how Cape Cod lost all its whales

I want to look at you and not feel fear. 

For in your eyes, I am not replaceable. The first and last of my kind. 

Hold your too-good-to-be-trues. 

I am more real than life. 

Yet I am cowardly. Any glint in my eyes when I see the generous way you handle others, any strategic placement of my hands on the table right after you've asked a sincere question about myself, any laugh that turned into a cackle at your conversation, I perform. My back to the edge of the cliff.

I'm still bruising over.

Like the incarnations of our breaths on the first snow day and the steel of the library gates on your way out, my hands are cold and my heart is frozen over, waiting to survive what might be one last winter. And I'll never do it. I dare not hope beyond the last point I broke at.

Everyone starts to feel the same. Or rather, I feel the same. I learn the same lessons. I drag them out, knowing what they are. I relive them all again like a ghost on the top of the stairs, waiting for you to come home, to spook you, and watch your back as you run away. Catching only the echo of your last "arghhhhh", on your way out.

I can't have it any other way.

So why... I'm about to ask you why. I think you anticipated it. 

"Why did you choose me?" Why do you spend time with me? Why do you even like me? Why do you want me to share this mediocre steak with and stay with me all night even if I didn't let you kiss me? 

Why haven't you left by now? 

"I mean, why me?"

Your answer will only cure my fears for a weeknight, before I overthink.

Because I-- I overly want this. And when I do, things go overly wrong. Things end. Cape Cod loses all its whales. All libraries shut down and all ghosts of this physical world take a physical form and have legal rights to go to court and be the key witnesses of their own deaths.

But you're thoughtful. You're kind. It's only ever the 5th time I've done this. You are --

Where the first becomes a third becomes a fifth becomes a sort-of-commitment. 

We sit there and promise each other nothing. The steak bones on our plates are cooling. The napkin on your lap lifts gently. I don't want to be too happy that I find you sweet. And possibly good for my health.

"Why you?" you repeat. You look thoughtfully above my head. You look quickly down at your hands, one hand holding your napkin gently. "You're---" 

And you list it all so easily. It's your ease. A part of me wants to find a way off the cliff early and call you guilty. Tell you you're wrong. Call you a liar. A fraud. 

That this dinner -- 

I smile back at you. I make sure to show my teeth and fold the corners of my eyes up. I make sure to cover my mouth at some point as I smile. I lean forward, letting some hair slip out from behind my ear. And I thank you. "For answering this silly question of mine."

You remind me how good it is to adore someone easily. And earnestly. 

And I probably remind you of what an insecure soul feels like.

I only wished I could feel half as good about myself, alone, than having to be here, feeling like I have to be adored to be any good.

With ease, you wipe lightly the corner of my mouth with your napkin, before leaning back. And looking as if you're changing your mind about something, you lean back in and brush my slip of hair behind my ear. A little smile paints your face. 

My ankles don't know where to go and my breaths still feel cold. If we continue this, with my ankles and knees as fearful as they are, I fear Cape Cod will lose all its whales.

Too bad that, I only know I will feel safe wherever you're going. 

You look like you know what you're doing. You look like you know what you want and why. And you look like you want me.

So I must be onto something.

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I wrote this poem not to reflect my present self haha. I wrote it from the perspective of my earlier youth, years ago. Back when I was a lot more inexperienced with dating. How I didn't feel all too good about myself and yet still went on dates to try to feel better. 

It obviously never worked. To love yourself through others. 

But I was reminded of how I should love myself. And that the stability I kept searching for in these romantic getaways would never be the same as the moment it clicked within. In my bouts of solitude but especially my amazing memories with friends and mentors, I developed this keen sense of who I wanted to be and why.

And that is enough, if I didn't already know who I already was.

To all the meals I've had with good men, I thank you.

To all the moments I've had with people who loved me and moments of solitude, I thank you. For allowing me to hug myself as tightly as I've always wanted to be held.

Ngoc's Musics (as of May 20, 2021, Ngoc's Vault)

My top favorite songs right now~!

[on May 20, 2021] End of sophomore year. I have a hunch I older me wanted to go into detail why I liked each song but uh, future me won't do that ha. ;D 

I hope you'll enjoy if you end up listenin' :P

Playlist:

1) Wendy - When This Rain Stops

Comforting. Wendy's strong vocals and the piano. Nothing else is needed. And the lyrics. 

2) NCT127 - Sit Down

3) Taylor Swift - Willow

4) Keshi - Drunk

5) Kim Jung Hyun - Like the First Snow

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Episode 94: May your universe be found

There's no antidote to emptiness. That's what I thought. I've been trying to save myself over and over again this past half year. And maybe I've found it.

This is the story of how I found my antidote.

The days grow monotonous. Getting out of bed... that zest for life gone. 

On one of those slow afternoons where I escaped into sleep again, I dreamt a wild dream. My Buddhist master appeared in it. He's never been in my dreams before.

"2 minutes, I want to speak with you privately back there later," he spoke as he walked away. 

Time passed. One of his disciples walked with me to the entrance covered in fabric. 

His sharp eyes met mine. Words hit me. As they always do. They always do. 

"Your sister will succeed in her own way. She is meant for different rooms. You are meant for different rooms. Her success and yours are not to be compared. You are getting prepared for something different. Even what you like is different. What might excite you does not excite her...and ask: When you feel worthless...,where do you put value in yourself? Make a list. Of things you like about yourself if you must start there. But where is your value?"

I forgot the rest and that was the last afternoon I slept like that ever haha. Spiritual wake up call T____T, but I kept mulling over his question. Where do I put value in myself?

The answer came quite quickly.

I was cleaning and tidying the house, as always. It's my favorite hour of the day ha. I would end up cold-calling a friend or two after, because dang, it's scary whenever I realize I haven't said one word in 4-6 hours. Freakin. That's what staying at home does to ya. :(

But whenever I get on the phone, it's game over. That's when I hear myself again. The fuller, rambunctious truth of me. Out and about, silly like gout, and cackly like Dr. Pepper bubbles. Bubbly like the drink, sweet like the sugar in it. And every friend brings out something different in me.

No matter what though, it's how I end calls that matter. You never know when it might be your last. Heck, we might reconnect 2 weeks or 2 months from now. I always feel this need to tell you when we're about to leave, "I love you, my friend." My favorite words.

The instant smile it gives me to say it each time. And mean it. It's the most beautiful feeling in the world.

My Buddhist master also once said, "People won't remember what you say, but they will remember how you made them feel." Maya Angelou also said that. :P

So that's been my mission ever since. Create a feeling that I feel deep inside myself -- bring it out to the universe. Put it between my friend and me. That instant feeling of belonging in something sacred and real. It's like creating a home, a universe. It's hard to forget the universe.

Even at my lowest, I still cold call. I still want to make you laugh and tell you I love you.

Where does any of that energy come from? Even when I feel like I have nothing left in me to give? I barely have any good news to share sometimes and yet it comes out naturally, too easily -- the love left in me. Or maybe the last hope I have in myself.

So my value... when I have neither job, money, a proper 60-second elevator pitch, when do I still feel most aligned?

I feel my most purposeful, true, and beautiful when I can show my love. When I know that I've loved well and know that even you can’t doubt i do.

I want to love and love well dam it.

Ivanna said it perfectly. "So you've found your purpose, Ngoc. It's to love."

Several things I've learned since and during my sadnesses...

The first is, the most valuable things you can give are things you give when you feel like.. you  have nothing.

The second is, when you feel like shit. Perhaps purpose-less and lost. What is something that you have that won't change no matter what happens in the material world? What is something that gives you hope, energizes you, and is pure on its own?

For me, it's love and showing my love. :)

And dear reader, if you're reading this and sharing a similar bout of sorts with your fellow Ngoc here, I sincerely hope that you know how loved you are. How wanted you are. That you are worthy of all the goodness of the world and deserving of every happiness meant for you, coming for you, and belonging to you. 

In your search for your own reality, may you also always search for the good and beautiful in yourself. Because there is no greater universe than the greatness already living in you. Cheesy fuckery, all these words. 

If you're the kind of person to live through the fight on your own and tell nobody until it's done, then I hope you'll also know that even in your own sadnesses, you are worthy. Worthy of every goodness. Arrived or arriving soon. You are worthy of it all. I've said this twice for good reason haha. :) And of course, you are beautiful. There's no need to run anywhere. There's no need to introduce yourself. 

It's only time to feel one with yourself. What is left when there's nothing left? A unique question you have access to, in this difficult time... welp. 

And I'm sorry too. That it's so difficult. On you of all people, like a freak accident. This makes me think of what my Buddhist master said in my dream, "We're all being prepared for different rooms." 

Maybe... I don't know. Maybe it is, maybe it isn't a part of the process, but it would be untruthful to say that I've never found an answer after falling deep. Finding that reason for the fall and any reason that gives me the confidence and self-compassion to stay slightly hopeful and feel deserving-- it's a painful but worthy process to me.

And returning to master's words, may your room be beautiful, my friend. Your worth is certainly not determined by opportunities coming your way or defined by the trail you’ve left behind -- rather there must be something within you that exists on its own. And exists because you’re you. And it’s it.

The answers you're preparing for. The feelings you have about yourself. The unchanged truths within you. 

May your universe be found, my friend. 

With love, hope, even a tinge of sadness, but hey let's rein in that dope ass hope, it's your girl, 

Ngoc

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Oh my gosh, my blog episodes have not been very happy lately, have they? My bad and MY LORD. MY LORDIE. Something happened in the last half year where I disappeared slowly and started to do more prose poetry and hecked into it. Here I am. 

A full episode. I can't believe I'm at 94. In 10th grade, when I finally started to take this blog more seriously, my goal was to reach episode 100. I remember wondering who I'd be by episode 100. 

I also still wonder... who would I be? By 100? 

A bigger miss bean. hehe ;D

I just hope I'm not emanating toxic positivity then. That I mean it. ;)

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