new year fickleness

I don't want to be fickle. Writing down whatever dreams I have in my little notebook and then forgetting what and where they are. Walking the graduation stage and then walking home. Going out dancing Friday night only to come home feeling empty again. Faking how light my shoulders and life are on the dance floor... except I've carried everything up until that door. Affording the $10 cover fee like I'm not jobless.

I don't want to be loud and then disappearing, like thunder. I don't want to be so bright and oh-so-gone, like lightning. 

I am exhausted by it. By change. 

I just want to be a slow song.

The forever season. The rest, like forever rain.

The train that visits me every 2 AM. The face that changes around the eyes while the gaze stays the same. 

I want to be the gaze.

But I do still want to dance. I just want to dance honestly. 

As honest as my gaze. 

My sister and friends can feel and see it I bet. A constant whole inside me that if anyone ever mentions a topic too close to it, I start to feel unsteady. I'm smart though. I'll force out two or three sentences that resets their gazes elsewhere. 

Inside, my eyes pop out tears like daisies.

There's a crumbling mess of attempts to sustain my mouth and belly. Sustain all the pits I have. My stomach pit. My heart pit. My mind pit. 

The only time I feel sane is when I pray. How vulnerable I am. How fragile and futile all the attempts I've made for myself not to cry all the time. For if I am as honest as the type of dancing I'd like to partake in, the kind of dance that is as wicked as it is slow, as gentle as my own kisses on the back of my hands, the truth is that the skin around my pinky knuckles has all dried up.

I keep moisturizing and moisturizing but they keep drying. Never not. I come back to where I come from.

The emptiness. The home I left. For the dance I had. And to the home I left.

The home I left. For the friends I made. And to the home I left.

I'm such a bummer for this New Year. Ahhhh I'm so sorry.

And it's unfortunate. Things didn't turn out well. I'm stubborn. And that exacerbates everything haha. 

I'm still hopeful. But even my hope is fickle, always wavering like candlelight. 

I'm afraid of sending out emails now. Like, what the heck? 

For if I am honest, I am unwell.

For if I am honest, I don't want to be here, caught in a torturous wave. Tormented by constant constant hope only made to wash away. I am more fragile than I thought, and ah, I hate that as well. 

no pants, just shirt dress

11.29.23. 

I'm in my warm pants. 

"BOSTON" on the left leg. 

Tomorrow is interview day and I feel nothing.

12.11.23.

The heater's on. I'm wearing no pants.

Just socks and a shirt dress.

I said "thank you for this incredible opportunity but due to my current circumstances, I have made the very difficult decision of withdrawing my candidacy."

A mix of dread and gut feeling. I took 72 hours to dance around it. I talked to everybody about it. Their guts were saying the same as mine.

"Don't do sales. Don't dabble in anything close to a pyramid scheme. You'd even have to pay for your own licensing. And only be making $3000 working your ass off for 90 days?"

So as I take in the uncertainty of the next continual months, my status as unemployed remains. 

What have I learned so far?

The job search is 50% submissions and doing everything technical. 

50% is protecting my spirit. Self-confidence. Joy. Reasons that keep my eyes fiery.

So that when it's time to speak, my voice is conveying the truth. I'm doing okay.

I'm doing well. Eating well. Feeling well. I like myself.

I like that I'm here, talking with you, discussing my career options. My potential to help your potential. 

Here's my name. Why I'm here. (I need to be here.)

I don't need anything. I'm simply here. Not needy. Not impatient.

Not greedy. I'll take any salary.

It's just my first job anyway. I'll re-negotiate in the next one. 

I like me.

And I think you'll like me too.

And if I ever work from home. Those days, I'd spend in the same shirt dress that I busted my ass off to get to you. 

It wouldn't be luck. Luck has no place here. 

temple energy

I'm not a negative person. I'm pretty optimistic when I get to leave the house at least once a day. Or dance to my favorite song of the week that day.

I force myself to write sometimes, even when I don't want to. A little bit like now. A stroke of genius, I convince myself, if I can connect with and express one feeling. Or if I can tug a memory off its shelf and study it. And maybe, find a new place for it to belong to. 

Today's Sunday. I easily convinced my family to visit the Buddhist temple that we frequent. 

Sundays are great for temple goings. The mornings usually run slow. No one wakes up anyone else. Yen leaves me behind in bed, my body hugging the bed. A quick inhale of air in case I feel myself drooling. Whatever light makes in would sober me a bit. Whatever I see and feel from the comforting space that is the back of my eyes, I take in the sensation. The whiff of bed. The whiff of myself, and whatever scents from central air conditioning fall on my covered feet, expanding in an invisible mushroom shape along my body towards the tip of my head. Cool air.

Mom walked in this morning, scooping egg into her mouth. She mumbled something about breakfast and maybe going somewhere. I closed my eyes again and went back to sleep. 

I turned to my side and grabbed my phone. Checked for texts from someone, and as I scrolled lazily, an "I miss you," from my good friend. The best text I received all day today, first thing in the morning. I smiled into my arm, replied, and lied on my back. Stared at the scruffly ceiling. 

I started to feel hungry and remembering how eager my mom was earlier this morning, egg-scooping, I got up slowly. Disorientedly went to the kitchen to cook an egg to go along with rice and bbq meat leftovers. Agh. So good. Damn good with my aunty's leftover fish sauce.

Everyone was doing their own thing. It will be Grandma's birthday in two days and so this weekend is her birthday weekend. She sat across from me while I ate, talking about all the plants she arranged that morning, probably since 7 am. 

"When you trim plants, cut diagonally or it'll look ugly and silly," she relayed to me. I was a bit confused between enjoying all the rice dish's flavors and hearing all about this botany action that I had to ask, "What do you mean, grandma?" 

"Let me show you." 

She grabbed a pair of scissors behind me and through the glass doorway, she looked at me while raising the pair of scissors. It was pretty cute of course. She trimmed the dead parts of the leaf diagonally and I instantly got it. 

I raised two thumbs up. Yen asked me about something. Agh, I forgot, but whatever it was, the next thing I knew, we made plans for the temple. And we went. 

"How do you feel wearing such gaudy floral prints, Ngoc?" Yen asked me after I put on my dress. 

"Hm... I feel powerful. I feel good." Yen doesn't feel the same about it sometimes and prefers simpler colored outfits. They do suit her. I just... I like looking loud sometimes. But honestly? I thought my dress was pretty calm and muted from my usual stuff, but maybe it's not so calm and muted for a Buddhist temple. Maybe.

The four of us wore our favorite outfits and we all looked great. So wholesome and pretty beans. 

Since the ceremonies and lessons already began, we all waited around outside a bit awkwardly, looking at the art and the nature. The temple had again, changed drastically since we last saw it. The reflection pool was emptied. There was a new 4-story structure behind the pool. The garden from the parking entrance into the temple was richly green and diverse, and instead of the pebbled roadway that we were used to, the parking lot was entirely white cement now. That was the starkest of it all. Was cement. Welp. It made the heat worse. 

Cement always makes it worse.

What felt stronger than before was how more in tune I felt to the energy of the space. Perhaps it was the abundant green nature tricking me or the way I was breathing in clean air, but my mind felt so quiet for the first time in a long while. 

Even as we stood outside waiting around awkwardly, I felt the edges of my skin relax. The tip of my nose, my finger tips. Whatever urges to fidget were quieter. Especially at the tip of my head, I felt a lightness.

Without even meditating, the earth beneath me felt closer than ever before. Mom felt brave and entered the ceremonial space, in the middle of the ceremony, and Yen and I followed. We disturbed no one as we sat down, gladly. They were preaching about the 4 noble truths and the 3 reasons that humans continue to hurt ourselves. 

For some reason, I keep remembering only one of the ills of the mind: "delusion." 

Deluded to think. Deluded, I am here today. I am a deluded bean. The delusion of even what you're chasing. Thinking it will be what makes you well -- but that thing won't. 

For a bit of time, I've just been traveling, being, and existing in my last year of college til now in a different space. I had a post-grad slump. I sat in my room for hours and hours and moments when I wasn't sitting, I was trying to find my next dopamine hit. Whether it be at the gym or eating Cane's or petting my dog -- you could even argue this was all me taking care of myself haha. 

And yes, that's the case. 

but nevertheless, there is something so forceful about standing on temple land that forces all my thoughts out. I feel clean and empty, like the brain I first had. There's nowhere more powerful and sacred than a quiet mind. Free of its own thoughts and worries and wants. Completely receptive it is, to the universe. The lessons to be taught. No pressure to be anywhere or be anybody.

Just, clean. The opportunity to have clarity is the day's best gift. And what gift it is to stand on sacred ground and feel enough to know everything at once. 

I am a being, I keep saying. I am a deluded being, I know. I know I'm searching for my highest self in all the mistakes I keep making. 

I know she wants to protect me, higher-self-Ngoc. Higher-self-talk tells me I need to be quiet and hear her speak.

now that I drive

I hate Houston more than I love it now. 

I was protecting how much I loved this city. Protecting all my reasons to stay where I was born and raised.

"Really?" Ms. Butler asked, sitting back into her seat, bewildered, "I think... here's what I think. Entitled. Everybody in this city."

The same word that crosses my mind as another fuckin' jerk last-minutely slides in, feet away from me. I slam the brakes. Someone else slams their brakes behind me. I don't curse. I seethe.

I take myself out on solo park dates. The 20-minute drive to Memorial Park just to see a little patch of an everglade, the sunset glowing against the water and turtles' backs. I take a seat on the cooled cement, my knees a little glisteny from mosquito spray. The bugs don't go for me as I face the little puffs of cotton in the sky. I think about how quiet it is. 

I have ADHD perhaps. Or something where my mind feels like it's on fire every moment of the day. Nothing quiets me. Nothing quiets everything competing to be first: the nail salon, LinkedIn, Indeed, resume touch up, alumni network, cover letter, how many apps are enough today, message back friendos, clean the house, wash the dog, exercise excuse me, eat more protein, interview prep, informational interviews, nail salon advertisements, nail salon lease renewal, dad's will signage, energy bill, drink less sugar, learn a new song on the piano, check up on little sis, water the plants, learn more Excel, make weekend plans ahead of time, YMCA membership, cancel Peacock!, sit straight, insurance overpay, don't be paralyzed by it all. I live every moment more exhausted than the next. 

Nothing quiets me the way going outside to stare at grass does. Focusing on one object like it's the only thing in the universe makes my head feel light. 

There's nowhere to be. I don't have to be anyone yet. I don't have to tell anyone my full name and why I want to be there. I am just a creature trying to figure out if that plant is edible.

Now that I drive, I don't even notice the clouds anymore. I don't even notice the sky. My mom gets to be a passenger princess. I would occasionally ask her, "Are you okay back there?"

Every time she says, "Yes," my heart gets a blip-blip. She nods away, sleepily, that is, until I have to push on the brakes because some very much entitled jerk rushes in. 

Now that I drive, I enjoy that fulfilling feeling of getting to the destination safely and driving in a smooth way that everyone feels safe and can sleep away. I'm not making money yet, but being trusted -- it's a damn good feeling. The lil miss that takes care of the rides.

Now that I drive, I realized how much I was missing when I didn't. When I relied on public transportation in this city built so poorly around that. 

Buses that don't come on time or buses that don't come at all. I stand there in my purple blazer, long pants, tucked-in shirt, while drivers passing by stare at my pedestrian self. Cars slow down. Knowing you're stared at but looking back at those eyes would make the moment mean something. 

So I keep my eyes away. The worst part about public transport is seeing how fast everyone else moves, so easily. Not having to look at bus schedules. It's their ease and my forbearance that drive me into a tiny pit of sadness. The heat above, the wind bringing dust upon my shiny, sharp self. The rushes of sound that remind me where I'm standing. Faceless speed.

Facelessness. 

I don't feel this way at all in Boston. Where there are crowds waiting for the same light with you. Where you're not alone waiting for a stop. There's someone to tell you the bus is quirky like that. "Haha, good. Phew!"

Now that I drive, I'm hungrier. I want to spend all my money on gas and convenience store food and ease my ache in the mountains, the rain, and alongside train tracks, tracing the length of time I've lost inside and the roads I've never raced on. I think about jumping into cold rivers, in nothing but a bikini bottom and covered in bear spray. I think about driving until I reach Big Bend for the first time and spend that first night sleeping outside my tent. Eyes taking in the breadth of the sky, about to cry up at blinking crystals I've never seen before. 

I think about how hard I chased myself out of the house to get there. All those little rebellions, took the car out, put my family in a fit as I spent hours in Memorial Park staring out at the Everglades, told them I'd be back by 9 but no one's used to it so my absence made them twist in their seats, all the "no"s I've ever heard just to drive myself home. So much stillness I had to bear because you didn't trust me yet. Me, who's traveled the world without you. Nothing but silence in this small place. All the asking I did so I don't have to ask anymore.

No permissions needed. Let me be free enough to drive the 9 hours. Eat the convenience store banana bread that I scrambled for years from the fridge for, fresh from the 4th grade. But to the "me" who could not fathom that I am out there.

I traded a lot of little moments for this. 

Now that I drive, I thank myself for enduring. 

Link to a random place: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NzfYSSmzaXU&t=6781s&ab_channel=SunnyWoman

Bombed Interview :)

Good morning Patty!

This is a follow-up email to update you that I um, I bombed my case interview haha. Before I dive into the facts of the matter, I must thank you for all the preparation you gave me yesterday. I am so grateful for your grace and always so lovely and wonderful. 

Ahhh. The facts are... um, I didn't even finish the case. My ears were all flushed and nervous and so I was hearing the prompt, but I didn't understand it ahhhhh. And spent time there re-clarifying basic points. I mis-read a word on the graph they gave me, I saw "with" instead of "without" and that changed my calculations. Ahhhh. 

And I had a lot of pauses. Yeah. 

Overall, very um, nerve-wracking experience and also of course, I do need to be kind to myself and understand yes, it was my first time ever doing a case interview but I also disappointed myself as well with my fumbly thoughts and words. I thought I could handle the pressure. I really did. 

And also, I really did hit rock bottom with an interview like this and don't anticipate an offer, but what I do know is that I'm still not discouraged at all by this experience. Casing is something I really want to be strong in and can see myself thrive in one day. I just know that it wasn't it yesterday but tomorrow and the days after this, wherever I am, I really do want to help people solve problems and it's so satisfying to me. 

Sorry for rambling! But consulting was something I came into very late in my college career. Like... the last 2 months of it. And I didn't ever consider it seriously until I started interviewing for it like yesterday and learning more about it and the skills needed to succeed in a case. Those are the exact skills I want to develop and especially the skill of having grace and not succumbing to pressure. That's probably my favorite skill haha.

I hope this finds you well. If you know of any folks who are consultants and might be open to having an unemployed mentee or how to go about finding a mentor in consultancy, I would love to learn more how to do that.

For now, I'll be back on the grind!

I hope this finds you well and thank you very much!

Warm regards,

DieuNgoc Nguyen

Dear Old Friend

When will we connect again? Like tonight? 

Paradise Pond shimmery, the last of its diamonds living. 

I wonder, when will I see you again?

I look at you. I look past you. I look back to the pond, big enough to be a small lake. I look back to the top of your forehead, the one I've given too many pats. To your smile, probably the one I made when I made that absentminded joke. Your eyes, that confirm my presence here tonight.

With you, I feel like I'm doing my job; I'm living.

I make a wish aloud as I raise my hand up in the dark, my hand and fingers make a new tree.

"I better see you again... after this." I look at you. 

Your lips move in the dark, a smile white, your hair lifting to the wind, "We will certainly try," you breathe out.

"So it's a yes then," I confirm, the space between my eyebrows folding. 

You laugh easily, slower than usual. We are pressed for time to press this memory of us and our histories, our complete friendship, into the cool air. 

The mosquitoes bite us for more.

"Of course, Ngoc. Of course!" 

"Good girl, haha." 

I reach for you. Arms wrapped around your shoulders, into a hug. How could I... just let you go? 

How could I do that? When the part that feels alive needs you?

Can any of us fathom what it took for me to find you? For you to find me back? And want me back? 

Our friendship, a string of Christmas lights. A castle-colored evening, every night. 

How magical I am with you. How brighter I burn. How you nourish my energy. 

How could I let you go and not cry and not hurt? 

You shall return to where you came from. I shall return. Our returns separate us. 

We will be a string of voice messages in each other's phones. Bursts of texts in the mornings and evenings. A random call I make, not random at all, because I'm heading out to the club alone that night. Because you are as well, and how are we going to feel even half of what we felt when we used to dance together? 

You will go into your 9-5, that new job after graduation. Your lunch, and then... our lunches when we shared them. I know... I would compare them too. 

Remember when... it was midterms season? It fucked everyone over. I kept getting fucked and how hard you fought for and chased your own sleep. You sought me out, in my own dorm room, for a hug. 

I held you there under my Christmas lights. I felt your tears on my shirt. I held you tighter. How badly I wanted this to be over, what was hurting you.

Remember when I wanted to go shopping that day and it was Friday, and since you're a damn good runner, you made it back in time to change and hop onto the G37 bus. We shopped and shopped and all my cute dresses, my favorite swimming suit, I got with you. 

Inevitable how bright you shine in my mind. 

The diamonds on that lake are still alive in my head. The sun hasn't set yet. 

When will I see half the diamonds I saw with you? Twirl like I'm in love to bachata. Shop and shop and feel so beautiful, next to you. And hold you because... is it not obvious? Is it not rare? 

I love you. 

Because, I cannot unsee my life, not without all the wonder you brought into it. You even bought the bread I liked.

I love you, my friend. 

Dear old friend,

I am reaching out today, because I want to connect again. Any time. 

At all. Always, reach out to me, any time. At all. I don't need a reason

to see you, silly bean. 

Miss ma'am. Somehow, the universe thought it right, when I sought for good friendships and good memories and growth and joy, that I found you. And that you may find me back. 

How hard we found each other and when we did, we had to stay. Let us choose each other, often as we can. The distance after this can't make time erase the pressed memories to pages of the days when I learned to love you and the days that I did simply, love you.

That is why, dear old friend, I will see you again.

"Of course, Ngoc."

when I pray

When I pray, all I ask is: the strength, dear Buddha please, to realize both dreams I've had and dreams I could never imagine. 

       My father and I drove past my elementary school a week ago.

When I pray, I pretend I'm there, in an unforgettably bright place, my mind a fortress, my heart an open flame burning white-blue. Let there be a voice from an ancestor who loves me whisper behind my ears, "You are here. You are true."

       I realized he drove me to school for 13 years, always in a truck. I realized how old he was. A glance to his face and a much skinnier skinnier frame.

When I pray, I lift both hands for the strings between my soul and my ancestors and spirit guides. How sure I am, that they surround and hum around me.

        I realized I had as much blind faith in myself as my parents did. Sitting in a car driven by your parents makes you feel like you're going somewhere without forcing anything to happen. 

When I pray, I pretend I hear their music. Wisdom, insight, words that passed through mouths I knew but came from somewhere beyond, all along. Words that found me exactly when I needed them.

        I was convinced, in every backseat, that doors will open. I just have to sit in the right seat.

When I pray, I feel a vibration course through me, pulling me apart. 

        My parents' gazes never changed. As long as I was in school, I was going to be someone great. That's the truth they felt in their bones. That's the reason I shiver with fear, every step I take. A heavy necklace interlacing across my throat, the charm a constant dull weight on my chest bone. 

When I pray, I wonder if time could reverse itself to before my reckoning. Back when I had time to afford being as careless with time as I wanted. Dog day summers. Sitting on the floor of my bedroom with my little sister, writing parodies of Taylor Swift songs.

        One day, there will be a reckoning. No matter your chances, you will always have a weight to remind you one thing: succeed and bring honor. 

When I pray, I think about that beautiful past. How I yearn to be that comfortable again. Maybe that's all I miss. That comfort of being a mindless, choice-less child.

        Culminate. Ruminate. Until I can only do one thing: choose. I have to choose well. I have to choose and then fight for that choice to be as true as myself. 

When I pray, I no longer see only myself. There's a moment and more where I feel the veins of the earth and the universe bleed through me. And then my family.

        It is both a burden and a gift. I am no longer a student. I am now the chooser. The maker. There is no academic institution that could hold me in that comfortable, easy-to-measure success anymore.

When I pray, I realize

        that all those years of my life when my Dad would drive me to school, I sat comfortably in that backseat. Watched the same houses go by for 6 years. Watched different houses go by for 3 years. Watched different houses go by for 4 years. I sat there comfortable because someone else had to bear all the choices. 

        I didn't have to bear one real choice. I bore few consequences. Life was a game, a numbers game or a letter grade or who were my best friends. 

        I was allowed that grace and that youth and that carefreeness, privileged to that backseat to life, because someone else drove me to school.

When I pray, I learn my life again. In a small glimpse. Like how in one drop of water, Buddha had seen, before Western science ever did, all the micro-organisms that could heal us and hurt us. More than life will ever know lived in one drop of water.

When I pray, I only learn and re-learn how blind I've been. How wrong I was. How hopeful I was. How all I can repeat in my head is for "me, me, me," for "I, I, I." 

        I want to re-learn my life again so I can be well. So I can choose well.

        I want to be well. To choose well.

        See well, to be well, to choose well.

What do I see now? When I pray? 

Exactly like you. An oceanic darkness. That's all I see. 

        I see no answers. None. 

        Just hope? 

        Because anything can live and hide in darkness. Things and possibilities I never imagined could exist are things I've never seen. And how can I see them ever, if they've only been in darkness. 

        So of course, darkness is all I'm supposed to see. 

        Of course, darkness is hopeful. 

        There are things I haven't seen yet. 

        In the reflections of my life and past lives. In the present day. In the futures I glazed quickly over with a brush, "I'll figure it out." 

         So when I pray, I am calm. I am still. To be ready and stronger and calmer, resilient to whatever moves and lives in the darkness. 

Every choice I make now, with the strength I keep praying for, is a different thud, a different noise, waking up different creatures and possibilities. I need the strength to carry the weight of each choice, just as others have done so for me. 

It is my turn to wake my own leviathans.