after the storm

Dandelions grow, after the storm. 

Rain like wine, living in puddles, for birds to bathe in.

The thickest clouds gone, thinned down to nothing. 

After the storm, the elder on the front porch of a bright yellow house stops rocking in his chair. An "umph" on the getting up. An agile toss of rice to the birds below. "Shhrrrah" goes the rice. Two dogs play far from it, tossing each other in the grass.

A familiar truck passes the small home on Japonica Street. Two little girls sit in the back. A dark hand holds a lit cigarette and darker lungs puff out smoky breaths.

The red truck moves on, along with the girls in it, who both wonder similar things about that elder on the front porch. "The bird-feeding elder. I wonder what he's thinking outside on his chair, even when it's so hot."

5 years passed since. Then 10 years pass.

Long after the elder is gone, no longer on that porch, a stranger to everyone involved, the questions linger. "Was he ever waiting on anyone, past 5 pm?"

The older girl, Ngoc, at 11, learns about imperfect memory. The more you replay a memory, the less accurate it is each time. You keep cherry-picking the best and worst parts, until that memory is no longer true. As time passes, memory transforms into story. A fiction film.

A story best served on a blog.

The littler girl, Yen, just knows she doesn't want to be like her older sister, who's always living in her head. Yen wants to do the thing, act the thing, become the thing. Nothing moves if you keep thinking. Things move when you act on it. And live so well that there's no one's validation to achieve but her own.

So what does that old man on the porch ponder about? How does he live his life?

As if time has slowed? As if you don't have to move or act on anything, as long as you have a place on your own porch?

What joy could there be, sitting there feeding birds every evening? So that two little girls can wonder about you when you're no longer there?

***

It's Ngoc here. In 2025. 

I don't have my own porch. There's too much snow to feed birds on a day like today.

At least 4 inches of snow now. Enough for my county to label it a Level 3 Emergency. "If you're on the road, you're going to jail." Enough snow for my bank to call it a Snow Day, for me to stay home.

My little Subaru is blanketed in white. I don't have a shovel. It's 22 outside.

I haven't turned on the heat. 

I don't need heat right now, when tea did the job. I made myself brown rice green tea. The aroma of the rice is nutty and the green tea is caffeine-y. Thanks to Cayla, I now have a water kettle to make it. 

For many seconds, time slowed as I hovered above my tea. Its scent, the sight of snow outside, my favorite blue sweater draped on me -- I'm in my own body enjoying this amazing tea.

Snow has fallen all night. And snow will fall all day today. And I don't have a shovel.

I opened all my blinds. All four corners of the room, I have a bird's view of my neighborhood. How beautiful in white this little place is.

I'm in a movie town. Truly. You'll have to visit me. I'll show you.

And though it should be too cold for birds to be out, they are. 

They were literally playing in the snow. Perhaps the softest, fluffiest parts of the snow.

Which reminds me, it's official. 

Maeghen, Austin, and I are going to a drag show circus. I got so excited, I even invited my landlord with me, who though did not accept the invite, is excited to hear all about it after.

I didn't know Marietta was the kind of town a drag circus would pull through.

Gosh. 

Wow. 

I don't know a lot of things.

I can't wait to FEEL YOUNG AGAIN.

For now, I am accessing the "old man on the porch" in me and enjoying this movie-snow-white town. In the comfort of my apartment.

My new pink gaming chair, fresh from Cayla's apartment too, haha. I'll be on it today playing League, with new friends I made on the bus ride home from Columbus.

It seems I have a knack for it. Making new friends, new plans wherever I go.

Which is very much, the old me. The girl who always had a plan. Always had a place to be and a person to be with. 

Today, the newer-ish me, I am simply here. In my lovely apartment. My clean, clean kitchen. Gosh, how proud I am. How waking up, walking into my clean kitchen to make this damn good tea and just so fucking thankful to yesterday's me for being a good girl.

I am the goodest girl.

GOOD BEAN.

*sigh*

After the storm of getting to Marietta, I'm finally in the fun part. The part where birds play in the puddles left behind.

The part where the old man comes out and enjoys the tea of his own mind. The tea of our Southeast Houston neighborhood. The tea that is the sun, his own dogs. Perhaps replaying films of a life well-loved.

Just like I am, enjoying the tea of my still-here Christmas Tree. The tea of having all my painting utensils ready, a beautiful calendar to write on. The tea of pretty washi-tape to reinforce the edges of my books. The tea that is the snow, so abundant, that I can be home today. 

Haha, this reminds me of my high school days. There was a freeze that lasted so long that we had 2-3 days back-to-back snow days. It was the best.

The absolute best, waking up, and getting news that we can stay in bed as late as we wanted. Young little beans, Yen and I.

So I did. I smiled hard into my pillow today, after texting my boss that I can't make it, and her quick response that, "Agreed. Best for tomorrow then! Stay safe!"

Oh, I'm safe alright. ^--^

commercial banking

They're all so freaking smooth. One at a time, handing me their business cards, as they sat down. 1, 2, 3, 4.

I was starstruck. 

Too bad I'm just as prepared.

"Shawn Mount. Marketing and relationship manager," I said, smiling.

Shawn looked back at me surprised, "Why, yes I am," shaking my hand firmly.

"Aaron Smith, 2 time President's club. AVP," I turned. 

Aaron smiled, "Haha, yes I am," shaking my hand, "this one's different, guys." And the men laughed.

"Steve Warren. I'm actually unsure about this one," I laughed, shaking Steve's hand. 

"Steve. No need. I'm just a lowly portfolio manager, ha," he said, also firmly shaking my hand.

"And Jason Hatcher. You must be the king of these three."

"That, I am," he agreed. Everyone laughed, a chuckle that sounded like money at the golf club.

The kind of laugh that I've made too many jokes about, here it is. 

And I am dizzy.

From the 5:20 am drive here to the disorientation of actually remembering all their names and roles. 

Why do I try so hard?

Yes, why, Ngoc?

The conversation went in and out and I felt it slowly blossom in my chest, this feeling that I've stood out. That I'm right, I usually am about my own preparation: "There can never be enough preparation. Just one more hour, scroll their LinkedIn's. Study SBA loans. Study the role. Something will come of it."

Despite my dizziness, I managed the entire day. 4 separate one-on-ones with each commercial banker. In one day. Huntington, West Virginia. My little car putting on miles. 

Ne-Yo's "She Knows" played non-stop on loop for 2 hours. So that I can own every thought in my head for more than a second and not worry that the song that plays won't be one that I won't like.

The thing is, I've been excited about commercial banking for weeks now. They're the biggest bucks in a bank, bringing almost a billion dollars in new money per year. Just 30 bankers.

It's a sales role. I know. But these guys are all about the details.

I mentioned my family's business ONE time and they all remember it. "We have 6 chairs. It's just my mom and one other person. We're a hole in the wall but we focus on only doing what we do best. Our one-on-ones."

And all 4 of them remembered eveyr detail. In every 1-on-1, they each remembered the 6 chairs and that it was just my Mom and one other person. They each hypothesized correctly that if we were to open a new salon, it would be around the same size and that the PPP loan we took out in 2020 was only enough for rent and not much else... wasn't it?

"Yes," I replied each time. Surprised.

These guys are at a whole other level.

And in each one-on-one, I did my thing. 

I didn't try to only show how much I already knew coming in.

I focused on having conversations that they'd remember for themselves too, showing my personality and how I deeply cared about the mechanics of their roles. Because I did. 

From understanding their prospecting process, to the way they managed community relationships, to only providing services that a client actually needs, to understanding their work life balance, to the business meetings that could happen impromptu at any time. 

A commercial banker is a forever advisor to the business itself. 

At lunch, the 3 of the 4 walked with me to the business bankers Christmas party. I just went through there a month ago, and already, I saw so many familiar faces that couldn't wait to hug me. 

As the king of business banking, Ken Short, introduced me to the Christmas gathering, asking, "Who in here has already met Ngoc?"

So many of them raised their hands smiling at me. I grinned back.

Shandele, Jason, Cassie, Logan (Subaru guy!), Michael, Muhammad, Darryl, and others. I went around hugging everyone, like a little celebrity.

Logan kept his gaze steady on me, eager to speak, but at every turn, there was always someone that I was in the middle of conversation with.

His smile grew when I finally turned to him. He asked, "So, your Subaru. Did you end up going to get that oil changed yet?"

"Oh my gosh, not yet! But thank you for that Subaru dealer recommendation. I'm going to go there hopefully very soon."

"They're good folks. There's nowhere else I'd take it in this area. Are the guys taking good care of you?"

"They are haha. They are," I said smiling. 

Michael behind me, one of my first interviewers for my job now, stood up and said, "Ngoc, oh my gosh how are you liking it so far?"

I gave him a big hug. "Michael, my god I'm so well taken cared of. Seriously, and Columbus is just, Columbus is unspeakably awesome. I love it there?!"

Jason tapped me lightly, signalling that we had to go.

And so we left. 

I felt so loved. I couldn't stop smiling. I didn't feel cold out in the 30 degree weather. I forgo-ed my jacket for our short walk to the next restaurant.

We headed to lunch with an attorney who was a COI, a center of influence, to us. She waited for us and quickly hugged everyone. And I knew instantly, she was a good bean.

And I'd have thought that a business meeting would be more business-y, but we ended up only talking about our hobbies, what we're reading, what their kids are up to, and all sorts. I introduced myself properly and pushed the unspoken agenda, that my company really takes great care of its employees. So much so, that there's a professional development program that I left home for.

Haha, here I am. :)

On the walk back to the office, each gentleman took their turn speaking with me. Politely. Towering above me, older, wiser, they all offered me different bits of advice. Showed me different reasons of how they got here.

I felt easy here too.

A young woman who once went to a traditionally all-women's college is now standing, however briefly, in an all-men's world. For a second. And they took good care of her. :) 

I told my new friends, Ben and Bridget, this very thing about commercial banking.

"They're flashy. They're shiny. The moment they walk into any space, they can survey the entire restaurant and know exactly where they need to be. Who they need to speak to, how that conversation's going to start and where it should end up. All the while. All the while!! Having jokes, non-stop, to make someone laugh. They're not commercial bankers if they can't make someone laugh. And they do that all the damn time."

My last one-on-one was with Aaron. A graphic designer, sound engineer, a volunteer at the local drug recovery center, and here, at Pebo. I asked him for any feedback he might have for me, after our deep conversation about all things banking, but also about the Vietnam War, about basketball, and my family's nail salon.

He responded, "After my 8 years of this program, I have to say, and I was planning on telling Jason this as well, you have got to be the best PDA that's walked through commercial's doors. You're very intelligent. You ask all the right questions. You're thoughtful, very prepared. Already, you knew about all the different SBA loans. Doing your homework like that and also knowing who everybody is like this morning, I think if you want to be here one day, you will absolutely kill it. I'm very excited about where you're going to end up."

I wanted to hug Aaron. But we simply stood up, a firm handshake. 

When a man shakes his hand firmly, unafraid of hurting yours, that's when you know, he sees you as an equal. That's how I know that that's a good man.

I rest my case.

Your girl, Ngoc, is doing shiny things. Learning about shiny things. 

Prepared, packed, one suitcase light. A black dress.

Later, she'd head back to the hotel, only to head back out into the night. She remembered the bookstore that the others had passed without a second glance. She headed in exactly there, bundled up against the cold. She walked in empty-handed. 2 hours later, she walked out with more books than she could finish before June.

Smiling. 

Gosh, I'm very proud of myself.

I try hard, I try hard all the time. And I get tired. I'm scared of burning too bright. I'm nervous about not being liked.

But how could I be nervous about that? If I'm so... I'm so good at being me? 

And by being myself, my true self, I can create a lot of joy already.

And hopefully, I don't only focus on gratification from work, but god, does it feel DAMN GOOD when it's words of affirmation from work. FUCK.

fuck. :P

-----------

As much as this adventure has felt like a real adventure, I really can't believe I'll be home in less than 5 hours. 

Houston, agh. I really do love Houston.

I can't lie anymore. I hate Houston in the summer, like a simmering hell. That won't go away. But I love Houston in December. Our 60 degree weather. No mosquitoes. Just walks and sweetness and non-stop cuteness.

I miss having all the things to do on a weekend. I miss all the things that make me feel young. 

Marietta is beautiful. I love my little walks as I put a playlist on. The leaves beneath me watch me dance and twirl and mis-step and trip. And I'd always feel safe, for the full mile back to my apartment, but... 

Houston. 

When I see that skyline as I land, I'd know where my heart is. 

And loyal to. 

So while I'm mildly dissociating and can't believe I'm where I am today,  at least in the quiet of Marietta, I can focus on what my heart wants to make.

For all that I've worked for, maybe it's not important where my heart is.

One day, I'll tell someone that this was the chapter of the heart making what it needs to make, not about where the heart needs to be. 

:)

Dear Ngoc!

Hello myself!

I have a very soft spot on me. The spot right in the middle of my chest, beneath my collarbone. 

I did the thing where I put my hand to my chest and felt my own heart beat again. I did it twice today. And when I felt my own heart beat for its own life, I grinned so big. I didn't care if I was rained on as I took my time walking to my car. Just, thankful that I made it to the end of the day. Thankful that I did a really good job, and how great that feeling is, when I know it so well deep down that yes, of course. Of course, I did a great job. I replayed what my supervisors said inside my head again, and then I smiled all over again.

Here she is. Your words of affirmation girlie.

Lately, I take my time.

I take my time walking around the block during lunch, with my hands bouncing against my hips and a permanent slight smile on me. Like I'm listening to that song I really like, because I am, fool. I take my time talking to my colleagues, who are all growing on me. I think, wait, I know, that I'm liked. I know it's a silly small thing to realize, but it means so much to me. That my company is enjoyed. That I make people laugh. It means a lot. So I always take my time with them.

I take my time making the drink in my hand last. Bridget's story makes the drink feel lighter. Is it just me, or are the lights making me feel all pretty? All cozy...? A town so small that you're bound to meet 3 of your coworkers in it, so I take my time leaving the bar. Bridget leads the way to a seedy dance floor in a seedy bar. No one but us in it. 

It's a Friday night in Marietta. I didn't expect that.

But we danced anyways. 9 PM became 11 PM. The alcohol in my system diluted, and with my mind as sober as ever, I danced harder. Running around as if my ankles are fine. And so did Bridget haha. I felt like the young miss I always was. ^-^

I take my time getting back to my car, careful not to forget the ledge out the door.

"Do you need me to walk you back to your car?" she asked. 

I shook my head sleepily and happily. "Thank you but I'm okie hehe. Tonight was great! I'll see you in Columbus. Thanksgiving!!!"

And there ya go. That's how a girl's trip is made. On a Friday night outside a seedy bar on a street in a small town where there's no body but two girls who just sober danced an empty dance floor.

I take my time driving back to my apartment. They've wrapped lights and leaves around each light post. 

If I was actually tipsy, you could convince me I was in London. Gosh, London. That's a whole other story. I've already told that one lol.

Beyond my social outings and the significant reduction in shopping because I do not want to live pay check to pay check T___T, I feel like a sponge lately. A TOTAL SPONGE. 

Risk management. Oh my god. 

I like it a lot.

I like a LOT.

I really enjoy working with customers but I was always in reacting mode.

I want to be in initiating mode now. My mid-20s are gonna be for initiating MODE :D And the team -- I think they really like me. :)

And I'm thinking about further education funded by my employer. It's very possible and your girl might have a trick up her sleeve sooner or later. ^-^ Life is too short! Life is too short.

And life is too short not to be in three-way calls as many nights as I should be. Ivanna and Yen are both doing their make-up, all cute and dainty, while I update them about our future Columbus weekend trip. Thanksgiving is gonna be very sweet. My supervisor invited me to her Thanksgiving. <3 Oh my gosh, I feel so hugged. WAH!

Not everything is wonderful. Not everything is sweet.

But when things are sweet, they really are sweet. Just gooey caramel on my skin. Sticky condensed milk left on the edge of my cup. As I scheme. And scheme myself into my new life here. One day, I'll be a local. One day, I'd have walked these hills and under these trees enough times that someone recognizes my silhouette and chases after me.

In a good way? :D

Elise will tell you that I'm good at scheming. Ivanna will tell you that I'm good at finding a good hotel within budget. Yen will tell you that I know how to talk to boys. Mom will tell you I'm bad at not eating enough citrus.

You know what's crazy?

I sat right next to someone who was sneezing and coughing Covid like crazy for an hour. I washed my hands really good after that. And every morning for a week, I drank orange juice.

3 weeks later. And that worked?

So Mom's right. ^--^ I can never drink too much citrus.

I'm 24. I'm living on my own. I'm a good bean doing better beans than I imagined. And people remember me. And that feels really warm. Really gentle.

Like tonight, as I returned the can opener I borrowed from my neighbor's sister, Austin. She remembered I played League. She took a sip of my Viet coffee that I sent it along with and smiled. She gripped my three snack bars in my hands along with my hope that she'll more than enjoy it. That she'd love it. Or seeing the way my colleagues at the Thanksgiving potluck today enjoying my Vietnamese coffee. It just makes me feel... <3

This little letter to myself is me hoping that I'll always remember the good things.

Because good things do happen to me. And because I deserve them all.

And I deserve all the quiet in my head, after the day is over. I deserve all my reading time. My calling and walking time. My time in my new favorite blue sweater. All my time talking with my new friend. And all my time re-reading old diary entries while I realize how long this journey has really been.

This long journey of designing and creating my life from scratch. All those years ago. Just as I am, today.

Episode 96: Because This is My First Life,

That is why I'm so picky about not eating pork and tear up, 10-seconds into any accidental Peta advert of male baby chicks getting murdered.

If I had lived more lives, I would eat anything. Fried crickets. Peel lobster and shrimp without gloves. 

Because this is my first life. "That's why!" I'd exclaim, after I made a left turn without stopping, when I should have stopped. Almost killed between McDonalds and the Ohio BMV.

That's why I stayed up later than I should on a Tuesday night, feeling sentimental and emo. Replayed the same song while I schemed a new Blog episode in the midst of my anxiety. Had I lived more lives, I would have long since dry brushed my arms and belly, given myself a forehead kiss, and melted into a warm mug of milk tea -- knowing just when to pick myself up. Just soon enough. Never a second too late.

That's why I keep dissociating when I'm asked "what brought you to Ohio?" Pft. Phooo-ey.

That's why I care what others think of me. All the time at work. Keeping my face poised but my voice light, as if nothing happened to me. As if, I didn't almost die between McDonalds and the Ohio BMV. Pouring nothing but good thoughts into my pretty little head as a customer tries to illegally structure their money, and I ought to report it.

That's why I craved the Vienna Mall's chicken stir fry so bad instead of craving the fried rice I made just the previous night.

And why I'm not good at interior decorating.

And why I'm the first at my job to volunteer to pass out Halloween candy at the next town's trunk-or-treat. Because I haven't done it before, and heck, I'd do a lot to give out little Wednesdays and little T-Rexes candy.

And why I still dress up for Halloween, holding out my own bag of candy shamelessly while I push my neighbor's toddler in a stroller. A bag for the baby, and a bag for me. I'm still cute, heck. 

And why I keep praying to my ancestors. I'm so freaking, FREAKING grateful. Truly. I have hardly done enough to deserve this life. So if I don't deserve this life yet still have to live it, then it must all be a gift. Living this first life of mine is a gift.... welp. :)

This is why I keep coming home with a sweet little treat, every time I've gone out. Like a kid. All the time!

And why I keep accidentally replaying cringy scenes in my head in the middle of the day, and wincing bad. "Ngoc!" escaping my lips. A delayed self-beration. In the parking lot. Whilst dishwashing. Or driving between the river and the hill. "Ngoc!"

And why I still believe I can do anything, as long as I want it enough. Even if it'll make me miserable. And why I jump into conclusions, straight to the happy ending. Like it's already mine. Convinced I can make it home safely, in my head. While some of the decisions I make, I'm practically just convinced, like a drooling, swirling alcoholic.

Why I'm so careless. Why I need to give the MRI folks a callback for my ankle, instead of being afraid. Why I mainly write when I'm bottled up and anxious and self-hating and cruel and nervous.

Why I accidentally stayed glued to the conversation with a coworker, 40 minutes in the parking lot. I'm not a drinker, but then I say "Yes, next weekend is great!"

Why I'm so devoted to the color green, instead of loving every color equally?

Why I impulsively bought a $50 hoodie from Popflex last night. :( BUT I LIKE IT HEHE.

Why I needed to set up a Christmas tree on the 1st of November just to feel like I'm a kid at home again. If I've lived more lives, I would have prioritized a dinner table or couch instead. :I But nope. CHRISTMAS!

Because this is my first life, so I'm scared of so many, many things. I'm scared of hurting myself all the time. I'm scared of making the wrong decisions. And scared of having to make the wrong decisions the right decisions, haha. Scared of ruining my life.

I'm scared of ruining my life.

^----^ 

hehe. 

Who let me drive?!

But also, I'm so glad I can drive. Thank you ancestors. <3

But Buddha, I am scared for my life, 

because this is my first life and I'm still in my early 20s. 

If I'm supposed to live out this gift of a life of mine, then welcome to the show.

Welcome to the show. :)

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

oh my gosh, your girl is nothing but silliness lately. I haven't cried in 2 weeks. 

I haven't, oh my god, cried in two weeks. I don't understand why that is. I want to cry, but then I can't and I won't. In those moments, my logic argues and fights to say that it's a waste of time to stay sad about things out of my control, so I instinctively hug myself tight, wrap my arms around myself. I whisper things like, "Ngoc, you're right here. You're nowhere else, but here, and this is a fine place to be. You have all your toes and fingers. You're still soft and always silly but you're so very strong." And then I feel a lot better again. Phew.

Because I've done a giant thing. Being out here. 

So of course, of course, it's going to be tough. And that's okay. I'm a good miss bean. I'll be a fine bean.

So maybe, it isn't my first life. Maybe I've lived it all before. Moments like these or having thoughts like these, when I know exactly how to take care of myself, are when I feel like I've lived it all before.

A song I wrote this episode to^-^: "Welcome to the Show" - Day6

how the leaves fall, in marietta, ohio

I remember always going for pad thai at Thai Garden in Northampton, advertising it nonstop on Google Reviews, and why beef and the coffee tea there paired best. My 20-minute speedy descent from the top of Smith's college gates to Thai Garden was either alone, holding bread, or with an old friend I hadn't seen for a month. When you walk in, the lights are orange and golden. Little Thai dolls of gold lined the walls and intricate wall carvings of unfamiliar gods jutted outwards. All this gold made time feel like a temperature: warm and cozy and warm again.

Before I knew the difference between a RAV4 and a 4Runner, I was a pedestrian in Massachusetts, a bus and subway rider in DC, Houston, Singapore, Orange County, Austin, Martha's vineyard, Newport R.I., and a biker on Massachusettian and DC trails. 

For all the speed that I have now, in my green Subaru Outback, her power astonishes me. I am all mine now. I don't rely or wait on anyone or anything to go anywhere I want. No more bus schedules. No more train schedules. No more, "are my legs gonna be too tired when I make it there, and can I even bike back?" questions. 

It's now, "have I renewed my car insurance yet? Fuck, that's a lot of money." 

The leaves in Marietta, Ohio fall differently. Whereas the leaves in Northampton, Massachusetts fell constantly. With wind or no wind. The leaves here, in this even smaller town, fall when you're not looking. Nothing falls when I've finally focused in. 

But when I'm not looking, that's when it rains just a couple of chonky leaves, all in my peripheral vision, and gone.

I walk the same sidewalks. Over and over again. The same ascent, descent. I call different people. Yen. Elise. Ivanna. Neha. Jillian. Mumsies.

Today, after 1.5 months of being here, I saw a woman watering her garden. 

She seemed so welcoming and sweet. Anyone who walks past her can't help but acknowledge her garden and her smile. A "Harris and Walz" sign on her porch. A small house full of golden lamps inside. She carried her watering bin delicately.

God, I wanted to be her one day.

As if on cue, I greeted her. "Hi there."

"Hello! It's a beautiful evening, isn't it? So lovely for a walk," she responded. 

My grin grew on my face.

"It truly is. The leaves won't stop raining. And that baby over there? Oh my god, that car almost ran her over."

"We won't let that happen around here haha," she laughed.

I laughed too, turning my head to check again on said-toddler.

"I actually just moved here last month. It's truly so gorgeous," I shared. This was my moment to make a new neighborhood friend. My heart pounded in my chest easily.

I've worked the teller line and seen customers all day. Right then, talking to strangers was the easiest thing in the world.

Like breathing. Like air. I'm light and I'm falling.

And I've fallen right here.

In front of Ms. Kathleen.

"Oh my gosh, welcome to Marietta! Where are you living?"

"On Tupper street down the way." :) 

"There's a wonderful miss in the green house next door then. And that blue house right there? Lovely, lovely people. And that yellow house? They're from Houston I think."

"Oh my gosh, I'm from Houston!"

And so it went on. :) 

I hope to walk into her soon again, with a "Ngoc" like "knock" for me to introduce myself with all over again.

One day, I'm going to tell someone a story. 

About how after I lived in college dormitories, played soccer in my childhood home, slept two nights on a bean bag in my ex's friend's room, and woke up to roosters in my mother's village, I found a very quiet place to start my life.

In the armpit of Ohio and West Virginia, I found myself pondering the trees and its leaves in Marietta. I found myself descending that same hill at the end of my walks into my apartment. This beautiful apartment. Empty in many ways, too full in other ways, but will always have flowers that I buy weekly and replenish, there, in my strawberry vase.

One day, I'll tell the story of how it was as painful as it was vibrant to start from scratch. I'll tell them how the trees looked like they were on fire at the end of October. How I was listening to this podcast about Harris getting on Fox News a couple nights ago as a black cemetery cat started purring against my leg. After I "rawr rawr"-ed it. How Neha and Elise all worried about me and told me they loved me. How I reassured my friends that I'm really good at this one thing.

I'm good at reminding myself, eventually, ~ eventually ~, that... I'm worth fighting for. Teeth and nail to the end. My life and its learnings are all worth fighting for. So that one day, I can stand on my own, and fight for those I care about.

This life of mine, it's still so mysterious. How I was in a freakin' Halloween town. How I flew home once every 1.25 months to cure the nostalgia. How I wondered if any of this sacrifice made sense. Until it did. In a hot second.

I sat in my quarterly review today with my supervisor. We're browsing future Professional Development Associate candidates. There, a profile. A gentleman who has ties to DC. "We like him," she says, "and he has family in DC. That's great!"

And that was my hint from the universe. That's it. 

My heart pounded like crazy.

I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be, after all.

No more doubts.

The city of my dreams. The way Congress glows at night, like a godly basilica.

All the fireflies, rising like little lanterns among the ocean that is our National Mall. Abraham Lincoln stands firm, gripping his chair looking on at all the lawmaking and remaking. The city where Ms. Jennifer, my homestay host, told me she loved me.

Where Manal and Grace are. Where a walk in the evening can lead me into any social gathering, discussing the state of the world. The state of the universe. 

Book shops, non-stop. Where I can wear all my cute dresses and feel safe. 

I can imagine my heels in that city already. The way I'll never stop being better. Quicker. Smarter. My $$$ ass apartment. Sprite and wine in my mid-20s. Hugging myself warm as the cherry blossoms bloom.

The leaves will fall differently there too,

just as I have, 

falling right into place.

a breath too big to keep in

You are the river

preparing to become the sea.

Don't fight and don't leave, 

let what may be as it be.

You are a spiraling form

cutting through trees, along a mountain, skimming the lakes,

where no one is watching

except for tiny fish and the whirr of mosquitoes. 

You are a full burst

and a breath too big to keep in.

You rest in spaces after each last breath,

like footsteps that disappear in a forest.

No one knew you were there.

Let what may be as it be.

No one is your witness.

No one remembers you.

Simply an energy, a flood of light that loses its tail over and over again.

For you are the river

preparing to become the sea.

"How strange", the stars would whisper amongst each other,

"how naive", as they forget you.

A hunger from long ago

sustains and eats

the pieces of everything that can create a dream.

You fly as if you've forgotten

That a globe continues to swirl with or without you

how small you are

wishing to be witnessed

long enough to be real

how small you are

wishing to flood forever

long enough to see yourself an ocean.

hello marietta, o-hiii-o

It's official. I've been here for 1 week, 3 days. 

I'm a little and a lot more alone than I've ever been. 

After completing a successful 1st week of work, I found myself along the Ohio river Friday night, seated on the cement edge of the boardwalk. I let the little waves from some anonymous jet ski lightly brush against my sandals. I let the beautiful memory of the sunset on the rippling water stay somewhere deep. Let this be another reason. 

I quickly pulled out my journal and wrote down sentences that sounded like: "I've made it back to the Ohio River. Away from home, not thinking about it. All its colors are too beautiful to describe and the river sways and ebbs with lines and circles of where things are. Life in water is what made a ripple. 

A blue, a white, the way I feel most myself as if crystal, clear, and empty of headtrash. I can see myself looking on forever in the wake of the speedboat that made waves that lightly splash me. I move nowhere. The sound of it like small ocean waves. I am a part of the shore, a need to be part of something more. A desire to breathe. Every breath of mine is light and airy and I'm never more real than to be a part of such a river beauty. Keep all things quiet. The waves are getting bigger and bigger and I think I'm hungry.

I hope I don't eat too much again. I hope I'll stop worrying and just do the very thing that makes me worry. I hope my mind can save this moment into a safe place I go to when I'm stuck in buildings all day. Let me live richly, all needy of the beauty around me and appreciate the beauty already within my needy body. 

My mind is my own paradise if I can memorize a place like this.

What that a gun or a firework?

Was that sweetness or fear?

It surprises me how badly I love being in myself right now. 

Let's own a boat on the river and sail nowhere, because we've got nowhere to be."

I wrote words like that in a single breath by the Ohio River. And so I did, before I packed up all my stationary and haunted main street. Every shop stayed lit within, even if closed. I walked past so many couples and into a place called the "Moose Lodge" where people in jeans played pool and young women sat together smiling warmly at each other. I felt the evening closing in on me and left the "Moose Lodge" just as quickly. I walked back to my car with not even a grin on my face, just a sober look. A young-woman-freshly-displaced look. An empty look.

I wasn't empty though. Just... living. Perhaps. Perhaps? 

The local vendors at the farmer's market yesterday all asked me after I introduced myself lightly, "What brings you here? All the way from Texas?" Their one-of-a-kind plant pots ("I don't take pictures, so none will ever be alike!"), one-of-a-kind five-dollar banana breads, or a hive of bees, stare back at me.

"Someone I really trust advised that I start my life here." In other times, I said, "A job. A really good one with great people."

I never pause at their questions. I've answered this same question so many times for co-workers, and in front of the bathroom mirror after I've cleaned my teeth. Somewhere in that mirror or in the hole in my head where something else once was, was a thought about why I was truly here. What made this so? Something I can't know well enough right now. 

Because the answer doesn't feel real yet. Even though it's the truth. 

The real answer is somewhere else. It existed once, in the hole in my head. I'm afraid of filling my head up again. 

I'm afraid of living alone. I always look back after I've turned off a light in a room, so that I can catch something that is there if it wants to be. And for what? So that I can be afraid, and maybe go home.

Haha, silly girl. 

I feel the truth of my life right now, which is, I have to stay at a place long enough to understand why I had to stay. 

Like why did I stay in Houston for so long after graduation? 

Because I needed it more than I knew it then. I needed to be at the nail salon. I needed to learn a deeper lesson about all sorts of humanity. I needed to become a better person, so that the person I am today can experience deeply all sorts of humanity here, in Ohio. And on weekends, in West Virginia.

I have to stay long enough in a place that the history in those months and years and on and on actually make sense. They can't not make sense, right? I can't live a life as silly as myself.

Some of the farmer's market vendors are happy to make my acquaintance. They're warm and cozy. I made a new friend briefly while buying cat earrings, even though I'm a dog person. She had to leave shortly after, but you should have seen the smile on my face.

From the market, I walked to the best coffee shop in town. Jeremiah's. As a Buddhist, the name of this place went way over my head. I bought a medium iced coffee and it turned out to be, basically and surprisingly, a Starbucks Venti but bigger. It was too sweet and made me all jittery while I handpicked and downloaded 200 photos/videos of my mother for her birthday video. 

I really like her video this year. It's damn good!

Today, I haunted Walmart. The instant rush of how often I'd go here with my family came back to me. I could see, as if real, my father's back in any Walmart. A resilient hobble in his walk. The gout forever crippled his ankles but will never stop him from shopping. 

Like me. 

I'm sorry dear reader. I'm throwing a bunch of random moments and details and everything is flying like a plate.

It's the transitioning. I'm in transition. I'm moving much too fast.

I turned 24 in the same week that I just got back from Viet Nam, in the same week that I had to pack my bags and make the 20-hour drive to Ohio, in the same week that I set my things down in an apartment that I'd found on Craigslist, actually.

In the same week that I said a physical good-bye to someone I liked a lot. 

I've cried in my Subaru a couple of times now. Leaving Houston, leaving Cleveland, coming back to Marietta. All roads lead to Marietta.

You know, it's the shock of transitioning. I'm in transition, after all. I'm moving much too fast. 

So give me a break, Ngoc. 

Ah, and give me a head pat too, for putting out the trash tonight. Give me a head pat too for finding a very pretty rug for my reading room. A reading rug. 

Give me a head pat for making tasty honey-glazed salmon while sad. 

And give me a head pat for remembering in a moment of delirium, that I AM liked. 

And a big, big shout out to my mother, who's always called me when I needed it most. 

I found myself on the steps of my porch earlier this evening, looking up at the sky and the birds and repeating the sentence, "I am not alone. I am not alone" over and over in my head like a haunted Asian woman. 

And that's when my mumsies video called me, posing in a cute white puffer jacket and wondering what my opinion was on it. 

Of course, you're beautiful, Mom. And I felt so much better. Gah. Gosh. Eeeeep. 

So I'm not alone, even if I'm physically alone. 

And even that's not true. I'm not physically alone. I'm now acquainted with new people who recognize that I'm not Japanese, but actually Vietnamese. 

"I have Southeast Asian calves, look at them! They're a key differentiator!" I would yell in my head.

But honestly, I take a lot of humor in it. In my legs, and in my life right now. 

It's tough, heh, to be an independent woman. 

Is. Tough. 

I'll figure out soon, hopefully, what the hole in my head is all about. :)

For now, your girl is a silly lady. Silly enough that I hope my silliness makes you feel better about your silliness-es. 

Sending a hug to you, dear reader. I like you.