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.
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