Episode 44 - Special post!: Vietnamerica

This post is different. As a first-generation student, I was a part of the First-Gen Out Loud program at my school. Each of my friends and I made videos sharing a piece of our story. :)

Below is a link to mine. ^_^

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=p1SshS6Wt-k&list=PLiU2Yj6S1O3TBd-S6eS-9Z3f1fRwEPsMC&index=33

I hope you'll enjoy! Like, comment plzzzz ;)

Episode 43 - I Want to Buy Her a House

It was around Christmas time of last year when one of my mother's customers needed a pedicure and couldn't leave her house, so my mom, sister, and I took the car over and serviced her.

Let's call this customer Eva. Eva is a bright, joyful older woman with a happy lilt to her voice and springs under her feet. My mother, Yen, and I walked into her home and was awed by its vastness, decor, and extravagance. Everything was so neat. The wooden floor was so clean, it was reflective. The lighting was bright but warm and there was so much space between things. Space between recliners, space between tables. And there were so many framed works. Even the TV was framed. It was hard not to look like we wanted to live there.

My Mom easily looked like the happiest woman on earth. Her eyes reflected her dreams. She's been in the US for over 25 years and has always wanted a beautiful home. A simple, beautiful home with a simple, beautiful view. 

"That's all I want. Oh, and a garden. I want a garden big enough to grow every beautiful thing."

And I'm seeing her come alive like that, in someone else's home. It's not that she can't give herself these things, but she would have to work to death and live on nothing to afford a place like that with the things it had inside. Naturally, it would only be me, to make sure the rest of her dreams come true. 

To afford her a beautiful place with a beautiful view. A simple thing like this isn't simple to get. 

And I'm 19. I do feel excited about my life. There are so many options and so many things I can be. But at the end of the day... what's going to bring me happiness but also allow me me to afford my mother the happiness she deserves? 

Look, I'm not an idiot. A new house and beautiful things wouldn't easily make my mother happy, persay. Spending time with her is, of course, a big part of that, but there's only so much life she has left and she's sacrificed her youth and life for me and my sister and her extended family that I feel this giant need, this obligation as a daughter, to give her the life that she's seen watching American movies or whenever she takes us out to go trick-or-treating at the more affluent neighborhoods. Those were mere moments. I want to give her experiences that is a part of her everyday life.

These things need money. A good source of money. 

As I write this, I'm only a first-year in college. Yes, I have time. And I'm lucky to be on generous scholarship in order to afford college, but there's only so much college left until I have to fend for myself and for my family. 

My mother's poor nail salon business can only float for so long. 

Money isn't everything. But it can buy her things. Afford her travel plans to a beautiful island. A cruise to Southeast Asia. A reliable water well in her hometown. Elegant dresses. Experiences. Things.

I don't know what I want to do with my life. I don't. 

It doesn't make it easier, since that December at Ms. Eva's house, that I realized how much money I want to make, that I'll need to make to make it. I've been feeling really scared lately, that I might not be able to make this happen. To afford her dreams. I have a vague idea of public policy something, of sociology something. These kinds of "ideas" of mine aren't traditional enough to lead me to where I would be to do what I want to do. 

She's never been one to force me into something for the sake of money. These are all my thoughts and I wish I didn't feel so constricted by this new realization of mine, but I am. There's no safety net for me here. I don't have relatives to fall back on. My father is retired. My mother will work until the day I make enough that she won't have to. That's all we got. Haha, this is it. I'm it. 

I just... geez I don't know what I'm going to do. Should I just be a doctor, be on the safe route, and go there? Should I just be a corporate lawyer, another safe route, and make the big bucks there? An economist? Haha, maybe not. A data scientist? A moo-moo? A chicccen? welp. im so so so lost. 

What does make all of this easier is when I set my mind on something, I have the grit and resilience to go through with it. It'll happen. I just gotta put some things together. And think. And wonder. And dream. My good friend Manal once told me this with eyes so intense and feverful, I couldn't forget: "Stop being so realistic for once. Dream big! Don't be afraid!" Haha. Okay, buddy. Just this time... I will still think about the numbers though, but maybe not dream and do math at the same time. :P

Maybe I'm putting all this weight on this more than I should. But I swear to every good god that I want to see my mother smiling like that again, not in someone else's home, but ours. 

Your sad sad girl,

Ngoc

P.S. My story is not unique, or for that, my own. I've just been a late-bloomer when it comes to reality and there are undoubtedly individuals going through worse worse. Praying for those that are. Don't know what's going to happen. But something will... 

P.P.S. I'm just the most confused teenager ever. Speaking of teenagers. My little sister looked at me in the eye one morning and told me one thing I couldn't have if and when I turn 20. And that's a teenage pregnancy. 

I don't know why I laughed, but I did. God, my sick humor. And hers. :I 

Episode 42 - Like Blood

I have approximately 8 blog drafts left unfinished in my blog waitlist. To be finished. To be touched.

Tonight, I'm finishing this episode. It's been left too long unsaid.

Tonight, I want to write about my father. I can't write about all of him, not tonight, but I can write about something that's left an indelible mark on my life: his bedtime stories.

Right now, I'm finally at home, with my family, yet alone in my own room. Not my room though. My real room, I share with my younger sister. Tonight, I sleep in the room that I shared with my father for many years when I was much younger. When Yen was just a baby, huddled up against my mother in their own separate room.

This is the room where I would ask my Dad questions like, "Why is it that now the light is turned off, yet I still see sparks of light dancing and moving in the darkness?"

He would answer quickly, "Because your eyes are slowly adjusting. It's seeing a record of what was there. Don't worry. Give it a few more moments and you'll see the shapes that do exist."

Nighttime was when I'd get to learn about the world. I'd have all the time in the world to ask him all the questions I could possibly want. Until, well, until he would say that we ought to sleep so I could wake up early for school. :P

"How was your life like when you were a kid, Dad?"
"Why don't dogs and cats get along?"
"How is it that I would get a paper cut and then the next day, it starts to heal up?"

This is the room where I believed in my Dad as if he was the brightest thing in my world, in the darkness as he answered each question and told each story.

This is the room for the years when I loved him and loved him only. Haha, of course I loved my mother too. But not in the way that I loved him. I loved them both equally yet in different ways? Hm... how do I explain this?

With my mother, she was always taking care of me, kind to me, gentle. Her love consisted of constant check-ups and Ross trips and rice soup and waking up in the middle of the night to make sure I took my medicine and putting in a new VCR tape of the Monkey King. I felt both strong and a little fragile with her, as if "sure, I can do this on my own, but my mother can do this better" kind of love. With my father, it was a muscled kind of love. His love consisted of Vietnamese history lessons and math and the legacy of the Nguyen Khoa family and memorizing Buddhist prayers and new heavy yellow boots that were supposed to hurt if I kicked someone. I felt powerful with him, as if I was meant for great things. A little invincible.

I grew up falling asleep on the crook of my father's muscled arm for many many years. When it was wintry outside, he was the warmest and strongest thing in my world. This room was a fortress built on his wisdom, our nightly prayers, and life-- I lived in this room.

In the darkness of this room, he'd paint it with stories. Stories of his pilot-fighter days in the Vietnam War, how he felt flying the Cessna A-37B in the vastness of the sky, how he escaped the North Vietnamese prison labor camps through years of strategic planning, how weak of a boy he was growing up, how much he loved martial arts, how he came to the States with nothing but his mind and body, how much he misses Vietnam, how he fell for my mum --- god I could go on. I can. There's just too much history that I have with this man, so much history he has with himself. So much so that one day, I hope to write most of this in a book somewhere, anywhere. Recorded. His history a part of history.

It feels all too nostalgic to return to this room. My father is a huge figure of my life, often reminding me to succeed, to continue his legacy, his history. Applauding the loudest at each checkpoint in my life. So enthusiastic with any handheld camera that he'd slowly but persistently hobble forth on uneven feet, feet deformed by years of gout, to reach the front of the stage and make sure he has pictures of me to print out from Walgreens later. So proud of me and my sister that he'd make sure to slide in her name or my name and list off our "achievements" into every phone call he has with friends or relatives on a years-old flip phone that keeps failing him every 3 months. And persistent enough to make sure I have a flashlight everywhere I go, his reminders haunting me all the way through college: "Always, always have a flashlight Ngoc. You never ever know."

His love is encompassing. When he loves something, he feels it in all the fibers of his being. Despite his love, sometimes he can be harsh in what he feels. Any feeling he feels, he feels fiercely. He loves fiercely. He hates fiercely. He acts fiercely.

He's a gentle man too. Sometimes it's easy for me to forget how gentle he can be when almost every day of his life he's so... so tough about things? I honestly wish there can be less "masculine" language that I use when describing my own father. God. I mean, Buddha. But it's so culturally ingrained in Vietnamese culture for men to be this way-- but in all respects, despite his worst days, I know that he loves me. Even if it's really tough love. Even if it's harsh love. Even if it's the kind of love that hurts me a lot at times. That hurts my mother and sister sometimes. Ag.

Sometimes in the middle of the night, my sister would ask me, when we're both tucked in our bed, "Why don't you hate him, Ngoc? Can't you see??"

I would hesitate to answer but the answer would always be the same. Blood. I love him. Thinking about him, about his dark sides would only bring me to the times when there were light. When things were better, when things were warmer.

He's not a perfect man. Never was. Never is. Just, it was when I was a child, listening to his stories, shaped by his stories, that I saw him as a flawlessly all-knowing being. All of his attention was on me. Mine on him. We were a duo. I was his brave little girl. The little girl who'd do anything to impress her father. Who'd run lengths to be the best.

In all of this thought, despite his faults, I still have faith in him.

Yesterday, I came home, fresh out of college, on crutches, 5 weeks into my knee injury. Seeing my father see me as a physically and emotionally broken individual woke me up. I'm not his flawless little girl either.

Tonight, before I even began writing out this episode, he came into this very room, where all his stories began, and sat down by the head of my bed. I looked up at him. "Ngoc, good night con. I am glad you are home."

"Me too, Dad. Me too," I responded.

"This is the room, isn't it?" he asked nostalgically.

"Haha yes. This is the room where you'd tell me stories every night for many many years," I said as I wrapped my arms around his growing belly, my face against his chest.

I felt small again. Blood. I miss that. I miss that feeling.

In that moment, in that hug, I felt full of all the answers to answer my sister's questions about why, why I still love him despite all this time, despite everything that's ever happened.

I love him because I know his love for me is true. It is a sword, piercing any facade the world can hand me. It is fact and story and real.

His love for me runs like blood. In this vein... it makes sense that my blood, that my existence, runs too.

Because how can I not love the very blood running through my body?

I consider myself lucky that I have blood that I can love despite the past. Not everyone feels or is in the situation to feel as I feel about their own blood or blood kin, which is duly noted and I respect.

Ah gosh. My father is my blood. He's the roughness, the toughness in the heavy yellow boots he gave me that spring morning for first grade, "I want you to wear these and feel strong, Ngoc. Feel as if you can walk through anything."

I love you Ba.

Con Thương Ba.

Your daughter,
Ngoc

P.S.
There's more to this story, more to his story and mine that I cannot wait to share in the future.

Haha, and yes! I finally finished!!!! AH THERE ARE SO MANY DRAFTS IN MY BLOGGER FOLDER THAT I'VE YET TO FINISH OR DELETE. I FINALLY, FINALLY WROTE ONE. Gosh, it just kind of sucks that my father won't be able to read or understand this piece that I wrote about him. But really? I can just tell him, heh.

As for this actual blog and keeping up with it...

The truth is... I am afraid. I am afraid of writing something I won't like. And this fear has kept me off my blog for so long. I wish I can return to the more carefree days of this blog, back when all I did was update the world about the events of one single day or shared a link to an interesting place or a beautiful song on the internet.

Slowly, this blog has evolved into something like art? I love that. But, I wish I can go easy on myself too haha.

I'll do better with the role of this blog in my life. :)

Until then, I hope you enjoyed this imperfect episode. <3

Thank you for staying and supporting me this far.

Seriously.

Episode 41 -- Dreams Can Burn Too

After getting off a call with my younger sister a while back, I realized something a little too simple and a little too painful: I've taken life too seriously for well too long.

Yen is in her sophomore year of high school. On the phone, she talked about how stressful she felt not knowing what she wanted to do, what she wanted out of life, how she should start planning for college. She's worried she doesn't know how to shape a compelling story to sell herself... she felt all these pressures to figure herself out. To "figure" herself out. To "sell" herself to colleges.

"Ngoc, I feel like I'm not worrying about this enough. I don't know what to do. I don't know how to start getting into Tufts. I just want to be happy with my classes, but I don't know what I enjoy..."

All of these worries that her little self has... She's 16, my god. I remembering being 16. 3 years ago, I had felt all these pressures. I remember little beyond the hours that had passed where I'd just be sitting in front of homework or researching scholarships and colleges. Lots of it. *agh*

In my high school, "college" was a natural word. Everyone worked hard. Working hard, sleeping little, coffee, and scoring well was our mantra. All of that work to be where we are today...

Hey, I'm glad I worked hard. And I'm proud of those that have too. Hard work definitely pays off.
But isn't there another conversation we should have with our younger generation? With ourselves? "How much is too much?"

Personally, I had allowed all these pressures to invade my everyday space. I was hurting myself, and I didn't know it. I did the AP thing where I loaded my schedule with many AP classes, with the hopes that I can prove how deserving of a scholarship I was, that I was a hard worker... I didn't allow myself to have fun. I ploughed through. It was an unhealthy and unhappy process-- my mantra? Getting myself as close to a full-ride as I can. Whatever that looked like. And hey. The dream is real. It happened. But... at what cost?

Sometimes, I wonder, "Would I still be where I am today without having to work as hard as I did? Would it have changed things too much if I didn't take the extra hours to study this or that or spend more time with family?"

Because now, I'm away from family. The very family that raised me. Where has the time gone? Was it really my fault for being so caught up in the swell that is my future? Clinging onto the pedestal that seemed inescapable --  there's no other way to be amazing than to attend a great college. "You're going to be set."

There exists a pedestal for getting kids to the Ivies or the top liberal arts colleges. These schools deserve their names. They do. Just, are we pushing them too hard?

Are we letting them grow up too fast?

One second, I was a college-hopeful high school freshman, working hard, not noticing how hard was hard until I felt the tears welling yet again. "Gosh mom, it's going to be another all-nighter..." Next, I find myself researching colleges, excited at the prospect that pizza in the north is better than pizza from the South. The next second, I'm working to the last sweat to tackle my AP tests as a senior. "You're almost there. You're almost done," they said. "Done with? What am I done with exactly?" I thought, as I sat in the audience, gripping the time sheet in my hand with who says what when, unwilling to let go of high school despite the mountain that it was, yet smiling and waving the audience as if I'm sure what happens next... as if the next chapter of my life is pre-written, pre-read, full of spoilers my father's already whispered and my mother worries about. I glided across that stage as if I'm promised a happy ending.

Soon enough, I find myself sleeping alone in a dorm room, with nothing but a few things from home.

All of my hard work for another bed to sleep in, another space to study in.

Senioritis is a thing. But I realized too late that what mattered most were the friendships and relationships I had with friends and family. Those are the things that last for a long time...

It's like running a 5k. The finish line grows closer to you, and you're almost there, but it's like... those last few seconds, you know you can make it. You're going to be there-- of course you'll cross the finish line. However, something about those last few seconds makes you want to whip your head around and look at how far you've come, look at all the things your eyes missed because they were so set on the road, drinking and savoring it.

Soon enough, you're across the finish line. Your legs have been moving forward automatically, spinning wheels of their own.

What I'm trying to say is... you're going to be where you're meant to be. You're going to be where you want to be. Of course, you'll need to put in effort to get there, but if all you see behind those eyes is the goal and the goal only? You might miss a handful of amazing sights. You might sit where I am, and I say might, because I know someone will fight me on this, haha, and right... You might sit where I am and wonder my very questions, "Were those years worth it? Where has the time gone?"

What I hope for my younger sister, my niece, my nephew, and for you is that... we live our lives healthily, happily, kindly, and *sigh*, live in a way that we can look back on and feel a bellyful of warmth.

That warm feeling? It's an indication of time well-spent.

I hope you feel warm when you don't regret spending an extra half hour on the phone calling home instead of beginning work a little earlier. Warm when you think about that detour you took just to walk a little longer outside under the sun. Warm when you took a short break in between it all to look out the window and dream.

Warm.

And if you don't understand what I'm trying to get at? hm... go eat your favorite food, or treat, or dessert. Eat it. Now think, did you regret eating it? Maybe it wasn't a healthy snack/food. Maybe you ate a little too much of it. But the feeling is the same yes? You felt happy eating it right? Dare I say, you felt satisfied devouring it?

Satisfied.

Satisfied is a feeling too. Almost warm, yes? :)

Don't take life too seriously. Leave room for messiness. Leave room for lazying around. Leave room for lungfuls of cold air. Leave room for dancing, swinging, flying. Leave room for unplanned lengthy phone calls.

Because you never know, you never know if one day you can't do the very things you thought you could anymore. Or if the people you love will be there, just a walk or drive away.
One second, I lived with my family, holding my sister close. The next second, I'm free. I'm out. I'm alone. Alone with new faces, new textures, new hands to hold.

It's unfortunate. I went to New York City last month, on my own, and... well. I forgot to taste the pizza, the pizza that deliciousness was promised. Haha. :P

I hope this finds you well. I hope this finds you warm, despite the winter setting in.

My heart goes out to the world tonight-- to those who aren't warm, in every sense of the word :), and to those who are :).

Let's feel warm today. Let's feel warmer tomorrow. We'll be where we're meant to be. ^_^

Your girl,
Ngoc

P.s. Another imperfect episode, :P. This one took a while to crack. Honestly? There were actually 4 different episode 41s that I have on standby in case I hated all of them. But how can I hate any of them if they came from me?

There was so much I wanted to discuss more in this episode. So much to touch on. Episode 41. Wow. 41% of the way there, to 100 episodes.

P.p.s.

Shout-out to Yen, my sister. Awaiting my arrival to Houston. I'll be home for Christmas. My heart is all yours. :)

Shout-out to my newfound friends at Smith. I can't believe I have friends, ohmigod. <3

Shout-out to Lucy, who may be back home in Texas-- I love you. I support you. I can't believe we'll see each other soon.

Shout-out to Faith, who may be all the way in Illinois, our friendship never wavers. In fact, it feels strengthened by the distance. I love you. okayitakeitbackyouprobsthinkimgay4u

Shout-out to my nephew and niece in DC. I wish you both strength. I wish that you realize the wealth of love that you mother surrounds you with.

Episode 40 -- She's Beautiful: Part 1

Sitting by Wesley House's window and having a view of the yellows and oranges painted on the tips of the trees that line Paradise Pond, I quickly scrolled through Facebook only to catch a live stream of my mother, smiling brightly, dancing, singing. 

In the video, she was in Vietnam, celebrating my cousin's wedding.

She looked absolutely gorgeous, as always. Gosh, the audacity to look so good, pftttt. Donning a glittering long sleeve and loose pink pants, I saw her cling to my uncle, both singing a famous Vietnamese love ballad and eyes glowing from excitement. She's a wonderful singer and it was evident the crowd loved it. I loved it too. 

In my head, I thought, "wow, I've never seen her this happy before." 

Finally. An episode about my mother. Gosh. This episode is about my world. About someone that brought me life. Someone that is always there, who's love I've pushed and challenged many many times. But that's the fact about a mother's love. 

In Vietnamese there is a saying, "Nghĩa mẹ như nước trong nguồn chảy ra," When translated to English, this means, "A mother's love is like the water running from the source." Endless it means. 

Forever. 

Endless, unconditional love. I'm lucky. I'm lucky that I have a mother. I'm lucky that I have her as my mother. 

This is my attempt at writing down a part of her story from my own memory of many nights asking, more like pestering, her for the details. Here we are. 

My mother was born a year before the Vietnam War ended. There's a shrapnel scar on the corner of her eyelid from a small explosion that caught her as my grandma ran and carried my mother in her arms and all their belongings, with my uncle and aunt trying to catch up on their little legs. My mother would find out later, after coming to the US, that the man who dropped the bomb causing the explosion was none other than Ly Tong. They would meet each other and my mom would briefly mention her scar and when and where she got it. 

His eyes probably lit up, realizing that the date and place matched a date and place in his mind. They would grab each other by the hands, hug, and later, he would give her $100 in good humor and as an apology for the scar before he left. 

I call Ly Tong, Bac Ly Tong. He's a prominent anti-communist activist in the Vietnamese-American and Vietnamese community and also happens to be one of my dad's best friends. He passed away last April. But that's another story. 

The fact is, my mother has many scars on her body. 

Plopped in front of the box TV that played another martial arts Chinese show, my 4-year-old self curiously watched my father inject a needle into my mother's lower back, sending medicine in to hopefully tame the cancer growth she had. Every time he did this, he would have to lift the hem of her shirt. I remember my young self widening her eyes in disbelief as I saw a thumb-sized bruised indent on her lower back. I asked her while placing a finger over the deep-ish indent, "what is this?" (My father quickly swatted my hand away, of course.)

To that, she recalled slowly, "A snake bit me there when I was 3 or 4, back in Vietnam, your age. Your grandma was so scared I was going to die. Infection for days. But I'm here with you now aren't I?" 

Today, the snake infected-wound is gone, but the cancer since then has never left. Growing up, my father always praised how strong his prayers must have been for my mother's cancer to almost go away. Recently, the cancer has resurfaced. My mother and father have kept it a secret from my sister and I for a few years now, this resurfacing. The only way my sister and I even knew about it is when my mother would ask, "Ngoc, check how to get to this hospital address." 

My mother is 30 years younger than my father. My father swears it's love. My mother said that too to me, often enough that I believed in it. I was a kid. I never noticed the age difference. And even if I did, it was just a fact of my life. A fact of my life that when shared would garner shock, even horror. I remember in my elementary school years when my mother would come to give me bits of medicine when I was sick, and every single kid at my lunch table would stop their conversations to look at my mom.

"Ngoc, your mom is so pretty!"

"She's so young!"

I responded, "What, like your moms aren't pretty or young or something?" (And hey, all mothers are freaking goddesses. My kid self was dumb. :I)

Whenever she appeared at my elementary school, either to give me medicine or take me home, I would feel so safe. 

I was fluent in Vietnamese then. More fluent than I am today. Fluent enough to share with her what happened in my days with this 3rd grade teacher or that 4th grade english class. To all my stories, she would nod and smile. Slowly, I began to lose more and more of my Vietnamese vocabulary and that fact today hurts like hell. Today, I can have a superficial conversation with her about various topics. As a kid, I remember looking at Vietnamese kids my age with contempt for not being able to speak as much Vietnamese as I did. But the fact is, as I grew older, I grew busier, and so did my mother as she took over her own small nail salon. There were less opportunities for us to have conversation. 

I often had dinner earlier than she did, well, fine, almost every night... and she would come home much later with her heavy purse and high flip flops, looking like a wilted orchid. Exhaustion from work. A whole day's worth. 

When I was 7, my mother sat down and had a serious conversation with me, with my younger sister, Yen, on her lap. "Ngoc, from now on, I'll be at school too like you. A school to learn how to cut hair and paint nails, so some days, I may be late to pick you up from school okay? Tell me you'll be okay with that?" 

"Okay, mom." I nodded and that was that. 

For the next few years, she would go to cosmetology school. And for the 12 years after that, she would work in the nail salon business, as just "another Vietnamese-American woman doing nails." 

Eight of those years, she would labor under difficult, deceiving bosses. The other four years and to today, she would bravely open her own small nail salon, with the hopes that our lives could be better, that we'd be able to pay for my college education.

4 grueling years of disappointment. 

Our small nail salon business garnered few customers, partially because of the late owner and partially the location. The late owner of the nail salon in a last cruel twist of fate, took most of the original customers. So we started with... nothing.

On the day of the grand opening of our nail salon, there hung a red "GRAND OPENING" sign in front of the small building complex. That first day opening the nail salon, only one person came in to have a manicure, the equivalent of 12 dollars. Enough to pay for gas at least, heh.

Weeks and months after that, my sister and I would be regulars at our nail salon on weekdays, weekends, during breaks, birthdays, on all the holidays, whole summers. 

We went so often that... I couldn't take it anymore. I burst in front of my mom. Many times, I did this and many times the response was the same. 

"I... I hate going to the nail salon! Why do I have to go? Can't you hire someone else to come help out? Is it so hard?!" I would fly out with.

Angrily, she would respond, "Do what you want. But do you know how hard it is for me Ngoc? Do you even think of me? Your father's retired. I'm the only one making money and hiring someone will cost more than you helping me. Most of my life, all I've ever done is help raise this family, raise you, take care of you. Don't you think that's hard? In an ideal world, you wouldn't have to come to the nail salon, Ngoc. But this is our reality. This is our life. We have to make hard choices sometimes. This is your way to contribute to our family. Love me or don't, do as you wish."

I remember crying, frustrated tears, wishing that I'd never have to return to the nail salon, but after hearing her tell me that she's not happy either. That it hurts her too, I woke up early and with my younger sister, out we'd go. Another day of work. All three of us coming home like wilted orchids after each day. 

And that's the thing. 

I'm so... god. Sometimes, haha no, many times, I can be so naive and so caught-up in my own winds. My mother has taught me many things about life. Some of which is...to be less self-centered, more kind, more thoughtful to the plight of others, and that if you think you have it bad, others have it worse.

Despite the lack of conversations she and I shared before I left for college, the most vivid and warm moments that will help me survive this Massachusetts winter is... gosh, I'm kind of tearing right now as I write this.

But... whenever it's getting late and she's about to head to sleep, she would always ask me, every night, "Is there anything you need Ngoc? Water? Snacks?" I look over at her, seeing her small cute but chubby frame standing by the entrance to our small kitchen, a hand about to turn off the light. Usually she'd wear her purple pajamas with shorts and she'd look so small. Smaller than usual.

In those moments, as I take in how small of a woman she is, to have been born in the last bits of a war, come to the US alone with an older man who is my father with nothing but a few promises, and work so hard to provide our family... She is incredible. 

She is my world. Sometimes, in the midst of all that happens in my life, I forget where I come from.

I forget about her last scar. 

A short but ugly scar at the far edge of her stomach, south of her bellybutton. 

Not knowing how to take care of it, that very C-Section stitch would hurt her for weeks, even months. All because she had me. 

"How painful was it, Mom, this cut here?"

"Haha, hey, don't be scared. But after having you, I still had to do all the chores in the house. Wash the laundry by hand, the dishes, cook with this thing full-on bleeding sometimes. This is it Ngoc. This is true love. There's nothing truer than my love to you. One day you'll understand..." she explained, as she planted a kiss on my forehead while my fingers traced her scar.

I love you.... <3 

Love,

Ngoc 

P.s. Part 2 will come out. I don't know how. I don't know when. I just know it will. There's so many imperfections with this episode. There is so much... uncompleteness. 

There's so much more to her story that I want to write about, so that in case anything happens, she lives here, on this little blog. 

I also just wrote this episode out of homesickness but... it's been long-awaited. And too deserved not to be written about. 

P.p.s. To all the moms out there, this episode and my heart goes out to you. Thank you for all that you do and continue to do. <3 

P.p.p.s. Mom, I know you'll read this and have trouble understanding and will probably make me call you to explain what I wrote. 

Just know, Mom. 

I wish with all my heart to turn back time and be more the daughter you deserve. 

Despite all my faults, thank you for bringing me into the world. Thank you for your sacrifices. I am more complete because of you. I am you, your flesh and blood. Thank you for.. everything.

Episode 39 - Your Dense College Update

I actually wrote this episode in three separate sittings, feeling different variations of happiness at each sitting. I've divided this piece into "part." Each "part" represents a different sitting. :)

Part 1: Today marks roughly one month of my time in Massachusetts, pursuing that college degree and chasing my dreams.

But most importantly, I've done it. I may be a little premature in saying this, but a part of me is surprised at how fast I've found a new family away from family.

My birthday was proof of that. After a long day of orientation activities, a tired group of 10 college freshmen gathered together in a friend's living room, celebrating my birthday over half a showing of Monty Python Holy Grail and a crazy board game.

New things are happening. It's true what they say about college. "Making friends is easier."

Part 2: It's so true, it's unbelievable. As I'm writing this portion of the blog, I'm sitting in a beautiful, cozy room of one of my friends. Something Just Like This is playing from my phone. Sanya sits on the floor, prepped up cross-legged with math notes on her lap. Ivanna sits straight-backed at her desk, popping her arms to the songs. All of us are humming to Shape of You now. This feeling is absolutely comfortable. I feel so safe. I feel so... happy.

Part 3: I feel just as warm and happy as Part 2, just now, I'm sitting in my fairy-light-filled room. An A-Force poster and EXO Poster spill on my walls and a small collection of books from home fills half of my nightstand. I'm sitting on my standard Twin XL college bed, leaning against a wall. Behind me hangs pictures my mother handpicked from home to send me to remind me of childhood, of home.

These past few weeks of college have been the one of the happiest weeks of my life. Already my new friends have termed me the "most social" person they've ever met. I'm honestly kind of proud of that. Beyond this flex, my point is, I've never made so many GOOD friends in my life. High school feels like a puppy compared to Smith. I'm... I'm so lost and so attached to college life right now. It feels like flying.

What's filled my days with joy is spending time with people that enrich my life, people who understand where I'm coming from, and people who are as excited to spend time with me as I do with them.

Haha, I've never been this social in my life. However, these first few weeks have taught me how adaptable I am. It's as if all the trials, all the failures of my past have come to serve me now. Already, I've gone out with friends, taking a 50 minute bus JUST to eat authentic Pho from a Vietnamese-owned restaurant in Western Massachusetts. Okay, fine, that might not sound like much, but for someone who's life was controlled at every turn for the past 18 years, that was a big step.

College has been a big step, period.

I'm making my own plans, when to have them, and with whom. It's exciting to steer my own life for once and to feel complete control beneath my fingertips as I do something as simple as bike-rushing to my 10:50 classes. There's solace in knowing that Smith dining might unsurprisingly be terrible at the asian food-serving dining hall. There's solace in knowing that you have this one friend you've automatically assigned as your study buddy. There's solace in knowing that sure, your phone's battery sucks but there's still enough battery to get you through dinner in case your sister texts you.

What brings me great peace is knowing that if it all ever feels overwhelming, I have newfound friends that have my back. But the most peace is knowing that I have Yen to call, should I ever need anything as comforting as her adorable round face on the screen. :)

Honestly though? I don't really have "wild," "exciting" college stories to share, haha. So far the most exciting thing that's happened so far was the bus trip out to Amherst for pho. And just as exciting was the cultural fair where all the cultural clubs brought their foods. It was so fun to just go from cultural club to cultural club table collecting food. Gosh, I'm pretty hungry right now. I'm already excited for tomorrow's dinner. xD

God. No one told me this but college dining is BUFFET STYLE. OHMIGOD. I'm surprised I haven't already gained tons of weight. The only reason why I've actually aka "lost" weight is because I'm not drinking boba as often as I used to. My broke college friends would always shake their heads a slow, "noooooo" whenever I suggest a trip to downtown for boba. Haha, Allison would be downright honest with me and say, "You have an addiction that college could actually cure."

So far? That's held true.

Gosh, one of the most exciting things about college is making friends. Left and right, there are so many people to meet and have amazing conversations with. Every time I meet someone new, that's a whole universe I just opened for myself. Isn't that amazing? ^_^

And hey, I know. College isn't all about making friends and having fun! But it's definitely part of the process. These.. can be the best 4 years of my life. These can be the most resource-rich years of my life. I have to find that balance between handling my academic work and spending time with friends. O__O Hey. Every day, I'm getting a little closer to understanding what that might look for me. Another adventure. My god. College is just full of these little tasks and missions you have to overcome and then you have all these skills you have to work hard to earn just to get to fight the big boss. This time there's no big boss though.

For me, it seems as if college is just one way to level up. All the way until I die, I'll constantly be leveling up. Wisdom. Self-respect. Love. Family. Friends. Courage. Happiness. Leadership. Confidence. Even sense of style. So many things to look forward to. I feel... hopeful. I feel a little secure in knowing that I truly am... the captain of my ship. As cheesy as that sounds, that feels pretty perfect.

As always, I promise this isn't the last of me. :) There's so much more. So many moments I've yet to put under the microscope.

For now, everything feels a little perfect. *sigh*

Lastly, wherever you are, whoever you are, I challenge you to send someone you love an, "I love you. <3". They need to hear it. Being at college so far has taught me that even if you've lived with them for 18 years+, your family and friends will appreciate the daily, "I love you." Sure, I'm having the time of my life at Smith, but I'm doing my best to make sure that the people I love know they're still in my heart, everywhere I go.

I hope you'll let your loved ones know that you love them, in any way that you want. ^_^

Sending good vibes your way. :)

Your most happy and optimistic girlie,
Ngoc

P.s. A drastic change yes? From Episode 38? Haha, you're right... keeping myself busy so far has been the best thing to tackle homesickness, but also making sure I call home. Everyday. Somehow. Someway. :)

P.p.s. You all may never read this but.... I love you, Mom. I love you, Yen. I love you, Dad. My worlds.

Episode 38 -- Far From Home

In less than ten hours, I will wake up to a sunless Houston morning. The birds won't be out, but the moon and stars will be, blinking good bye as my little home shrinks away in the rearview mirror. 

I will cry. Or maybe, I'll be too tired to cry. "It's not over until it's over," I'd remind myself. Except this time, it is. My childhood is over. 

My mother and sister would travel with me. That means leaving my father behind, the first man I ever loved in my life. Despite the tenseness of our relationship, despite the many unhappy arguments between him and I, all of those memories would vanquish as I cry my last good bye and as he drives away in the white truck my mother had bargained to the teeth for. 

I've taken everything for granted. I lived as if I'd have all these things forever. I lived as if there would never be a good bye. I never truly appreciated the people who've loved me these last 18 years, or the place I've called home. In short, I'm a fool.

I'm definitely being too dramatic about this. I'll return in four months. Four long months. Anything can change. There will be losses. There will be gains. I won't be there for my sister's 16th birthday. I won't be there to comfort her or hug her when she most needs it. I won't be there to catch up on the dish washing, haha. I won't be there for the many memories that I'd have if I were still here, at home. Gosh, and Yen. Ag, I'm going to miss sharing hugs with her, the greatest gift ever given to me -- my sister. 

I love my home. I love Houston. I love my family. 

Customers at the nail salon who have watched me grow up would perk up happily as I update them about where I'm attending college. I'd chirp, "Massachusetts. And no, I haven't shopped for winter clothing yet, haha." They'd respond, "Gosh, I'm so excited and proud of you. You're going to have an amazing time!" 

An amazing time. I'll have fun for sure. I'll meet new people of course. I just... I don't believe quite yet that I'm about to leave. It's upending me right now and last night, this simple fact: I'm flying out tomorrow morning. And that's that. 

An application to an out-of-state school never felt real until you're actually packing and buying 20 packets of different ramen for the first time. "In case you miss home AND you're hungry," Yen had said, as she advised me to buy ramen for Smith. 

Haha, believe it or not, I'm tearing us as I type this post. It's been months since I've written my last episode. It seems that it's only when I'm at my worst that I'm willing to sit down and type furiously away. 

Many years ago when I was three, I remember running around our small kitchen table over and over again. I pretended, in my head, that there was an imaginary younger sister I was chasing. It was morning. Dad had come in from outside with black oil on his hands and cheeks as always. As he was turning on the sink to wash his hands, he looked over at me and asked in a happy voice, "What is the one thing you want most in the world?" 

Without hesitation, I said, "A sister! A little sister to play with!"

"Well that's funny. You're getting one super soon!"

And in a blur, the ugliest thing I had ever seen in my life grew into the most adorable, lovable, kind, and attentive girl. I won't be able around to see her grow into an amazing young woman, as much as I wish I would... 

Lately, little pieces and memories like these would pop in my head and I'd yearn, more than anything, that I would be staying at home. Staying in Houston. 

I'm not yet finished with packing, haha. I'm positive that I'm missing a few essentials. I'm positive that I'll cry, a lot. Homesickness will settle in. I'd crave a flight home. I'd crave for a hug, a few words of encouragement, or just a letter from home. 

I don't know how to stay positive yet, but for sure, I will have to find my own place. I will have to challenge myself, more than ever, to make my own family, away from family. The goal here isn't to stay happy in college. That's not going to be possible for a first year like myself, heh. The goal here is to make choices that "future me" would look back on and be proud of and grateful for.

I'm going to make tons of mistakes. I can already feel it. First semester might just be downright awful. First semester might be utterly amazing. First semester might be a mix of the awful and the amazing. 

Stay tuned everyone. :)

(This is probably the most imperfect episode I've ever written. :P)

With love and gratefulness and plenty of fear,

Ngoc

P.s. It's only been 38 episodes guys. Thank you to everyone who have stuck around this little blog of mine and watched me grow. There's no proof yet that I have grown, haha, but I'm trying, every day, to be a little kinder, a little braver, and a little wiser. College might just expedite the process. :P

P.p.s.We haven't reached our goal of 100 episodes yet. You can count on my promise! :)

P.p.p.s. Sending my heart out to everyone else going out to college, far from home. You're brave. You deserve to be there. I'm rooting for you.