look in your eye.

I'm never giving up feeling that once-in-a-while shot of adulthood.

Or the warm belly dance of empty butterflies that have no flower to land upon.

Ambrosia and the la-la-la-lahhh

Spell the last thing on your mind, I dare you.

Me? It's Bernie Sander's full hour on Fox News 6 years ago. I bet you

thought I'd spell "Houston" or "homesickness" or "mound cemetery in Marietta".

Dang it.

I Barfed and it's Cold

Below is a very very brief excerpt I wrote on April 8th, 2021. What the heck was going on?!

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

I barfed up a bit earlier. A bit earlier was on January 29th. 

I still don't know what made me barf. 

Also, I don't know why I suddenly have this urge to write about barfing. 

I just... hahahaha I JUST DO.

I think it was the rangoons I had. :(

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

5.13.2025.

Future Ngoc here. I think I must have felt toooooo comfortable having a blog when I was 20. Because this is ridiculous hahahaha. ^-^

Episode 100: Abraham Lincoln and the people I met at Waterfront Park

A 4.5 hours drive from me is a little known, bigly known place called Louisville, Kentucky. I pronounced it Luis-ville like a Kentuckian non-native. Abraham Lincoln was probably smirking at me from above.

My team at Pleasureville schooled me while I protested: "It's Low-ul-ville. You're outing yourself so hard right now, Knock." The girls, Lexi and Tabby, commented how the drive must have been really long. Nick hoped the hotel he booked me was up to my standards. I only hoped that I remembered enough of the teller line to be an actual team member.

The moment I walked in and introduced myself to everyone and saw the cozy way our Pleasureville branch looked, I almost couldn't believe there would be a high turn over rate at all. I liked our team already. Tabby, "the cat", I called her. She makes fun of the fact that I don't know why she would go to the creek all the time or why the country folks out here go mudding. "Why do you want to slap mud on yourselves??"

And I make fun of her for not knowing that open mics were a thing. ;( My city-folk thing and her country-road twang.

Lexi knows just about everything, which is why customers call in looking for her. She knows every customer so that I don't have to make someone mad if I ask for their ID. "I have never been ID-ed for the past 30 years, missy!" some of the customers would say. I wouldn't tremble out of fear or cry out of fear, because...

I have Shanara, a truly clever woman. Her first day was Monday this week and already she taught me some new tricks. She taught me to say, "Do you know me sir? Well you don't. And I don't know you either. So I'm going to need some ID to know you for this transaction and we should be good from here. Pronto?"

Shanara, who is literally a movie character out of Top Gun. Damn. SHE FLIES FUCKING PLANES. And whenever she hiccups, I'm the first to bless her. It feels good out here man.

And then there's Nick. Who feels like a girl dad but is actually a boy dad. He's the only male presence in two of the branches he oversees and is a literal angel. He drives a car that looks like it's out of a James Bond movie.

So if you asked me, how I feel being back on the teller line, then I'll have to be honest and say it actually feels really nice to be back.

I've been in back end for a couple weeks now, where I was invited for a second round of Project Management. Then I had a conversation with our Risk team over lunch. A new project only shortly arriving from commercial lending's senior vice president, whom asked for my name specifically. Even Saundra, who's usually happy about everything, expressed full surprise. "Maloney wants you on her team. Did you talk to her or something?"

I actually did not. I have an inkling a commercial banker I met last year or my stint on a bigger project put my name out there just enough for it to be caught in the winds. It helps too, that I'm kinda a cutie patootie. Or, that I really like working with others. I feel like it shows. ^-^ I'm a goodie goodie dang it.

All of that plus a raving Annual review from Saundra herself. I sat there in her office while she shared the perfectly happy news that in the very same week, two different team leads reached out to her, sharing how much they loved me in their rotation. <3

Your girl Ngoc has stolen a heart or two. ;)

I surprised myself with how much I liked our Collections team. Surprised myself with how I keep falling in love, getting attached, to all the people in our footprint: from Buckhannon, West Virginia to Pleasureville, Kentucky. I have truly traveled so much. Gosh, the miles on my Bean. My much reliable bean. And it would feel like taking a first sip of warm soy milk whenever I'm collecting their stories, seeking a great understanding of what's important to each of them and trying to see the little squiggly map of their life while sharing the squiggly map of my life, before I dive into anything specific. 

This journey to understand has brought me so far. I've become an encyclopedia of great attachment to the stories I now have.

People want to be remembered. No matter how briefly I see them that Friday, or how I might only spend one day with you before I must move on, I want to remember you. I truly do. 

Corporate life in small towns or perhaps life in small towns, in 2025, and thank god it's 2025, because that small life do be different minus 50 years from today. Just, the people out here are so, so honest. Above all else, they're so earnest. They don't demand life to bring them what they want. They are willing to start from scratch, no matter where they are in life. A certain Mr. Pingley, and yes, he's my first and probably last Pingley I'll ever meet, he was more than ready to start on the teller line after being 20 years a high paid manager at Lowe's, simply because he wanted more flexibility to be with his family. No job was too small for him. And he's only an example of that earnestness and devotion to family.

The people out here are so humble about their capabilities. They all add a dash of a smile at the end of their sentences, at almost every cash register and point of sale I make. I was called sweetie, darling, and honey back-to-back by a young girl at Lowe's when I was fumbling to find where a certain nail might be. Not only was I embarrassed that I truly had learned so little being my father's daughter, but 15 minutes had passed in the same aisle before I asked for help. I'm stubborn when I'm tired. 

And the little miss ma'am so happily showed me where I needed to be. I left in a literal minute. "Good bye, sweetie."

And these are only glimpses of Ohio. 

Because folks, I'm in Kentucky right now. I'm in Louisville. I'm only an hour away and North from Abraham Lincoln's birthplace, Hodgenville. Louisville. A city that memorializes an apartment that Thomas Edison resided in for only a year. You silly asses. A city with truly the most beautiful view of itself at Waterfront Park. That vast river view and the way the river looks like a million pieces of shape shifting glass. I didn't get to see my own reflection in it, but at night, that same river reflects the light show that the great bridge plays.

On a Monday evening, straight after a wonderful first day of teller line work, I put on my favorite "lilac short skirt. The kind that fits me like skin," quoting the great Taylor Swift. Because yes, I wore the exact skirt there hehe. My little black bag. I went to The Bep, my favorite boba chain in Houston. Yes, I was as surprised as you realizing they had one up here too. Louisville of all places. Sorry for joking about you too much at work. :(

With my strawberry matcha cream in hand and up to the moment when a bug flew right through my hair and made me drop that delicious cup, I had the most beautiful walk.

You know how when you look at something so beautiful, you could tell that you'd miss it later? You don't know when you'll miss it, but you know you certainly will. So you stand still and capture it best you can from as many angles as you can. Like the way Kentucky and Illinois tried to claim Abraham Lincoln, I tried to claim this great American river and these great American bridges for my own. 

The size. The smallness of me. I felt my own small bean-ery. 

I felt all my foolery. Up to that moment. How silly I was, how dare I, to ever make fun of such a city when Houston could never.

Houston, gosh, I love Houston. But we could never do what Louisville was doing to me as Monday evening turned into Monday night and I was still my lone little lady self, in my little skirt, little hair, little purse. 

I was alone, yes. Well, come on, I'm out here. I'm always alone, silly people. 

But I really didn't feel that way. Because to be honest... and I am pretty honest on this blog.

My main goal, besides coming out here to help best I can, was to visit Abraham Lincoln's birthplace. It's such an important memorialized place that even the National Park Service protects it. And so for the 2.5 hours of the 5 hour drive to, not the hotel, but to his birth town, I listened to all things Abraham Lincoln.

And my god, Abraham is my favorite. I said it. He's one of the good ones. 

I will write a separate episode detailing my knowledge bits about Abe. You all will have to supply any missing knowledge hehe. BUT OH MY GOSH, I AM GUSHING. ABE IS THE MOST WHOLESOME GOODEST BEAN. He's the guy you want to root for, regardless of time. There are, of course, white supremacist bits to his story but every other part. Every other part, is mostly good. :)

He was president during the great Civil War after all. How terrible and great that responsibility was, to do all that you can and protect what the founding fathers had created. It was a dark time for this country, and yet I love how there's so many accounts of his funny stories. The kind he'd tell to his cabinet members and make them laugh. Uplifting their spirits. The kind he'd tell to any and all who made the pilgrimage and visited the White House. He made time every day to at least see and hear from a group of guests what's important to them and share with them a silly story. He hardly left DC but stories about what kind of leader he was spread far and wide.

His voice wasn't deep. I always read that most famous Gettysburg Address, imagining a deep voice bellowing it out to the masses. But no, his voice was higher pitched and nasally. "NASALLY?!" Yes. 

In fact, this specific combination helped amplify his volume. It was easier for folks to understand and hear him. Oh, Abe. And he must have also been the most depressed president in our U.S. history too. He lost two sons. His mother died when he was young. And his first love died when she was 22. He's just seen so much death. Some of his friends even had to hide sharp objects from him for fear he might do unto himself little or great pains.

The common theme between the 3 different podcast sources was how notable his empathy was. 

People felt so understood in his presence. He had a keen eye for understanding and listening. Those were often his goals and so his leadership is unique in the amount of empathy he demonstrated. It was his great strength.

And of course, he's so good at so many things. He taught himself the law, y'all!! So of course he's already incredibly hardworking and talented, but he was also a writer. A true writer.

I can't imagine anyone else touching the Gettysburg Address but he, himself. Today, our politics are ruled by the clean cut words of every voice in the room, but back then, Abe's words are still memorialized today because they were solely his, representing the fullness of his thoughts and the thoughts of the Union. He wrote his own. And what was so beautiful about his writing was he wrote every word with the intention of speaking them aloud. Writing for speaking. That's why those words flow so beautifully.

So unforgettably. He writes words like music. He'd cut up his speeches into parts and re-arrange as necessary, so meticulous, so that the flow could improve. Of course he did.

So for all these samples of his great qualities, I truly had to pay homage to the one and only. And what coincidence it was to be back in Kentucky and do a true Abraham Lincolnian thing.

Lincolnian is a word. Oh my god. It's not red-highlighted or anything. DAMN. <3 

So I drove straight to Hodgenville where the tall grass is tipped with tiny yellow flowers as far as the eye can see, and rising in the distance are grand hills that are full of such lush and healthy green trees. So lushy it's almost fluffy. 

It reminded me of my mother's home village in Viet Nam, Buon Ma Thuot. The way the grass in the rice paddies would sway gently in the breeze against the mountains. Abe grew up in such a beautiful place, surrounded by this much life and so many grass flowers. We're not too different in where we come from, you and I, Mr. President. 

I spoke to him in the car you know, as my car winded through the most beautiful curves for miles and miles on end. I rolled my windows down and let my car flood with the scent of that green world. It was heavenly, this perfumed flowery grass-y hill-y scent. Of a world long forgotten in places like Houston or DC or Boston. 

Kentucky is gorgeous. Breathtaking in its land and greenery. No wonder my favorite sweet and salty popcorn grew here. If I was a corn, I would want to grow here too. :)

So with the window down, I spoke to Lincoln. Perhaps that's an understatement. After telling Ivanna what I was saying to him, she verified that I must have been praying to him instead. And I think she's right.

I think I was praying to Lincoln. I won't tell you the words of my one-sided exchange, but I will say that I hoped to be as good as he was. To live with that much goodness and kindness as he did. And I don't need money or fame. I just need to know that my life had a positive impact in some way small or medium. I just want to promise that, even to you, dear Reader. I hoped Abe could hear me. I promised him I am available 24/7 for any guidance he might have for my journey. And of course, I introduced myself in my full Vietnamese glory in case he ever spoke to the wrong Ngoc, so I said, "I am Nguyen Khoa DieuNgoc, from Houston, TX. Now here in Marietta, OH. Hello, Mr. President."

It felt cathartic. It felt true. Like the life I want to live has been lived before by many and I have so many great examples to remember with. Because that's what I like to do, remember? 

I want to remember.

Did I tell you about the cows yet?! Because there have been so many cows on my drives to and from work out here. Imagine a bunch of big cows and then smaller cows, medium sized cows, and then teenage cows and then smaller cows, and then baby cows. Imagine how all of them might all look in a painting. Each doing its own thing or playing around in small groups. 

Imagine they're all the same color. Black. Or white. Or brown. 

And that's how they're kept out here in such vast, vast land, fenced next to a thin stream or creek. Fenced in with some fat trees. Fenced in with each other. Gosh, I really slow my Bean down to the 10s when I see them, to everyone else's dismay. 

I'm crazy for cows. <3

And apparently, I'm crazy about Lincoln too haha.

But back to Monday night, because there I was at the Waterfront Park. And when you've traveled as much as I have, you get pretty good at identifying souls that feel familiar to yours. And I did find such a soul. We stood and talked for 20 minutes after I complimented her dress. 

Like me, she stood and stared at the river as if to feel all of it in a single breath in, and another breath out. It's when you know your stay isn't long that you cherish it more, and that's how I knew she was traveling through Louisville like me.

I learned a lot about a new person Monday night. I loved making her laugh about dying from amoebas first before actually drowning if I were to jump into the river. And dang, that was a pretty dark joke. Dang, Ngoc. Reel it in, please. Soon enough I learned that she was a military student advisor to a university and that she hopes to move to Florida one day. That she might move to Houston as a serious second option. 

And I tell her what I normally tell everyone about Houston.

"First is, terrible road rage and traffic and heat. Yes. Hot as hell. I kid you not. And second, there's hardly any such beautiful third spaces like view before us. There's hardly any. But, it's a nice place to be." We smiled and exchanged Instagrams and maybe I'll see her again one day.

I normally do see people again, because I want to remember all of them.

The squiggly map of everyone's lives. What matters to them. What makes them so so happy. I want to them all, because that's simply who I am. 

Along this long journey of being at the nail salon to being here at Peoples Bank to living my little life, it seems I'll always want to know what your little map looks like. The bridge lit up different light patterns before me, reflecting on the black glass river. I don't want to simply reflect on people's stories. I hope to shine my own light too, for others to see. And I feel like I'm starting to. And dear future daughter, if you're reading this, it feels really good to walk on a bridge alone at night. I swear. 

Of course, in a safe area! But tonight, your mum, being me, felt super whole as she talked to people alive or dead, about her dreams. Where she's been. And where she will be. And planned those next steps on that long walk across that bridge, just like any other night. 

Maybe you noticed, but this is the gigantic, not-so-gigantic episode 100. 

It's 10:45 PM on a Tuesday night. I never foresaw it would be about Abe Lincoln or that it would be written in the quiet of a Marriot hotel suite.

I didn't foresee either that Monday night would be a waning crescent moon. But tonight is a new moon, did you know? The new moon is the most powerful moon to me. Only new things can grow from here. If I want to make the most of it, I do it in the here and the now. 

And I will. I certainly will. 

But just, wow I've come so far in this blog. This blog has meant so much to me. In the way that it's helped me write and sort through my feelings, and usually the tough feelings, but the way it's helped me document some of the happiest memories of my life, or the most neutral ones, or saddest. At 24 years old, I finally reach episode 100. I was 16 when I published my first real episode.

I always thought episode 100 would be so grand and loud and maybe a little obnoxious. 

But this episode 100 felt perfect. It felt like a long walk across the river. Calm, peaceful. Beautiful.

Episode 100 has been so beautiful. 

And always, silly. :D

I'm so glad I finally made it!! :D To episode 200 some day, here we go! Oh my gahahahahah.