Where Do All My Hairs Go?

[Read this post to this music: I'll Be Home for Christmas Except It's April 2023]

I blew some wittle strands off my laptop.

It seems I only ever get onto this blog to write anything about my life when I'm in crisis. 

Homework crisis. I don't know what I don't know again. 

I sit still under the rain. When the rain leaves me drenched, I sit still under the sun. A leaf floats from a nearby tree and lands on the spot between my eyebrows, because I'm soaking up the sun that's suddenly arrived all week.

Perhaps there's a pair of sweatpants headed my way. A leash in their hands. The sweatpants pass me by. The dog turns around, eyes searching for any familiarity in me. Its paws continue skipping ahead. I'm not even a friend. Maybe one day I am. 

My own hands are holding onto a fine pen and small notebook, the size of my palm. So small, it's only meant for memorable quotes said by friends at most. Or doodles of whales circling moons at its least.

A notification that my 4 new phone cases from Shein have arrived make my phone chirp. Each case is decorated with images I've probably already dreamed of before but never thought to make a business idea out of. If only I had that entrepreneur mindset along with my econ degree. And thank god I only dream shit. Not draw them too. I'd be unstoppable.

There's a laugh across the street I could recognize anywhere. A part of me longs to be where that laugh is, but maybe we're no longer close enough for me to suddenly reach out. My hands search for the next thing to write.

Ah. Another list. 

A small notebook of lists. Always and always about things I haven't done yet. And not the things I've already done.

The very tips of my hairs come into perspective as I focus on the page on that small notebook in my lap. 

Split ends. Almost everywhere if I look hard enough. Split ends where there are none. I pull softly on a small bunch of them and again and always, a hair already free from my head and only waiting for another force to let it go, separates itself from all the other hairs already stuck on my head. 

That hair slides along the other hairs. Goodbyes. To everybody. 

I pull it all the way out and examine the entirety of its thinness. Its length. Not delicate at all. 

I rub it one way. And then the other way. I pinch it between my fingers. 

Then another hair already on my lap, perhaps from a while ago, comes into perspective. I really do stress shed. Maybe that dog from earlier saw it before I did and was wondering why I didn't put my loose hairs back on my head. 

But what's left is left. 

With two strands in my hands. And a pen. And a notebook on my lap. 

I can only hold onto so much. My hands are wittle after all. Good for making comparisons of "ohmigod your hands are so bigggg compared to mine" with hands of single men who have promised me from head to toe that they are single and are absolutely not in open relationships and who managed to actually make me blush. 

My little sister would suggest maybe to wait for the next biggest wind. 

"Then you let it go." 

Fucking wise-woman shit. 

So I wait for a wind that never comes. Not for the next 14 minutes. 

While I wait, my lips wish for a sweetness. Like Dr. Pepper. Rock sugar and artichoke juice. 

I remember the days when I used to wait all the damn day to get home. Autumns that felt like summers. Spring that felt like summers. Some lucky afternoons after school, my grandma would have it already made: rock sugar and artichoke juice. "Now we add the ice. You can't just drink it the moment you get home. Wash those hands."

I gulp it anyways. Straight from the jug. 

Fucking wise-woman shit. 

"Come here boy. Tch, tch. No more sniffing. We gotta go. Come on." Sweatpants sweats past my thoughts. I'm trying to remember my grandma right now, come on. 

Yes, she's still alive. No, I haven't called her in 2 weeks.

I wonder if sweatpants ever had the opportune to chance on such a wicked combination. Rock sugar and artichoke juice and ice. The dog turns and looks at me again. A bit more recognition this time. 

Yes, I've seen you before. 

A wind should pick up by now. Blowing all these poor strands that took a while to grow on my head, away from me. The wind will carry the strands to the patch of grass the dog wanted to sniff earlier. 

Maybe if the dog passed that grass a third time. And my strands were there. Maybe the perfume I wore today, painting those strands, would be something to recognize, if we ever meet again. 

Episode 87: Uncertainty

I am brimming in it. 

What am I going to do with my life?

Questions I've avoided answering are hitting me in every direction. 

I am a floating piece of bright purple tissue paper. But unlike something that floats and goes with the wind, I am more like a paralyzed rock. 

I am not moving because I don't know how to write and talk about myself. I'm unsure if I'll bring real value to any space. Sure, I do it here on this blog. Sure, I do it when I force myself in my classes. But... there's real urgency now. A start of a career. What am I to do after I leave college? 

My social life. My life life? 

Like a strike of lightning, I wish I had the answers. 

I wish I was more comfortable clarifying my life path earlier. I wish I weren't so paralyzed. Feeling so useless. So unfit. So weak. 

So dang small. 

A part of me is just tired of fighting for myself. 

The life after Smith is a life full of self-advocacy. Self self self. How alone alone. 

I am scared. Less scared of uncertainty than I used to be. But heck, I truly have no idea what to do next. No fucking clue. 

How 22 of me. Heh.

Episode 86: Wesley House

I return to you, as I am. As I used to. 

I return to you changed. Charged. Guilty of leaving you. 

I return to you like a guest now. When I used to call you shelter. House. Home.

I turn into you wearing sneakers you've never felt on my feet to sound your hallways. 

My fingers find the switches next to your living room door. It remembers even the small slider that can dim your orange, golden lights. It remembers how to deftly remove my own coat and rest it on one of your assorted chairs. Mismatched and always in unhelpful places for a proper house meeting. But placed perfectly for friends to be knee-to-knee.  

My eyes know where to look. Out your window. To Paradise Pond. I remember that one evening freshman year, the sky was ablaze like a phoenix. I chased the colors out your window, standing in front of you jacketless, mouth agape. Eyes wide and heart on fire. I felt myself whispering, "There's no view prettier than this. I wish... I wish that..." my eyes never once closing. Not until the sky's fire dimmed. I think you knew what was happening to me, watching me with... I'd imagined you'd have blue eyes. You're the only house on campus painted such a lovely color.

I look at the singular small bookshelf on your right. I remember there were more games back in my day, when I'd ask my friends to borrow some from our neighbor Haven House. Red Flags. Cards Against Humanity. Code Name. I hosted parties and board game nights in your living room, Wesley. I hosted Friday movie nights, cuddling against all my friends on your couch. I was just someone seeking the next moment to tell a joke, to make someone laugh. I still do that, but I perfected this skill under your roof, Wesley.

I turn my head to your stairs. A beautiful little thing, carpeted from the first to the second floor. Basic ass from the second to third floor. I have had questions about your stairs' consistency. But I don't care. Anyone walking down your stairs is a thunder that rumbles through the house, perhaps because you only house 17 people, you like announcing any arrivals or departures. "Every person should be thunder in this little space." I can imagine you grinning and telling me so. 

It was on your stairs that I heard a familiar thunder. A friend that I would still call today, once every 2 weeks. "Where are you headed?" I'd ask. "What are you up to?" she'd ask. Either one of us leaning into your wooden stair rails, a cube top, gazing down at the other. Gazing up at the other. "When are we calling?" 3 years later. 

I think you knew what was happening to me as I slowly headed up the stairs, 

to the third floor where I lived. I had a view of your parking lot. Where, I never foresaw this since heck, you're located at a traditional all-women's college, but where men I liked or loved would pick me up and drop me off and kiss me good night for the next three years. A room where I hung my Marvel A-Force poster and random shit I have no recollection of. Ah, a string of beautifully folded cranes that Nina made for my 19th birthday.

On that third floor, I'd leave little notes on my neighbor's door and pretend to the same neighbor that I don't know who's been doing that. Innocent. She knew I wasn't, I know, but it was fun to be what I wasn't. She was my second friend on campus. She loved horseshoe crabs, and one day, in an attempt to get over my fear of horseshoe crabs, I told her a thing I regret so much, "You may remove that horseshoe corpse off your wall. I wanna see how it looks from below its shell, heh." 

Miriam agreed. I don't know why upskirting/up-shelling a horseshow crab would help me get over my fear of them but that shit was horrifying. All their little legs. The DETAIL. I freaked out and ran away to the opposite end of the hallway. She started walking towards me with it.

"GET THAT CREEPY SCARY THING AWAY FROM ME. IM CALLING MY MOM."

We laughed so hard. I died that night, holding onto your walls. All your walls. Screaming at Miriam to back off bitch. 

On a more calm note, leaving your front door, I'd pause at the top of the steps, breathing in cold air and breathing out to see my own breaths. Taking in this beautiful view of Paradise Pond and the edge of the white curves of the Botanic Garden. I would know that I was in the exact place I was supposed to be, before walking to Seelye Hall like a good little student.

You knew I was falling in love with you, as my silhouette shrunk. 

You knew you were a big reason of why I loved Smith so much. You knew how beautiful you were to me. You knew how excited I'd get whenever I saw your blue color from as far away as the bottom of the hill. You knew how much I loved spending my academic FOCUS hours in your living room, how much I laughed and laughed and laughed. I laughed because I was loved. 

And I was loving. 

You knew I was in love with you. 

But then I spent a year away from you in Houston, TX because of Covid. I spent one semester in Singapore's parks and beaches, addicting myself to HECKING AWESOME cold beancurd. I spent a summer housed by a stranger turned someone I love in DC, but was someone who loved me first. The lonely young professional DC life. I lived on my own. I lived with people I grew to love. I lived with people until I knew how to make them laugh. I developed a knack for wearing the most colorful outfits and loving my thighs even when they were at their thickest, tiger marks appearing almost everywhere. 

I learned how unafraid I am of confrontation, always ready to defend my right or defend others. My body placing itself between a verbally aggressive person and a stranger who told him to go away on the dance floor. My mind finding the words to tell fencing club to find another space to do their training and when gaming club is done, we'd give them the room. It's not our fault our two clubs were double-booked. We were there first. I wasn't even a board member.

I knew to call men who had a fishy way about them, whether it be the way they looked at me or the way they spoke to me, "Mister." 

"Mister Adam. Hello."

"Oh no, I'm not that old! Call me Adam."

"I was raised that way, Mister Adam. To respect strangers." Mr. Adam would whisper to Ms. Jennifer who invited me there, "Why would she call me Mister? I'm really not that old." 

She'd respond baffled, "You're more than double her age aren't you?" Later in the car, Ms. Jennifer would keep echoing how proud she was of me. That I knew so quickly how to physically separate myself from men who were interested in me at the sailing club meet with my words. With respect. 

I knew how to play the love game. My friends come to me for relationship advice. "If he really liked you, you'd know. There's no guessing. He'd let you know every day if he could. You'd know it like breathing, like air."

"But what if he doesn't text all day? But only once?"

I'd answer, "If Barack Obama can text Michelle that he's on his way, between flights? Any man can really do it, if he really wanted to." 

"Wow, I'mma use that. I'mma use that."

God. Barack is my Achilles heel. My freshman year self was still into Tom Hiddleston. So yes, even my taste in men has changed.

I return to you changed. 

So today, your used-to-be freshman, now senior, remembers you. Returns to you. 

I turn to you like a temperature dial. I turn to warmer times of my younger, foolish, funfest past whenever I feel the slightest cold.

I turn to you whenever I want to feel small again. Protected again. Young and laughing and more careless than I was careful. 

I returned to you today, realizing how far I've come. How far I went when I left you. Too much to share. You'd care to listen to all of it.

I am guilty for leaving you. I am guilty and I won't be so silly as to not remember you.

Remember you, I always will. 

Thank you, my favorite little blue house.

A Song I replayed for the hour I wrote this

Kid

Drop your shoulders, you look like people are gonna hurt you first.

Wouldn't you look more elegant, more the leader you dreamed of being if you just relaxed? Wouldn't that be a sight to see? 

Don't speak like you're scared of being interrupted. Slow your words. Take your time with some words more than others. Make them wait and really listen. 

If you believe you're worth listening to, people will too. 

People are like horses. They can whiff your nervousness from the first show of your eye whites.

There's a lot that Xi Jinping and Putin should be sorry about, but not you. Not the woman that you are -- you probably didn't do anything wrong. You're just convinced you are because you've seen so many other women convinced too. You forget when this apologetic streak started. 

"You have your dad's face but your mother's worries. Don't do that." 

Don't do that. 

Distracting yourself from yourself is the silliest thing. How can your own mind be worse than an abrupt "Goodbye"? The inevitable track of time will force you to answer all the questions you haven't begun answering.

You're gonna regret answering them all so fast. 

Or maybe, that's the ideal situation. Maybe you're supposed to answer so fast that you're only following that poor gut of yours. The one that keeps bloating and burping shit. 

Call people. Randomly call friends. It's the best, isn't it? When they finally pick up? 

You already learned this by now, but you should probably work towards the things you're envious of others about. Big difference.

7 am mornings. That's it. 

Say it with me, "The shape of a man shall no longer be my distraction." Now, believe it. 

Call your family. It's the best to them when you finally pick up. Isn't that true, family? 

Nothing was yours. You only borrowed it. Even if you paid for it. Even if they said "I love you" or if they're willing to drive forever to see you. You're only borrowing them. 

There's no promises they're preserved in your life.

The shelf-life of McDonald's fries would outlast all that you have anyways.

Stop searching for the next high. The only high is peace. 

There's a lake inside your mind. Your own island lake. Master Thich Nhat Hanh says to protect it. You keep promising yourself you would. Keep it. And stop calling yourself a liar. Even if you mean it, don't mean it anymore.

Your other master, Master Chin said that other thing you thought was kind of perfect. "Be your sexy, juicy self." Twice. If he can see right through you, then you can see to the end that you uphold protecting the beautiful temple that is your thick, cute body.

Bruh, why did your shoulder roll forward and tense again? Who's going to hurt you when you're all alone in this Christmas light-lit room in the middle of January? Fuck you. Fuck you for fearing.

Don't wake up screaming. Wake up kissing the back of your own hand.

Reach out for things that want you back. Let go of what's not yours or what doesn't want to be yours. What will be will be. Who will be will be. 

And you will be something worth seeing, kid. 

Episode 85: Haunted

Aren't there memories, things, and people that always haunt you when you least expect it? 

I walked the breadth of Northampton today, but at the beginning of this walk, I almost turned back around to Smith after I bought my Hungry Ghost rosemary bread because I'd rather sit somewhere private and chomp on it than walk and explore this little town in the rain alone.

My brown bagged bread, in the shape of a half-moon and as wide as half my chest, was slowly getting wet by droplets of rain. I hugged it closer to myself and imagined what turning back to Smith meant. It meant sitting down for the next several hours , pouring over words and numbers that meant something to me and will mean something to me. Neilson Library is beautiful but it would be the same Mac Screen and Mac mouse, the same seat, third day in a row. 

I don't dread a routine, but I do dread mediocrity. And god would it feel so damn mediocre to sit somewhere on a rainy day and do nothing but read and study. If exploring downtown meant hugging this warm bread that would only slowly de-warm itself for the rest of the afternoon, so be it. I was in search of something random and extraordinary even if I couldn't find it today. And isn't it the worst thing ever to hold something that's cooling?

It's a week before classes begin and nothing is happening on campus, except for random pop ups like sushi night two nights ago. A sushi buffet! Imagine that again, Ngoc. THAT was extraordinary. But nothing is happening and I'm tired of being a bum in my room or being a bum in the library or a bum in the dining halls for the past 72 hours. 

So I walked the length of Northampton, hiding a paper bag of this incredible bread from rain. I turned the corner and visited a store I've never been in before and inside were the most incredible things. 

A bar soap that scented like "Aurora Borealis."

Necklaces that were as glinty blue as mermaid tails.

Alpaca plushies made of real alpaca fur. 

I marveled in the store, eyes darting slowly from one magical thing to the next. I sniffed so many bar soaps. I've always been a hater of people who used them, just because it was ingrained in me how nasty bar soap usage can be, but I couldn't help but imagine all these scents on myself. 

Shee, I'd love to smell like an aurora borealis while looking like one one of these nights.

The cashier stepped away from the counter and asked, "Do you need any help finding anything?" 

Instead of giving a real answer, I said in awe, "Your place is incredible." The golden lights above us seemed to agree.

Behind her mask, she nodded agreeably while taking one step away from me. Maybe she needed to get back to something. 

Before I could doubt myself further, I continued, "There are things I haven't seen ever before. Everything is so carefully chosen. It's my first time here."

"Are you a townie or a part of the Five Colleges?" she asked. 

I said I wasn't a townie. "A senior at Smith. I'm a Smithie haha. I appreciate how you folks are also selling a Smithie's art piece up front over there. And I definitely should have visited here much earlier than in my senior year but also, I mean, it's my first time buying Hungry Ghost bread today too. A lot of firsts haha."

"I've never had Hungry Ghost bread myself. I used to be a UMass student and UMass is not as pretty as Smith. I visit Smith when I can and it's beautiful. I actually got this job because I haunted this store so much in my college days," she responded kindly.

"UMass is not that fugly haha. You guys have a pond and geese! And you can definitely try some of this Hungry Ghost bread if you'd like," I offered.

"We do. You're right, we do. And thanks but I just had a lot of pita today. You know, this is random, but I'm a part of a skating community called Crooked Teeth. You can definitely come, join, and see cool skaters in Northampton some time. I go often. :)" 

And oh shit in my head, I was thinking at this exact moment, "Am I making a friend right now? Really?" 

I replied excitedly that I'd love to come and watch and so we might see each other again. Maybe. 

I asked her later what's her favorite thing in the store. Like me, she loved the jewelry too. And so, that was extraordinary. 

I'm lucky I had my lucky but slightly less warm bread with me.  

Rosemary wafted to my nose like an embrace as I left the store, bidding goodbye and "maybe I'll see you again!" 

That entire conversation felt so easy.

And cute. 

:) 

Still thinking about the aurora borealis bar soap that I didn't buy when I was inside almost regretfully, I crossed the street to the bigger store, trying to find anything as pretty but cheaper than the earlier one I'd seen. 

I found nothing like it at all, but continued deeper into the marketplace where I knew an independent bookstore lay. 

I'm comfortable with my own company, I promise, but in a bookstore, it's super duper comfy to be in my own mind. Browsing and thinking and considering. All of these enticing bookcovers and there's a book that I come across. The same book I had just borrowed today. Babel by R.F. Kuang. 

And a flash of memories, not so distant, come back to me. I darted my eyes quickly from the book even if that doesn't do much. I've already borrowed it from the library today. 

I moved on. Continuing down the line of books and taking pictures of the lines I'd like to read later. And then another book by Leigh Bardugo. A writer that they also read. I moved on, just a little faster than before. To the nonfiction aisle and certainly, there, there would be no flash. 

Everything I allowed you to touch will always touch you in my mind. And I bet everything you've allowed me to touch will always touch me in your mind.

And so it goes. It seemed like forever ago, but for a moment I existed somewhere in our minds. 

I move to the front of the store. Maybe the storeowner noticed I've been documenting which books I'd like to read out of his store and is annoyed by it. Maybe that's why I didn't get a bag for the two beautiful bookmarks I purchased. 

And here again, I played the role of an anxious teetering person in an outwardly confident body.

I left happily with my unbagged bookmarks. Blue like mermaid tails and rivers pebbled in gold. 

I love it. I bet Phuong would love it too. I always held onto that beautiful notebook she gifted where a fisherman rows himself between water caves.

I am a water cave. Foundations deep below the sea but seen above land, far from her own motherland.

And the entire time, the rosemary bread smelled heavenly. Muscles in my thighs that I had trained a day ago were still sore as I trudged uphill back to Smith. Thankful for the walk and the new friend I made and the memories that came back to me. 

Thankful for a lot. For my legs, so strong to carry me. For myself in staying the path to extraordinary and the unexpected even if I'm a little haunted by the many things that yearn to stay a part of me, just because they once touched me. 

Not in a bad way! That's just so cool. I'll always be haunted and bear memories others will never know as I did. Remember people my parents will never meet. See things and places that are already changing themselves away. 

I'm writing awkwardly again. Okie.

Good evening folks! 

Your girl,

Ngoc

P.S. HUNGRY GHOST BREAD IS SO FUCKING GOOD!!!!!! nom nom nom

Episode 84: Night Out Sparkly

11.3.22.

My party dress glowed under the inner bus lights like little galaxies you haven't heard of. This is my first night out. I'm glittering in a way where you can't tell if the dress is pink or blue. If you haven't decided already, it's both. And silver. 

Silver like the feeling in my belly. I sat between two old friends and three new ones. It's 9:30 pm and we are not coming back until the club closes. 

Tonight was my first time actually doing this. I'm 22, and I just put on my best party dress. My friends have pre-gamed. Sonia is flushed red, telling me to touch their ears if my hands ever feel too cold. "My ears will warm you up." They were rose-colored, those ears. And those hands and cheeks. Naina doesn't look flushed at all. She looks at ease. Comfortable and excited about what will happen and calling me baby, Sonia baby, Ngoc baby. I'm not nervous at all, even as I feel glances from here and there. 

The much younger version of me wouldn't ever imagine a world where I'm wearing a little shiny dress, heading out in 40-degree weather. Or imagine that I'd ever get curvier and curvier as the years went by. By that, I mean thick. Perhaps she'd feel sad that she never lost any weight. Sad that she just doesn't get any skinner from wherever she is until 22. 

Disappointed that she still eats emotionally. But also interested in how any version bigger than her can so confidently navigate the world, unafraid of judgment. That at some point, her older self stopped caring. Instead, her older self cares about how she feels. Feeling stronger with every consistent week at the gym or eating well. :)

And started expressing. I go to classes in my best dresses at times. I wear the brightest colors on the rainiest days. If there's a fog, I'm a beacon of pink and cotton candy blue coming after you. I have a hunch. I'm going to be the first to die in a random shooting. I pop out like a sore thumb, dressed always in my best. Killed cuz she color-coordinated.

But here I am on the bus, taking it to Amherst. Sober dancing queen. I look so silly in all the selfies we take together. It's like I'm always searching for something offscreen or I smile weird. I look off. But normally, I look facially weird + clothing color coordination. You get someone who looks like they're always ready for class. 

Heck, I actually challenged my favorite professor of all time to an arm-wrestling contest. I lost. Prof Makowski is NOT a brain on a stick. Anyways, I feel super lightheaded throughout the bus ride. I only had one real meal today. Two pizzas, one yogurt, and one Vietnamese coffee. I tell them I need to get pizza or I'm gonna faint. So the moment we hop off, we head to my favorite pizzeria, Antonio's. Of course, it'd be a shitton of partied guys who want pizza at 10:15 pm on a Saturday night. I don't blame them. It's thin, crispy, and absolutely perfect. 

I savor every bite, grinning like a kid in my shiny dress with happy thoughts past lines and lines of folks waiting to get into other clubs. We find out they don't allow outside food, and Naina holds on and says she can totally wait for me. And so we wait. Naina. Sonia. Mariam. And me chewing as fast as I can while closing my eyes to enjoy every quick bite. They tell me not to rush, to go ahead and enjoy. Naina takes the chicken pieces -- I think we should get her a whole chicken pizza piece next time. I think she'd smile a big one awwwwww~

When we finally stepped in, my sixth sense activated. New to the space, my puffy black jacket gave me this feeling that I was protected. Once I let it go at the cost of $2 at the coat check counter, I feel seen.

I knew I glowed. I don't wear make-up. I just have this inner glow that I rely on. Cheeks glowing from my favorite avocado face cream and a smile glistening from cotton candy or coconut-flavored chapstick. The music is already loud in the dark bar area. Couples nestle together against one bar chair. Crowds of friends group at the bar booths. People are rushing out and in various states of casual dress. Tube tops and converse and cups of water held close. I ached to be where the music was coming from, unafraid to rush in after friends or intimidatingly tall men that I haven't seen anywhere on campus at Smith, haha. 

The narrow passageway that barely fit two people walking past each other led to a dark, loud space. Club lights filled my vision. Music hollowed out my brain -- every song that I can possibly know. I knew the DJ was going to be good. Our small group of 6 folks found a spot at the corner of the well-spaced dance floor, not too many bodies at the moment. 

We danced by the speakers. Fucking loud. I ushered our group close to the silver glass mirror on the opposite side. We took pictures while dancing. And truly danced to every song. I took so many water breaks, which was when I took in the room. As the Thursday night wore on, more and more people filled the floor, until our bodies were pushed to the edge again. It seemed guys were automatically dancing in the center and girls danced at the edges. Several times, the same guy or guys would push themselves past our circle of dancing girls to be in the middle and do some break dancing. It was cool and all except we didn't want it.

It got annoying ha. But my friends we swayed. Our hips and hands. Egging each other on in our little circle. Making eye contact to the other when the song slaps or if we're going to drop it. My knees still couldn't drop it so I stayed a safe amount of "low" :P. I had so much fun. Smiling and shining under lights for nobody but myself and my friends.

It didn't hurt that I felt eyes on me too. People searching for my contact as well, and though I would meet their eyes briefly, I'd look away. There's one place I'd rather be after this dance and it would be my own room, alone with my suitemates. Tucked under two layers of blankies and face all soapy and clean. 

That's where I'd like to be. 

Perhaps I'm still young, but I always imagined meeting someone I'd like somewhere else. 

Somewhere I'd least expect, but the story would be beautiful regardless. Tonight, I'm meeting myself in a circle these new and old friends of mine are making. 

The walk out of the club, all our ears were deafened. We could hardly hear each other, sounding like we're boozed as we raised our voices to hear each other. By the bus stop, I shared with everyone the difference between male rights and some other masculinist movement. We were all nerds and were like, "wowwww." The bus came. My legs were cold. My chest warm where my heart was.

A small little beating thing that liked attention and shining. That heart needs more cardio. 

But my boots handled it well. I jumped for minutes and minutes straight.

Anyways. First night clubbing. 9/10 because of the company and minus 1 for the men that pushed their way into the center of the dance circle. :I :P 

I like you, Ngoc.

I hope you'll always continue to live like this and show the world what you've got. A good bean you are. :) 

Episode 83: Dear Early 20s

I'm in my early 20s. 22. Dumb as fuck. Incredibly impulsive.

And just wrong. I'm always wrong and experiencing ambivalence for everything and everyone. There is a wild fire the size of an elephant that sleeps wherever I rest.

So here is a little love and hate letter to my early 20s. Everything I think important to survival of the fittest of these lovely, enduring, and challenging years.

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

Dear Early 20s,

You're where you've always wanted to be. Moments right before you drift off to sleep in your early tweens and mid-teen years after hours of constant homework and almost 4 hours of daily bus riding, you always dreamt of being 20. 

Why 20s of all times? Well, it's because people in their 20s are so fucking hot. You thought you'd be as hot by then, losing all your lower belly fat, your cheek fat, and gain lots of back muscle to balance all the hunching you did for AP Calc and AP Bio. Except in your 20s, you learn to peel back all of that internalized self-hate and self-consciousness. No one watches you as intensely as you've watched and judged yourself. All of that internalized fear of what someone else thinks -- some of that came from hearing the way your mother talks about herself. Squeezing her own belly fat in disgust or getting on the scale and then off it, only patting herself kindly after seeing she's lost weight. You learned to suck in your breath so that you could flatten your belly while sitting as early as elementary. You learned to do all of this, believing that if you did this, no one else would look at you in disgust, like the way she did. Little one, look at all the lies you and your mother and every piece of fatphobic media has told you. 

But your 20s, you're free of that. You realize all of that learned self-hate has no real power over you and your happiness and your chance at happiness after all. You are loved as you are. You are here and that is enough and in your 20s, you realize this for the first time. How? You can see realize this? Because you start leaving home or being more independent. Making choices on your own. Seeing where your own decisions lead you and the opportunities that land on your lap because of who you are, not how you look like. And slowly you realize, you're a capable, thoughtful soul. You find yourself surrounded with people who are both your friends and admire you. You can't ever truly see yourself unless it's through the eyes of others and these sweet friends of yours, see your strengths and celebrate you. 

If others can be so kind to you, then you start asking, "Why can't I be as kind to myself as my friends and sister are?"

Finally, you dress for yourself. You don't let go of clothes you thought would show off your wide arms. Your arms are nice and strong, plush and firm from all that child labor you offered at your mom's nail salon. 

Thank you child labor. 

But importantly, 20s people are wise.

Wise in a short-term way. Not the kind of wisdom where you put money into something and let it grow so you can retire safely. No, it's quick, on-the-streets wisdom: don't use tongue on your first kiss with someone that you'd like to invest in. Double wash your face twice every day because you're oiler than you thought. Create group chats for all your classes so everyone else can keep you accountable; you'll learn soon that you can't even trust yourself.

But you can trust your feelings. Those gut feelings are always right. And if you end up going against it, you'd open all the wrong doors only to find all the right ones after. "What's meant to be yours will be," your mother always said. You didn't understand that when you first love left you at 18, but you understand it now in your 20s. Because if they actually wanted to stay, heck even inanimate objects, then they'd stay. If they had a will, then they'd want and fight to stay in your life in a way that grows and hugs you. Amplifying who you already are. Celebrating the life you've lived.

Like plushie pillows and thick fluffy blankets that fit your shape. 

Now, whenever something or someone leaves you, you learn to long for them less. Now, whenever you have a small gut feeling to leave anything or anyone behind, you learn to listen and leave, even if you're stuck on the most awful phone call to do it. 

Stuck. 20s are for that too. 

Paralyzed by fear, there's more responsibility here. There's a life to build. A salary you've come this far to negotiate for. A senior in college, all everyone wants to know are your plans after. But remember how you don't really care about outside opinions? That's a lie haha. You still care about your parents'. :I Because they matter to you -- people who matter to you, their opinions will always weigh you somehow. You're never just an independent variable. You lied when you said you were an independent woman. That's the last thing you feel sometimes. 

Don't be too confident in yourself and your inner voice either. Be ready to see all the mistakes you made out of fear of loneliness. That fear makes too many a mistake. Fuck loneliness. You have friends, silly. You have family. You read Buddhist philosophy about fear and you realize the monks are right: how can you eat a meal alone and forget that the food, the plate, the clean table you sit at -- so many hands were involved to give you a good dining experience? Don't forget how interconnected your heart and your humanity is to everyone else's. When you remember this, you can't possibly ever be alone.

Responsibility. You should have plans, real future plans, besides the fact that you want kids. You should be more comfortable talking to yourself to make career plans. Except, you're not comfortable at all, so you fill that time with the shape of a man and that temporarily fixes things but it won't fix the fact that you don't where you're headed. So much possibility and no plan. Is it because you want to make the most out of life? Or is it because you're paralyzed by fear? People died in boats. People fought in wars. Your ancestors were pretty darn thicccly awesome. And you're kind of a cute bum, but you're still a bum. College is an excuse for you to go clubbing on the weekends and buy you time to feel young and stupid. But you can't be young and stupid anymore. You could. But only after you get at least one job offer. Come the fuck on. :I 

You're more familiar with the word "fuck" than you'd like. After saying that word in your head, you wonder, "why does every word that's satisfying to say have to be sexual?" You start noting this to make sure that when you reach your 30s, you'd have a classier word to curse with. Something Shakespearean and dirty.

These are the years to be constantly humbled by everyone, especially your parents, who you wish were wrong but nope, they're still fucking right. Be wrong about everything, and be wrong about yourself.

You can have a fake job, a fake boyfriend, a fake vibe, but you can't fake it when it feels wrong. 

Those feelings won't let you astray. That self-assuredness that you've celebrated in your little sister, your friends, and your family -- you have that too. You say no well. You say yes well. And you say "maybe" very little. 

Your early 20s are here. I have no advice for you, because I'm in it, but I feel like the one thing you can't forget is this: don't be afraid to talk to yourself at night. 

That's it. 

Your own company is a sweet place, and I hope you'll learn to love it more and more as time passes. 

You have a lot of smart things to say to everyone else all the time. Now it's time to return the favor to your own lil bum brain.

I love that for you.

Bless,

your girl, Ngoc