Where is the Red?

[out of the vault: - 11/1/21]

a quickie poem I wrote in midterms szn :)

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I locked myself away 

For an essay.

If I pull my earbuds out now,

It would only be bags unzipping, pencil pressed to paper, a cacophony of someone else’s and my own typing.

It’s supposed to be a Reading Room. 

Where is the light though? 

A new, shiny, expensive building but even the tables

Absorb light. The spaces between the bookshelves are 

Black holes.

Browns, beige, grays, brown-reds, yellow-browns.

Nothing inspires except what’s beyond the

Rectangle windows not BIG enough

To invite in

the real, fresh, warm light.

From the slivers

I see blue. Baby blue. God, you’re so pretty.

A squirrel finessing the edge of a bright red, orange, yellow tree 

Taller than JMG

Hall.

The tree is so fucking red. 

Catapult me to its branches. I’ll happily bleed out.

I see golden. Like the sweater on me, the one a friend gifted,

perhaps because there's

A sleeve torn that my forearm could slide through easily and exactly half of it frayed--

Plushy, warm, homely.

I want to pee.

I need to write my essay,

Not exist here romancing and fumbling through poetry.

Episode 75: Ngoc's Saga

1.7.22.

I'm a dirty talking Buddhist who laughs too loud for her own good. Laughs too loud during Covid times. 

Laughs too loud where it's probably illegal to laugh. Like on Singaporean trains. 

It's only been 3 days. 3 real days, since I've arrived. 

Study abroad has been both exhausting but rewarding how already, I'm seeing myself in ways I've never seen before. I'm pushing myself and learning so so much about what matters and what doesn't and how to connect with just about anyone. :)

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1.22.22.

How is it that so much time has passed already? 

Singapore has exhausted me. Has taken so much from me, my literal blood and eye ball picture lol, and given me its rain, which I love. Singapore has brought me $3 meals and given me sugar cane juice in any and all amounts. It has shown me all the green its capable of. Shiny trees along every high way. Looking like planned, artificial beauties. Vibrant purples and blues -- the colors I love, under its Super trees. Where I lay my head next to Garima and Naina and together, we laughed like we were high.

But if we were actually high, we'd take the full brunt of the death penalty here. 

Ha. 

So much has happened that I can't even document it all. I just know that once again in my life, I felt so connected, loved, and seen as I did tonight. Not to mention, the amount of truly good, truly kind, and intelligent and deep people I've already gotten to meet in my time here. A little over 2 weeks and I surprise myself at how much I am thriving. I surprise myself with how vibrant and light on my feet I can be in any social setting.

No matter how new. Or how awkward. I survive and exceed my own expectations.

How much I can smile. Real smiles. Relaxed smiles. 

And how loud I can howl at the full moon, like a lil bitch.

Because I've become that jerk that howls at the moon at any hour of the day if I feel like it. My suitemates do not mind at all. Only Naina joins me in the howling, but it's worth, and the neighbors next door never partake in the howling. However, when I run into any of them, I feel like I say the stupidest things. Because whenever I do run into any of my neighbors, it's usually when I feel exhausted or preoccupied. 

Today, right after lunch, I wished one of them "good night Sid" as they waited for the elevator and right after, I slapped my forehead in absolute horror and humor. Finlay laughed out loud and smirkingly said, "you definitely shouldn't play League AND hold a conversation, no matter how short." 

But let's return to what happened tonight. Because tonight was nice.

Tonight was solid. 

There wasn't a full moon like the last 3 nights. It was a starless, moonless sky, and it's like 70% of YNC students have disappeared for the weekend to visit their parents, so soooo many of the dormitory windows are dark and empty. It was just Garima, Naina, Neha and her boyfriend, and I sitting on the sky garden. And like always, when I'm with any one or two of them, we end up making each other laugh. 

From the silly. Or a silly situation carved out of a serious one. We laugh together too much and I feel like I'll never quite find something like this ever again. 

A friendship so secure, and full and whole, that even saying the smallest of things instigates floods of laughter from all sides.

I've never laughed so much in my life. 

And we all know how my laughs are. 

They become cackles. And then I start howling, a table is slammed once or twice. My body quakes. And it feeds my soul when I can make someone laugh. Tonight was just that. 

The light I gathered from everyone's laughter and mine mixed together. None of us are perfect or are perfect for each other, but when we are together, sometimes it feels that way. 

"Ngoc, you're so confident and in tune with yourself. Not afraid of what anyone thinks of you. You know how to make anyone feel like they are seen and are such a great and active listener. You're incredible and I hope you know it as we do."  

Of course, I do feel lost. When I'm not laughing my guts out or making new friends, I feel like I don't know what to do with my hands. In a new country, I feel all this possibility, but at the same time I am trapped by it. If I'm sitting for hours or just being bored or just studying, I feel like I'm cheating myself out of a good time. I feel like I'm having fomo if I'm not hanging out with people or going out all the time, and it's this empty pursuit of happiness that makes me less and less happy at times. 

When I'm aware of this creeping feeling, I ground myself back to my breaths. What I do have. What I did get to do so far. How brave I've been. How far I've gone and back again. All the people I've gotten to know. 

Shut down the "comparisons" game. Because that game is easier to play than rejoicing all the moments I've had and the people I've connected with so far.

Singapore has been one big ride of uncertainty and newness and fear.

Sometimes, I want to run back to the familiar. My great friends at Smith. I want to return and do what? Feel comfortable again... feel whole, all the time. 

But already, I'm learning so much about myself here. It may not be a perfect experience, but I never saw this coming; I'm participating twice, even three times more than I did back at Smith. Here, at a co-ed institution, I'm studying harder than I ever did. On an exchange program at that haha. Here, I speak more. And I speak eloquently. I'm brave, even braver. 

I've just proven to myself that it doesn't matter what space I am in, traditionally all-women's or not; I can thrive anywhere where I feel valued or wherever I want to shine. 

I will. 

It's hard for me not to.

I have a pretty darn seemingly confident voice for it too, ha.

I had a lot of fears before coming here, and if I was on the right path at all, to be whatever it is I'm going to be -- because I really don't know what I want to do with my life. 

About a week before I left for Singapore, to have some insight into my life, I visited a fortune teller, Cau Chin. To see him was absolutely free, so you know his ish is NOT BS. And he told me all that I needed. All of the concerns I walked in with washed away from his penetrating words. 

Without asking me what my concerns were, he just looked at me once. 

"Who is NKL? Who is NKL?"

That's my father's name and my father looked up. 

"Because his oldest daughter will one day be the first ________."

My father instantly asked, "Are you sure, sir?"

Cau Chin responded, "Haha of course. I don't jest."

I gazed up, incredulous at the prediction. It was something I could never see for myself, far too out of reach, far from what would make me happy, and far too great to be mine. For now, I'll just see this part of the prediction as a feverish daydream.

Then he turned and looked at me in the eyes, pulling a necklace from his disciple's hands.

"Here is a necklace to support you on the next part of your journey and to remind you to live to your fullest, happiest, independent, confident, strongest, sexiest, juiciest self."

(it was at this part when I realized he REALLY saw me T__T -- cuz which monks tell you to be sexy??)

And immediately after: "I need you to remember how independent you are. You are a strong, independent woman. You do not need any man, child. If he is the right man, if he is the right love, he will choose you and you will know. Do not worry. Focus on being independent and strong. Do you understand me? Independent. INDEPENDENT!" He said it all with a flourish. In one breath. 

"Do you really understand me?"

I nodded, both confused and knowing exactly what that meant. 

I asked him quickly after, "Sir, am I currently walking on the right path?"

He said with a confident nod, "Yes you are. But your MANAGEMENT!!" And he slapped my upper arm hard.

"Is that all?" he asked with a grin and already moving on to the next client. 

I was so starstruck, I nodded a quick yes and thanked him as he got up. TIME MANAGEMENT is what he meant. And I know.... god I know.

A part of me was sad that I'd have to continue to be independent. That I have to continue being strong. Continuing to build that sense of self-assuredness --- it's exhausting. I just want to be a silly child for the rest of my life, if I could. Agh. And make cheese fries runs with my friends in the AMs. :( And of course, there are times when I just want to lay my head down to rest. On someone else's warm chest.

But I know what that means. I know what working on my independence means. I have to take initiative for what I want. My happiness is mine and does not flicker or stutter because of anyone. Let go of what doesn't make me happy. Build relationships with people I want to grow with. Be confident in my choices and defend my values. If fierce is what I have to be, so be it.  

I don't need to go with the flow. I can hold my own. I have the fire for it. 

I have a fire hot enough to burn my way through the dark.

I have a lot to be excited about. I have plenty to lose. And I hate being alone. 

I wonder who I will become after Singapore is over.

It's just been a little over 3 weeks but the changes. I'm seeing the changes already. 

I live in Saga house here on campus, and this has been

my Singapore Saga.

Rest,

Ngoc

P.S. Official Singapore updates in a follow up post I swear!! :P

Episode 74: A Word Away

Ocean Vuong, who is probably every young Vietnamese American's favorite poet right now, once wrote:

"Every word I write here is a word farther from you, Ma."

At least, that's what I think he wrote. I had trouble finding the real thing in my hazy 1:11 AM self.

Me. Ba. 

It's true.

For every new English word I learn, another Vietnamese word grows hazier or, is lost. Fizzing out. Connections between firing neurons to make the word, a word, snapped. 

And that scares the shit out of me. 

I dread the day that I learn another English word. Which is every day. 

All the history in your heads, is written in the neurons of your minds. Telling my mind. What it knows. What it thinks it knows. 

Memory is selective and self-serving all too many times. I bet your stories are too. Stories often are, but...

I'm trying to put together what it is I'm losing exactly. 

Why does it feel like I'm losing? A lot of little somethings? Trillions of possibilities: many of them I see share the same ending. 

My great great grandkids won't even know. 

Any bit as much as I know. 

Or anything at all of what you both know. 

Me. Ba. 

What will become of all that we know? What's going to happen to the history we fought so hard to protect? What history is left to spell out? My kids and their kids and their kids are going to never, not as much, not as much as we do. And I even can't. I can't even articulate what happened of our ancestors either.

I'm so so so sad. I know it's inevitable but god.

What a hefty goal it is, to desire rememberance.

And with every new English word I use,

like

"rememberance,"

I'm losing it.

It feels like a ticking time bomb that when it explodes, shatters all the time, all the memories, the glass reflecting myself back.

I taught my mother how to play a bit of "For the love of a princess" from Braveheart on the piano tonight.

It's a song I've been playing for years and the one she always requests I play at the end of almost every day.

"Play that song I like, Ngoc."

And it's always "for the love of a princess." 

She tells me it makes her feel nostalgic, wistful, and that all the beauty that ever existed, she's seen before, she sees through this song. 

This song gives her the words to tell me that it makes her feel like she's deeply connected with all the mountains she grew up with. The rivers and the birds and maybe that boy from her past and the yams and all the things that stabbed her bare feet. And me. I'm pulling her heart strings over here haha, and I'm leaving to study abroad soon. In less than a week. My papers aren't even together yet, YIKES, but

I'm leaving super soon.

I wanted to leave her with the memory of how to play this song by herself.

So if she misses all the memories of her youth, or of me, that she can access those feelings through music any time at all. 

Teaching her to memorize it was for naught. She doesn't know how to read music or play any instrument outside of the drums.

It was her idea and a brilliant one too; I taped numbers on the piano keys so she'll know which ones to play in order.

She soon picked it up and eventually, just a tap away from accessing it. 

All it took was being a willing and supportive teacher and she was smilinggg. And she wanted to stay longer and longer to continue practicing the 13 or 14 notes she now learned.

I would have stayed there for as long as she wanted.

I wanted to give her something new, like all the things she's given me. 

There's a lot of words I don't know in Vietnamese.

There's a lot of notes my mom doesn't know how to play.

There's a lot of good memories that slipped my dad's mind. 

And part of preserving memory is making memory. 

I don't think I'll ever forget the way my mom and I danced to Michael Buble's "Sway" tonight or the way we hopped like mad to Careless Whisper even if it was a saaaad song. 

I may not have all the important memories of my ancestors in me, but I do know that I'm a ready student.

Perhaps I'll never truly know enough. Or ask enough or the right questions. But I want to. I want to know enough to at least be a willing and supportive teacher to my kids. Know enough to pique and keep their interest so that they have the initiative to search for answers on their own, should I no longer be alive.

Just as my parents instilled in me.

Haha, I don't have kids yet, but say 10 years from now, when they exist--

I want them to feel as proud, as I do, about the Nguyen Khoa family line. About the Huynhs and their great-grand father who died plowing the infertile dirt, hopeful for food -- the ultimate act of love. About their grandma's resilience and courage and kindness, how she forgives even the most unkind of people. How she prefers Popeyes to Canes, and how their mom and aunt would quickly agree to disagree. About their grandpa who's always retelling the same stories because he wants to keep the conversation going. How he once fought and lost a war. How he drove their mom and aunt to mostly anywhere they wanted, as long as they were with their girlfriends. And their great grandma who would cook anything they wanted, perhaps the same egg and rice dish that their mom loved eating after school in her elementary school years.

I'm tearing up. 

I really am. I can't believe that there's going to be a day when I'm going to be a mother. And though these darn kids don't exist yet, I love them already. I want so much for them. I want for them all the things I had and more. I want them to know about the history I lived with, was surrounded with, was choked with. 

I can hardly believe that as I write this, that I'm going on to do some amazing things. I'm super proud and scared for myself. Study abroad in Singapore (AND IM ROOMING WITH ONE OF MY BEST FRIENDS AHHH). Internship with the State Department in the bureau I've always wanted. And.. finishing my last year at Smith. And hopefully, back to Houston.

Back to home. To the mall. To the dress shopping and the book shopping and my favorite underground curry place.

Having kids is going to be amazing, I'm just not ready for the sharing. Would I ever tell the stories well enough? Would I have enough words, no, the right words? To relay it. Would I inspire the same curiosity my parents inspired in me? 

To look up at the moon and say, "I want to stay out here, stay and stare and wonder about all these things I don't know about. So let's make a wish."

I do know they're probably going to be super cute, if they look anything like me when I was a toddler. Pft.

There's a lot to remember but I'll do well to remember it all too well.

At least for myself.

"Why doesn't grandma eat meat when there's a full moon out?" my grandkids would whisper.

"Something about her dad doing the same. Buddhist stuff," the eldest grandkid would reply.

"hehe, Bootyism," the other grandkid would snicker. That one's definitely mine.

(I'll make them Taylor Swift fans too.)

Your girl,

Ngoc

P.S. This episode was chaOTIC. It started on a fearful note of wth is going to happen to all these things that I know about my family and the history I was taught to value. All this history would just be less and less as future generations exist. AHH. 

I just want my grandparents and parents to live on. If not physically, that they live on in memory. And at some point, I won't have any control over that. We were in no one's memory when we were first born, and then after, we were. Then we die, and...yeah, hah..

okie.

Episode 73: Okay

Okay doesn't mean "okay" anymore.

It's two weeks from finals and

the state of okay

is laced with the toothiness of tiredness. 

The sluggish movements we all make from not staying in bed long enough.

Something about snow coming

and it's stark dark and not even 4:30. 

Slouching in all of Smith's couches,

I find myself

being smart enough to find a chair, hard and sturdy, instead

to keep awake.

Awake to do and think and express all these okay things keeping me awake.

The new status quo 

is exhausting yourself from constantly producing and producing shit

and being wedged between

this feeling of mediocrity

and plain bad.

And it's not even 2 pm yet. 

Am I even going to be awake enough to 

produce a shitty coherent thought

at 2 pm?

Honestly.

The little stamina I have 

is spinning

on absolute fear.

Of not finishing

not submitting

not writing and reading enough to

finish and submit.

How do we manage to freaking breathe?

And when I do, finally, do as my body does

and breathe,

I'm scared that I'm breathing for too long.

For laughing too much like we enjoy being crispy and burnt.

So cheers to today.

Another day when I tell my cute friends and my cute housemates

that I'm okay

only to proceed quickly with the word "fuck" 

in a long exhale

the kind that communicates, 

"I'm not okay at all. In fact, you probably knew that already. Maybe you're going through this too. Maybe we're both not alone in feeling this diluted version of 'okay.' Maybe we're too scared to map out everything we have to do, because if we think hard enough, that list starts to grow. 

out of control."

Is what I'm going through right now

even okay?

I'm going to start answering people with

"It's great to see you."

Instead of "how are you?"

from now on. 

Because I'd rather see people, see anyone,

than see myself 

engulfed.

Episode 72: Skunk

11.19.21.

12 AM. Three losing League games until we won. I was a tree and you were a swordsman. I threw my sapling bits that exploded on the enemy. You spun into the fray, brave and true, until they all descended on you. Hungry for kills. 

1 AM. I told you about a lunar eclipse happening tonight, holding onto the edge of my chair and peering hard out our window. You asked if I'd want to go on the balcony to witness it for real. A place I've never been. "Let's pick a chair. Yours or mine?" 

"We're going to smuggle a chair onto the balcony?" I asked, wide-eyed.

"Haha no. To reach the window!" 

You grinned with homework heavy in hand. 

That's how you show me you care. 

So you carried my chair ahead, figured out how to pull down the window screen, as I pulled on pants and boots. We kept giggling as we struggled to fit through the window. My inner thighs hurt a lot. My boots were in the way. Your slipper was in the way. But we managed to see the other side. To witness the moon we were promised.

"Allison, we're on the wrong side to see it, aren't we?" 

"We definitely aren't. Plus it's so cloudy tonight. How are we supposed to see the moon?" you pondered with your astrology knowledge.

Haha oop. 

Astronomy. 

Moon or not, it really didn't matter. The view before me was fresh. The air was chilly. My nose was chilly. My hands were getting cold but the glow of the campus center, the way my bike looked from above, tips of trees I never knew to be so tall suddenly realized, and not a star in the sky.

It was wet. A streak of thin white cloud in the dark ass sky. 

"Is that the milky way?" I asked, truly not knowing. I was in that late-night sleepy daze where too many questions came to mind. And you never minded answering them.

Not without laughing out loud this time, "We're in the milky way, silly."

"Ah... hahahahaXD"

We laughed and talked about anything again. The tips of my boots began to feel cold and I wondered how cold wearing slippers only felt. I started walking back towards the window, thinking maybe it was cold enough to go in, but you were reluctant. No way did we go through all that trouble for just 10 minutes of balcony time. So we stayed for longer, happily chilling in the chill.

Then I spotted a scurrying creature by the side of the empty campus center. Pitter pattering on top of orange-yellow leaves and illuminated by the bright lights of the white building. Squeezing and stopping below the black steel benches. We kept on moving to get a better angle. 

This was the first time in my life that I saw a skunk so clearly. The first time I saw a skunk that wasn't in Curious George.

It looked like a raccoon panda. 

so FLUFFY. AND CUTE. AND SQUISHY. 

I bet its cute paws would pat pat on me if I held it. TOE BEANS.

But its ass would make me a mess.

"We're going to need all the homemade marinara from Tyler to get that stink off us," I commented.

"Or ketchup and water for days," you added. I could feel your cheeky grin. I could feel my own cheeky grin. I COULD FEEL MY CHEEKS.

I've been smiling too much lately. But today, or tonight haha, I couldn't stop pointing and be awed. 

By the deft way the skunk knew where to go. Up the concrete stairs instead of hedging through the grass. So quick and sure and human. 

I wonder if this skunk could hear us tonight. Saying stupid shit like "woah, it's so cute." 

Or "woah, it's ACTUALLY so cute." 

I'm 21 years old. And I've finally seen a skunk.

Your city girl can't get more domesticated than this.

Am I even using domesticated correctly?

Tonight, I was awed by that simple, pretty feeling. Tonight was so pretty. 

Pretty like the smiles on our faces. Pretty like all the laughter we couldn't stop holding back as we realized all our efforts were for naught, with no moon in sight. Pretty like the warmth in my belly as we witnessed this skunk doing skunky things. 

I wasn't at all disappointed that I couldn't see the moon. I was with you, my awesome friend.

You and I eventually turned towards the window after a series of yawns. I went after you, your long legs reaching the chair long before mine could. Then, mine came after. I was unsure, unsteady, but you held the chair. I was just fine. 

You have my back.

Last week, I teared up on the middle of the street, walking to a fancy dinner I was in no way well-dressed for. Thinking about things I wish I could turn back time on, but before I lingered on regret, you and Luna appeared before me in the dark. 

I could tell it was you anyway. You could be walking a mile away but if I ever saw anyone that walked like you, "it's her" I'd say. 

And it was you. That happy, jaunty walk. You're like the main character of a coming-of-age movie. The protagonist everyone roots for, because your positive energy is magnetic. Radiant. Warm. You make people ask if all comp sci majors walk like that.

You walked up to me and I greeted you both into a hug. 

I was about to break down crying. Maybe I almost did and the glow of the streetlights reflected the truth of what I felt, maybe all the cars driving past us knew I was emitting sad girl vibes, but before I could tear up any more, you said, "Hey. Whenever you get back to our room, look out for a little something, because I got you something. :)" 

That's one of the moments I knew. 

That I'll remember most. 

I'll be okay, because my friends are rooting for me. You're rooting for me.

You want to see me happy and well. :)

Whoever I'll become in the future, wherever I'll be, I'm probably going to cry.

A lot.

But being with you makes me smile. 

Friends, I thank you for being my homemade marinara sauce. ^-^

Cuz sometimes life fucking stinks and I fucking suck.

Like.

Skunk.

And I'll need to smell nice things again.

the afterthought

am i supposed to

get used to

silence?

your presence 

only nighttime

when its convenient

when you're too tired

to talk about anything

sufficient.

anything real. 

are we real? really? in a realationship? 

relationship.

is this how it's supposed to feel?

you tell me it's going to change. 

it. or you? 

or when you say that, you're asking me to change? 

my expectations? 

but why is it, that no matter how much i concede,

how much i want to believe

that i can handle the little we have

the little you give me, 

why does it feel wrong? 

can two people really be this busy for each other?

or just one is too busy for the other?

i'd rather do as i've done before,

keep a foot out the door,

but the part of me that remembers your steady gaze, 

the words you spilled, the drives you made,

doesn't mind the silence.

doesn't mind the waiting. 

but someone once

taught me,

that it shouldn't feel like waiting

for things to change.

because my time is precious

and so is yours.

you tell me you are satisfied with 5 minutes of talking. 

"a glass half full," you said.  

i think not. 

i'm not looking for a glass half full.

im looking for one glass full

of satisfaction, depth, speed, care. 

it's not about how much time we spend, 

babe.

i don't want 

to feel as i do now -- unnatural, uncomfortable, left, unread -- 

like an afterthought. 

maybe i don't understand you.

maybe you don't understand me. 

but that's what it feels right now

that's what it appears to be.

the misplaced pencil pooch

i have a hunch that i left my beautiful gray, flowered pencil pouch out on the kickball field, last week. when my house played kickball against another house for lawn-naming rights. i had biked out to Cutter-Ziskind to pack brunch into my backpack and then on my bike, i raced down the hill, the one that takes me straight to the sports fields. on any decline, my bike can fly. i felt like flying, flying, flying until my bike lock fell off loudly behind me. It’s okie. Was worth. 

when i walked to the field, my housemates were warming up, waving to me. i found a spot on the bench to sit down and pull my brunch from my backpack. Eating and smiling and cold.

the kickball game began. allison and i applauded and screamed. she rested her notepad on her lap, meaning to study but i knew we'd only have eyes for the game. 

"H-W Lawn" has always been the hope. we lost by a point. we lent the opposing team our best players because they didn’t have enough. Haha, again. It’s okay. The grass was green and the sky was sunny and my nose was chilly and the view of smith, beautiful.

So we technically won by default. i had so much fun cheering on the sidelines. enjoying my egg quiche and the company. ^-^

if not the kickball field, then the pouch is in josten library, in that study room full of old, rare books behind glass bookshelves. i remember opening the door and almost yelped when i saw the shape of a person studying in such dim lighting. it was Loren, an acquaintance that always said hi back. the kind of person i know deep down i could vibe with had we had more encounters.

it's the room with a keyboard you can play with headsets on. I played some of my favorite songs while Loren studied. after i finished, we conversed about international politics, wine and parties, and rap. two girls who enjoyed boardgames and watching kpop dancing videos. that one UMass frat party I walked in on. We listened to August D’s Daechwita and bopped along. laughed about the silly and the serious. before I left, we promised we'd meet again.

if the pouch was not at josten, then it might have fallen out at the boat house. i had biked there immediately after leaving the library to meet with Naina. we made last minute plans to kayak haha. i got there first, sat down on the steps as i waited, enjoyed the view of the pond, the trees, the scattered yellow and red leaves on the ever-shifting pond surface. it was chilly. i dug my heels into the concrete steps. not too long, i heard foot steps behind me. 

maybe it's from walking with her lots but i knew those steps were hers. 

Naina and i went into the boathouse. it was my first time. god. that boat house felt and smelled…? like a movie. the strong smell of wet wood and earth. wooden desks. wood everything. a life vest was fitted on us both before we each got our own kayaks and were pushed into the water.

everything feels different when i was in the water. the paddling. the calm. the conversation. the way the surface of the water moved and shined under the sun and with the wind. if i had anything to say, it was an observation. 

"beautiful."

"gosh."

"woah! haha"

"i can't breathe"

Naina looked so cute paddling pft. sometimes she would struggle to push herself forward or her kayak was stuck on a log hahaha and i keep saying this and it's so weird but she's the cutest daughter. if i had a daughter like her, i would be blessed. forever. our paddling wasn't synchronous but the sight of her silhouette against the shine of the water and the trees was absolutely gorgeous. i wonder what i'd see if i was paddling behind myself. how do i look? 

all in a sunday. all these beautiful, peaceful feelings i felt. somewhere in me, somewhere deep, i felt warm. warm from how such a normal sunday could already feel so extraordinary because of the people in it. the nature in it. the flight i felt in my heart.

i was making memories that i'd remember for the rest of my life. as I write this, I can still see it all. 

i used to be the kid who stayed in, studying hard for that extra letter grade. who based her self-worth on her academic performance and achievement. 

it was my everything. it was me. and i allowed it to be. 

however, that meant i left a lot of life behind. 

fomo. 

fear of missing out. my beautiful friend Elise first introduced this to me in our penpal letters. i realized then how that was everything. everything i had feared. perfectly condensed.

i feared i had lost. had i lost years? lost it to nothing at all. nothing i'd remember or recall. downing and memorizing and swallowing information i'd barely touch. for the sake of recognition. someone else's. not mine. 

it's as if i could only be real if someone else noticed me and my efforts. not that i did. i lived for others. and i loved it. i hated it. i thrived and i burned and i was quiet. never voicing it. crying only in the middle of the night as i stared down my computer screen. another essay to conquer. another concept to master.

i never did much. not for fun. 

Like The Band Perry's song "If I Die Young" -- "all i never did is done." 

on a night out to a jazz concert with someone i really like (this was a month ago) i was epically excited about funnel cakes, having never had them before. on our way back from getting a plate, as we sought a place to eat it, he asked me, "do you ever have fomo? is this fomo for you?" 

it was painful to admit it. the funnel cake plate was warm in my hands as we walked. his eyes, earnest. 

"yes. god, yes i do. but im here tonight aren't i? im in the exact place my parents would never have allowed me to go, with the exact person they'd never want me to be with at night: a boy. haha."

we ate the cake together, fingers and all. amazing music floating through the chilly air. the highway beneath us. i felt safe. flying. like a bike in decline. i felt easy.

so where was the damn pencil pouch? it wasn't in any of these places.

two days had passed after that sunday. i dug around my backpack for an umbrella and there it was.

with me all along. it was with me everywhere. this trusty pencil pouch.

not lost.

i didn't lose it after all.

i hope you'll find what you've felt you've lost. and if you don't, that you can create it :)

yes.

best,

Ngoc

P.S. haha. cheesy.

i am a cheese about my own life.

am i perfectly happy? definitely not! i just... i've come to learn where i like putting in my time. 

we got this heh ^-^