Tonight, I felt like talking about what I've learned to unlearn from my parents but also the gratefulness from meeting the people I did.
It's been a journey. Oh, and it's quite the ramble. 17 minutes long in fact.
Enjoy :) I've graduated from YouTube podcasts at least ;)
For the ramble, click here ---> A Ramble Indeed
[it may take 10 secs to load lmao but give it a chance, I swear]
For the past 13 years of my life, I went with it.
Save others the trouble of pronouncing my name correctly. Keep it easy. Memorable even.
Keep it at whatever my pre-K teacher could say.
I remember she asked my parents how to pronounce my name at the classroom entrance on my first day of pre-K. I was busy coloring in a zebra alongside my baby sister. Ms. L didn't even hear the Diệu part. Or maybe my parents said Ngọc because they would never so formally, call me DiệuNgọc.
And Ms. L, hearing "Ngọc", probably couldn't produce the nasal "ng" sound. Her lips probably settled on the closest, ugliest but most memorable, easy equivalent: "Knock." After politely waving my very curious and worried parents goodbye, she walked towards me and probably said, "You are Knock, right?"
I didn't understand English then so I probably nodded a firm "yes". Eyes wide. Lips open. A bob cut that tickled my eyebrows.
Little did I know that this would be my forever. A forever that lasted for 13 years.
"Knock, like on the door," I would equate my first name to. I even added a hand motion to it. Pre-K thru 12. I never questioned it. It was fun even, to surprise people with a simple pronunciation of my very unique name. My cue that the person holding the roster is having trouble with my name is almost always the same. Substitute teachers. Anyone. Classmates knew where to look when the lines were said, "Last name... Nguyen?"
They'd even chime in for me. "It's Knock."
My parents were never unsettled by this either, letting others call me "Knock."
"Whatever is easiest," they probably believed.
But also, they made sure I never changed my name, and I don't think I ever would. I love it so much.
"We were told by many Vietnamese parents to give you an English name, but your name is so beautiful Ngọc. We want you to be reminded of the beautiful place that your blood came from. The land that gave you life. Việt Nam."
I never questioned it because I was comfortable. Comfortable making others comfortable with saying my name.
It felt like so muchhh to turn 180 and get my friends, teachers, mentors to say it the way that deep down, I wanted it said.
There were moments, of course, when I was reminded of how beautiful it was to hear my name said right.
In 6th grade, my English teacher, Ms. Crawford, gave us a writing assignment about our names.
"What does your name mean and mean to you?"
It was a short prompt but I-- I remember going 150% with it.
I wrote from my heart. Pride. Love. A country I knew little of. What my name meant.
Ngọc is my Mother's name.
"Why would you name me after you?" I asked, clinging to her chest in the dark.
"Because it's such a pretty name. It means Jade, and Jade is so beautiful. Takes thousands and thousands of years and heat to form to be as beautiful as we see it to be. Just like you will be, Ngọc."
Though, to be honest, haha, I'm not absolutely stunning. Or as stunning as my Mother. Just a cute, chonky child still. Dammit.
This simple writing assignment encouraged me to ask my parents the whys. The hows of my name. I came to the conclusion that there's too much to write. And that I ought to start. Begin owning the power and sound of my name. The story of it. The story of the people who gave it to me.
Another moment coming to mind is 11th grade. My AP Cal teacher was Vietnamese and she knew how to say my name without asking me how to pronounce it.
I kid you not. I almost cried. I wanted to. I felt so... so whole then. So seen.
I felt realized.
For who I am. Who I always wanted to be. A girl named DiệuNgọc. Her real name lost behind other people's lips for 13 years too long, only to be found again through the lips of merely one person.
A forever that she wanted to get out of. Hearing my name correctly said by my teacher for an entire year, it changed me. I wanted more.
I needed more.
After high school ended, I made sure that I would make every effort in college and beyond to teach anyone who asked how to say my name correctly. Even if it pauses the conversation longer than I'm comfortable with. Even if it's hard. If I matter to them, then they would make the effort. And if not, oh well. :)
It's been so difficult. And people still get scared of calling me by my name. When I was Knock, things were so much easier. I would actually hear that version of my name whenever someone I knew passed me.
But now that I've reverted to having my name pronounced the way it's supposed to be -- I hardly ever hear people say it. I hardly hear people attempt my name for fear of getting it wrong despite my enthusiasm when they get very close to it.
That's the thing though. They have to get it wrong to learn what it means to get it close-to-right.
I had to live for so many years of my life with people pronouncing my name wrong for me to realize how damned beautiful it is when my name is spoken right. Or as right as the person attempting it gets.
I worry, a lot. I worry about how my career could take shape if my name is difficult to pronounce for non-native speakers. Would people overlook me in leadership spaces? Or would my name be an asset? "The woman with the hard-to-pronounce name is speaking again."
(Ohmigod, I'll be a WOMAN ONE DAY. OMG WHAT. Am I a young lady right now or a W_O_m-a_N!?)
Just as importantly, I worry if I'll be in a position where I can foster my roots. If I'm even knowledgeable enough to pass down this history, knowledge, the beauty that was my perfectly imperfect childhood to my kids. What happens if I fall in love with and marry someone who wasn't Vietnamese? What would that mean for this incredibly important part of me?
Gosh. I'm scared.
Despite it all, I trust myself. A little. A little is enough.
I trust this process. I trust that I'll make mistakes. Even with things that are most important to me. And that I'll learn quickly, fingers-crossed, when the feeling of "rightness" naturally comes to me.
For the things most important to us, we might have to live it wrong just to experience the epic high of getting it right once. And never going back.
I pray that you'll feel found in the people you surround yourself with. Whole. And loved.
Loved because you are. And always, worth it.
Yours,
DiệuNgọc: How to Say my Name :)
P.S. Thank you Ms. Crawford. I haven't seen you in a 8 years, but you helped me own my name!! You're the best and gosh. I pray for you every day.
P.P.S. Gosh. I'm tearing up so much haha. I honestly cried so much writing this episode. The tears came because I never fully realized how much of my life, I've lived it "easy." And now that I see things differently, that I need things to be different -- life might be harder. But... *sighs* it's going to be okay. Let's get this right. :)
Below is a copy of an email I sent after the first part of Addressing Anti-Asian Hate: Storytelling was over. This is belated but it captures the daydream I lived. The high of it all after weeks of working so damn hard with incredible, incredible people. To have such an incredible team of people trust me to lead us through months of planning, calling, and event-creation -- I can't be more grateful for the lessons each person taught me. I'll never forget. <3
A daydream that's ended, at least for now.
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4/2/21
"Good evening Dream Team!!
I have a very thick episode that compiles a lot that I learned about romantic relationships these past few years -- it's in the works. At least, through the lens of a straight cis-female. C'est moi. Ha. But I decided to publish this one first. A smaller one. May you have a chilly cup of lactose-free milk to enjoy this episode with.
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[Link to voice-recorded version of this episode... because, what the heck :) - Ngoc's Voice]
You know what I really want?
Easy, peaceful love.
No games. No anxiety.
I wouldn't have to guess a thing. I'd know. Something in me, something deep would feel safe. Protected. Valued. Prioritized.
Getting to know each other. It would feel so easy. So warm. Agh. It'd be so easy that it'd feel like speed. Our nervous, curious energies clasping for one another. Wishing to learn more. And at every step of the way, caught in awe. Awed by each other's very existence, presence, energy. How do his laughs out loud sound like? What things would he willingly suffer to achieve? What goes on in that beautiful, perhaps chaotic mind of his? Would he enjoy "Monty Python: The Holy Grail" as much as I do?
I say easy. Easy, because that's what the best love feels like to me. Easy to smile. The ease of deeply enjoying each other's company and craving more because being with them feels like I'm understood and that they'll always seek to understand. How easy it is to say it all, to share, build on each others stories, values, ideas. Almost endlessly.
Like breathing.
Like air.
Not a care.
No anxiety. No fears. Peaceful. And if there are fears, there's a haven in one another to admit it, work with it, and move forward.
Easy, because there's reciprocation. His energy matches mine. I emit my truest form, who I am, and he's there, matching me back. There I am. In awe again, at that awesome amount of reciprocation. At his energy. haha.
I'm a skilled conversationalist. Most of the time, I know what to say and when to say it. I can work with any room; let me in. I can lighten, deepen, or fluff it up. Nothing makes my heart skip faster than to speak with someone who knows the rules like I do. Who knows the words too. The dance. The truest words to bring comfort, ease, or joy. Not just any words.
They know the true words. The kind that come from deep. It's because they've been there before.
They've been where the words were.
Or they've needed those very words once.
That wisdom. That insight. Agh.
This person would come to me as a package of his own.
I would never ask for perfection. Just someone who understands. Who wants to understand. Who's aware of the weight of his words and actions. Who is genuinely kind and thoughtful when no one's looking.
Easy. Easy when I meet him because it wouldn't be chance. Luck has no chance here.
We each made our choices to be who we want to be. Where we want to be. Through a series of choices, we led each other to each other. Not coincidentally.
We each did our work. However complete or incomplete that work is until we find one another, we are in awe of each other's creations. Our histories. Those fork-in-the-roads and what did you do after?
I can almost hear myself say, then. When.
"You amaze me. Inspire me.
I can't believe I've just hugged you now.
I wonder what your thoughts are about... haha."
Our actions match our words. We'd want and choose each other lots.
Easy, peaceful love.
I'll have you one day again.
Maybe not soon.
But whenever that is or whoever you are. Maybe we've already met.
I'll be here, and you, my fellow reader, let's live it up.
Easily. Peacefully.
Don't wait ever.
Not for cake.
Pandan cake.
Young coconut strips in its center.
Cream light and fluffy.
Perfect sweetness.
Simpleness.
This cake doesn't live anywhere.
Le Duc Bakery gets it right.
This cake belongs at my future grad school graduation, 30th birthday, wedding, my 100th blog episode mark, heck.
Smother my face with it. I can sleep sniffing it forever.
Dr. Seuss wrote about green eggs and ham.
The world needs a book starring green pandan cake.
I could eat it
for breakfast, snack, lunch, snack, dinner, snack.
I could.
I shouldn't but I could.
Let me live out one day like this.
I know I'd get the jizzies the entire day and my blood sugar would forever be fucked up.
I wonder if one day, I would.
Life is too short to wait for Le Duc's pandan cake.
Buddhas. qUIVErrING in hEAvEN.
And you know what's ridiculous?
Pandan is spellchecked by my blog to be incorrect.
Eff this.
Color this world in green, because from outer space,
Earth's blue is the ocean.
Earth's green, though, is 100% pandan.
p.s. more nonsense with ngoc :P
This evening at 5 PM, I received a call from someone totally unexpected. Moments before, I had finished eating dinner with Yen, a meal of scallion pancakes and Vietnamese hu tieu. I then moved into my childhood room to study. Sitting before my laptop, fingers poised to open my Econ homework readings, already tired, when at the corner of my eye, my silenced phone was glowing. A call.
I never pick up phone calls from numbers I don't know. For some reason, I felt that I had to tonight. "Give this number a chance, Ngoc," my phone seemed to scream. "Ha what the heck. Let's."
I slid the green button to receive the call and a voice, so familiar yet so far away asked "...Hello?"
My body responded. A flood of nostalgia, disbelief, and joy rushed through me.
No hesitation. Not one thought. I leaned forward, my eyes wide.
"Ms. Drew?!" I asked. "Is this Ms. Drew?!"
"Oh my gosh....YES it IS!"
"I'm going to cry. Ohmigod ohmigod," I said. The edge of tears rimmed my eyes. I would've burst into a million little flames had I not gripped my phone as tightly as I did.
"Me too ahhh!!," Ms. Drew responded.
Ms. Drew isn't just anyone. She was my 5th grade science teacher. One of the kindest, loveliest individuals that changed my life. I don't say any of this lightly.
Out of all the classes I had in my elementary years, I looked forward to hers the most. Fat round roaches and walking sticks on display. Videos and presentations she shared. She brought the world to her classroom. Fun, group assignments where I got to learn about waves, rocks, and motion. Enough time at the end of class to catch up with friends. Ahh and that one time we got to dissect owl poop. 0_0 Effing awesome. Making goo and doing a rollercoaster challenge where each kid had a piece of... plastic wrap?? to hold and continue it in a line and make sure the ball rolled all the way from the first to the last student. I loved that day. I want a time machine right now. Take me back, gods.
Take me back to the time when things were simpler. No credit scores. No GPAs or ranks. No FAFSAs or realizing glycerin was pig fat so you quit eating peach rings altogether. The only rules were green, yellow, and red. The worst thing to happen to you was when you're "it" on the playground or someone pushes you down the ramp because you took too long fearing the height haha. The best thing to happen was when you got to be Glenda from "The Wizard of Oz" for a school play in a too-tight fluffy white dress, waving a wand that was really a beautifully designed fly swatter (I'm not kidding. It was a freaking awesome wand).
Ms. Drew was there too, in Drama Club. ^-^ Ms. Drew was the kind of teacher that welcomes you to class and you feel like a million bucks. Kids would think, "Ms. Drew is the easy class!" What they really meant is it was the class most of us enjoyed. You could walk up and talk to her about anything and she'd respond with this happy happy voice, ask more questions. She always wanted to know more, as if she couldn't have known enough. I remember not speaking with her as often as I wanted to. Instead, I'd watch as other kids talked to her about anything; a pet they loved, a show they're watching, a crush they may or may not have. Receiving any attention from her was incredible. She knew how to make you feel whole. Like you were enough. You didn't have to work any harder or be any more impressive for her to love you with all her heart.
Her love is like basking in the sun. The sound of waves not far off. Your t-shirt and shorts moving softly with the wind. This warmth. Wholeness. It would be rare later in life that I would feel this again from a mentor figure. To hear her voice again on the phone tonight... made me want to capture it in a bottle. Ready to open, be played, and instantly, I'd be reminded again what it meant to be loved like that by someone other than family haha. No conditions. No rules. Just peace.
Can we all get a little peaceful love in here? Let's GOOOO.
She would later support me, every step of the way as I won our elementary school's spelling Bee, made it past... was it district?... and went on our local PBS Spelling Bee. She would drive along with Ms. Summerlin. Together they waited for hours, anxious and not proud of me any less when I messed up on round 2, on Live TV.
I... you never forget the spelling bee word you messed up on. Never.
I spelled "boutique" instead of "batik." PFTHAHA -- long sighs.
She was there. To hug me after. "It's okay gosh." She was there to hug me at our fifth grade graduation ceremony. I wish then, my 12-year-old self knew to memorize it all. Memorize the beauty that was my youth. Memorize the people who supported and pushed me every step of the way.
Hey. At least I memorized her by her voice. Just from one "Hello?" 8 years later.
Ms. Drew.
Receiving a call from my 5th grade science teacher just made my entire decade. I couldn't breathe or believe. And gosh, the fact that she had tried an old house number of mine before getting to my cell. Wow. She really... I really miss her.
Alas. This was-
A miracle on a mundane day. Such such a mundane day.
Could not have been more mundane than today. The way I moved from zoom class to zoom class. Gazed out at the small garden. Took sips of water when I remembered to hydrate.
Her call was a sign.
That despite the lull in my life right now. Fine. That's an exaggeration. A lull in the past few weeks haha-- despite that, there's so much incredible that makes this simple life of mine so damn amazing.
It's a reminder that good things can still happen.
And they can happen to all of us. ^-^
I hope they happen to you too. Wait.
They will happen. Great things. Great people. May they come into your lives, comfort you, and not that they may stay there forever, but the imprint they'll leave on our lives...
May that imprint stay forever.
Here to stay as long as this blog is alive,
Ngoc
P.S. Let it be known that on cinco de mayo-- my fifth grade teacher called meeee. 5.5.5.
P.P.S. Speaking of elementary, it was a mess. I worked really hard ohmigod, I worked hard all the dang time. I was this ultra-ambitious child geez and it was because my parents made sure I never forget all the sacrifices made, all the other Vietnamese kids who didn't get to immigrate to the US-- I had to look down, realize my privilege. Do nothing but succeed. "You have every means to. And if you don't, you're a joke," was the general feeling I knew to internalize. At the time that meant good grades naturally. Fun fact: I was also the only Asian student in a predominantly Hispanic elementary school. Ironic, because it would be many years later that I would discover elotes en vaso. Many years too late. I missed OUT.
The prices have risen since. Used to be 2.50. Now it's 3.00 per cup :(( Then again, I wonder how much they'd cost years from now, when I've graduated from Smith or hold my first job or brave grad school or brave something. I wonder. Damned inflation.
