A portrait of my uncle, the oldest of 10 children.

"Get on the motorbike!"
"Are you sure?"
"I take my wife to the market every morning on this!"
I put my helmet, give him my bag, and get on.
"Isn't this great!? I'm 82, but I'm still having fun! Make sure you're always having fun!" he shouts over his shoulder as we drive through a dry dirt road to his house. 

Welcome Back to LA, Goodbye Car

I look at things unfolding before me, and I think in scenes. The media has brainwashed me since I was... 5, and ever since then, I think life is all a show. And truthfully, I choose comedies over tragedies. Both should exist, but I prefer my ending to be comedic, not tragic. 

Without further adieu, here is a snippet of my existence (holy balls, what?). 

Sunday Night Flash Mob

Sunday night and I felt inspired to finally pick up my camera. It's been in my camera bag since I got back from New York City. I had so much to say here, but it begins to not make any sense when I start to type. These images were taken today, it's me messing around with my external flash. I had a lot of fun, but blinded them all. My mom, brother, and both cats had no choice. Either way, it feels so good to just shoot (the images weren't heavily photoshopped at all, no added vignettes, just some cropping and contrast!). And here's the song that's currently playing as I type this! Beat Connection - Silver Screen.

It's 4 o'clock in the morning

My phone gave out a loud buzz. Instinctively, I knew it was a missed call. I'm always missing my calls. When I was in high school, I would get excited picking ringtones on my Razr. When I found out I could edit songs and make them ringtones, I'd have people call me just so I can hear the snippet of that song. Now, when anyone calls me, I don't hear a thing. It doesn't vibrate, it doesn't ring.

I had 3 missed calls from Dad. 7:17, 7:20, and 7:35 in the morning. I know I can't speedily subtract, but I knew it was early in Los Angeles. 4 o'clock early. I was wide awake when I realized the time. Why is he calling me? Is everything okay? Is mom okay? Did someone die? What else would I assume if my dad calls me at 4 in the morning?

Instead of calling back, I checked my voicemail.

"Hi, it's Dad. You got a letter," he said loudly in Vietnamese. I hear my mother yelling something in the background. At least I know they're both alive.

I called back.

"You got a mail for jury duty!" he said.

I was speechless.

"I'll have your brother mail it to you! Remember to fill it out, tell them you don't live here anymore."

I didn't bother to ask why they both were up so early and why they had to call me at that moment.

"Are you going to work now?" he asked.

I said yes, hung up the phone, and went back to sleep.

This is for my dad

My co-worker handed me the white boxcutter. It looked like a stick of peppermint gum but had the texture and weight of a beer opener. Of course, a red square with the words UNIQLO written in white capital letters sat at the end of the razor. It belonged to them.

I took the tool, retracted the sharp blade, and sliced through the tape. I felt cruel destroying this box even though it has consistently excelled in storing perfectly folded linen shirts. The sharpness of the razor sure beats my well inked blue Bic pen, which will stick to it's role of transcribing the daily sales goal and whatnot.

This utility knife felt familiar. I have seen it before, piles of them actually, in all different colors, though I mostly remember orange and dark grey. They appeared less polished, lighter because it was molded plastic and not metal. More used, with strips of packing tape holding the blade in place. These segmented blade utility knives rested in our monochromatic filing cabinet with its charcoal colored drawers and handles. It was located in our dining area between my dad's homemade alter and a twin sized bed. My dad found it on the side of the street and insisted to carry it up a flight of stairs just so it can consume more space in our already crowded two bedroom apartment. It became home to the knives, old VHS tapes varying from home videos to Paris By Night concert series, usb cords, and other tangled electronic items.

I never knew why we had so many of of them. I've never seen my dad cut anything at home. Then,  for some reason, at that moment of me breaking down the box, it occurred to me that he used them for the same reason. He opened a lot of them at the shoe warehouse where he worked.  Here I was, doing exactly what my dad has been doing and still is doing for 15 years. I'm living what he still is struggling with now. He has been working there since 1997. That was his way of making money to support his wife and two kids. He had left the comforts of his homeland and his family, replaced a camera with a knife, and abandoned a huge house with a backyard full of jack fruit, gauva trees, and all sorts of fruits and vegetables for an upstairs corner two bedroom, one bathroom unit in an apartment that looked more like a motel.

I can't help but make comparisons and wonder if I'll be in the same shoes. Has he succeeded? His two kids are college graduates from outstanding universities. One has a good job, and the other is still searching. It's hard to say. His goal was for us to have an education and pursue any occupation we wanted, and raise our own families and make enough money to support them. In that case, he has succeeded.

But I feel that if he knew what his daughter has been doing - working at a store, moving boxes, using razors like he did - he would be mad.

"I didn't come here so you can work like that," he would probably say.

But Dad,  I understand your struggle now. I used to ask you why you were always tired all the time from work. Why you sighed and huffed and only sat in front of the computer every time you came home.  I now do the same. I'm now somewhat living your life and barely getting by (except I have no one else to support except myself). I don't want to repeat that step.

I will get out of there. It's just a step I need to take to get elsewhere. Lucky for me, I have you and mom for support. And lucky for me, my family is in the same country and I can visit them any time. Lucky for me, I have the opportunities you never did.

It doesn't end on the razors as a comparison. I'm also picking up furniture from the street. I'm taking an hour to buy toilet paper because I need to compare and find the best value.

I moved to NYC by myself to pursue a dream, as you did when you left Vietnam. I know it's a bit farfetched comparing my journey to yours, I can't help it. You've inspired me to do this. And I can't let you down. I came here for a reason and when I go back home, you'll be living in a house with a backyard full of fruits and vegetables. And when I get home, I'll throw away all of your razors.  You won't need them anymore.

I blame Steve Jobs

In his commencement speech at Stanford University, the man said:

"Your time is limited, so don’t waste it living someone else’s life. Don’t be trapped by dogma — which is living with the results of other people’s thinking. Don’t let the noise of others’ opinions drown out your own inner voice. And most important, have the courage to follow your heart and intuition. They somehow already know what you truly want to become. Everything else is secondary."

Though I've always seen life in this light (special thanks to the American media) Steve Jobs gave it a stamp of approval. The man indeed put a ding in the universe and he's certainly inspired me to venture off, to stay hungry, to stay foolish. And foolish I am to be flying off to New York for an internship that pays significantly less my current one during this economic situation.

I am exchanging stability for uncertainty, income for experience, cars for subways, cardigans for coats, and LA for NYC.

I know. I've already written an invitation to myself: Welcome to the I'm-going-to-NYC-to-follow-my-dreams club. And it's not really following my dreams, it's more creating myself and figuring out what I'm made of. I really don't know exactly what I want to do, but I only have an idea. Remember my rant about me being super spoiled? Well, this will break that mold. My vague plan is to have the internship, work part time during the evenings and Fridays/Saturdays and explore New York Sundays. See, I've got it covered. I've got 3-5 months to make something out of nothing.

As for my parents, they don't understand it, but they're letting me go. My brother recorded it all so I got to be Kim Kardashian for twenty minutes. I really wanted to type out how the conversation went, but it's on film, and yes, I'm lazy again. However, after the confrontation, I wrote this draft on my blog:

Guilt. Nonchalant, Almost careless. Go and try. It's such an American thing. My father doesn't know, and I know he will only worry about the housing crisis. I, too, worry. It's selfish of me, but by me staying, what will that do? Progress is not made.

going to new york in two weeks.
lonely. sad. letting go. money situation.
mother supportive. not yelling.
moved on to car problems.
cardboard dividing the room.
mom mad she threw it down.
my own reality show.
don't wear heels.
my brother recording it all.
"why leave for a lesser income?"
major counts.
3 months will go by so quickly.
bring cats over.
she already bought a plane ticket.
her boyfriend lives there.
why leave when things are so good?
let her do it for 3 months she'll come back.
my mom silly, playing and patting his face.
how much is it?
enough. it's enough.
experience over money.
why?
caught on tape.
sound silly but let's see how it is.

sadness. a new chapter. prove them wrong. i'm so hopeful and i know it won't be so good.

Yeah, if you understood half of that, I congratulate you. Overall, it turned out to be one of the best conversations I've had with my parents. Instead of yelling at me when I proclaimed my plans, my father said in a calm voice, "But that's so far. I'll be sad."

I'm spoiled and it is rotten

My tolerant mother has taken care of me for twenty two years and never received an income or even a promotion for her magnanimous efforts of raising a poor Vietnamese speaking mercurial daughter. With great admittance, I am a spoiled brat.

After I turned 18 and went off to college, I really thought I was a true adult. But I found myself going home on weekends shamefully so my mother could do my laundry. I wake up past noon and next to my bed will be a plate of perfectly cut up gauva accompanied by the greatest concoction ever: salt, pepper, and cayenne pepper. It's truly a Vietnamese thing (the dip and the motherly behaviors). I figured this type of behavior would diminish by the time I turn 21, the age where I can legally drink, rent a car, buy a car without a co-signer, buy a house without a co-signer, and gamble. How come when I turned 21, all I did was drink until I couldn't anymore? I should have gone and rented a car!

The realization that I've yet to seriously grow up occurred one morning before I went off to work. My morning routine is trite and amazingly lazy: wake up at 6:35, drag myself to the restroom, pee, brush my teeth, wash my face, attempt to comb my hair, give up and tie it in a ponytail, change, and go to the kitchen. All of that takes an impressive ten minutes. I'm independent during those 10 minutes. On this particular morning, I slipped on a black dress because I didn't feel like using my muscles trying to squeeze into my fitted pants. As I walked into the kitchen, I stood by the cabinet, waiting for my mother. "Chờ đợi một phút" she says as she places bags of fruits and a napkin in my black lunch pail. "đồ ăn nóng" she says as she hands it to me. She basically told me to wait a minute and that the food is hot.  I grabbed the handle, thanked her, grabbed my car keys, put on my black flats, and walked out the door. My mother loves to watch me as I leave, and I always wondered if I'll do that when I become a mother.

She runs back in the house and comes out with a strip of stickers, the same one she uses to clean up the cat hair on the floor. Though my brother and I bought her a lint/pet fur roller, she prefers the stickers because she has more control and it's more effective, she claims. And there I was, standing in the walkway with my arms stretched out like scarecrow as she patted the stickers all over my dress as if I was going through security. "Mèo lông" she says. It means "cat fur" a word she's been using since my brother brought home Blue and Willow a year ago. My black dress was covered in tiny orange cat fur. In that moment, I imaged a helicopter aiming it's spotlight at me standing there with my mom on her knees intricately patting the stickers all over my dress, reporting to the news anchor "breaking news, a 22 year old woman is delayed from going to work because of apparent cat fur on her dress. Her mother is quickly ridding of the contamination."

After a minute, I told her it looks good and that I couldn't see the cat fur anymore. I thanked her, and casually walked towards my car. I place the lunch pail in the passenger seat, put on my seatbelt, turn on the engine, and drive off with NPR on the radio encouraging me to donate money for their Fall drive.

My mother says the darnest things

Since my mom was in the room with me when I typed the previous post, I realized I couldn't keep this joyous video to myself! She was already annoyed that I was still at the computer, when I should have been dropping off some goodies for a friend. However, she complied and watched it with me. Here's what happened before, during, and after the viewing of this video.

Me (pretend it's in Vietnamese and words in caps are in English)

Mom, do you want to watch a PROPOSAL?

Mom

What?

I open a new tab and typed google translator. I typed in the word proposal and show it to her.

Me

Didn't Dad do this for you?

Mom

No. Why would he have to ask me?
We already know we were getting married.
In Vietnam, you don't date around.

Me

Okay, well, in America they do this and usually
the girl doesn't know when to expect the proposal.

I press play on the YouTube page.

Me

So that's her in the red. She doesn't know what's going on.

Mom

She doesn't know that this will be on YouTube?

Me

Yes. And she doesn't know that he's proposing.

Mom

What? She doesn't know she's marrying him?
Why would he not tell her beforehand?
Doesn't she need time to think about it before she decides? 

Random people begin to dance.

Mom

Are they exercising?

I'm irritated.

Me

No, they're dancing. Do you hear the music?

Mom

It's nice music.

Now more people are joining the dancing routine.

Mom

Dancing is good exercise.
Exercise is very similar to dancing.

Me

Mom just watch.

Mom

How come you don't like to dance?
You should dance like that. It's good for you.

Me

Okay just watch.

Mom

Vietnamese people love dancing.
 Exercising is very similar. Good for them.

Me

Look, the boyfriend is dancing too.

Mom

Why isn't she dancing?
Does she not like to exercise?
She probably can't dance.

The dancing finally stops and the proposal speech begins. The girl is giggling.

Mom

Her teeth looks like yours before you had braces.
I can see them. Very crooked.

I ignore her and proceed to translate the speech... poorly.

Me

He's saying he loves her and stuff like that.

My mom leaves the room.

Me

Wait keep watching.

Mom

It's not done yet?

In the video he asks "Will you marry me?" She responds "duhhh" with a self conscious laugh.

Me

Wasn't that fun?

Mom

Ahhh that is fun. They're oohing and ahhing because they
 want you to go and give your friend his desserts already.

End Scene.

85 1.4

Thanks to Amazon, the package came in a day for a flat fee of 3.99. I couldn't help but take some test shots in the Le residency.

Lessons From My Mother/Small White Lies I Tell My Mother Daily

 I proposed the idea of writing about shit my parents say but apparently there's a show called Shit My Dad Says. Does this mean I am unoriginal? Balls. Below are some things my mother tells me. She tells me a lot of things, repeatedly, everyday and this is all my mind can do for now.


Lessons From My Mother/Small White Lies I Tell My Mother Daily

Always Drink Water Because I live in a small apartment, my parents and I are very close. I eat in front of them, I use the computer in front of them, and I read books in front of them. For some reason, I feel like this could become a naughty post. Anyway, after every meal, my mother approaches me with a tall glass of warm tea. I lie to her saying I already drank water. She looks at me and puts the cup on the table. "Always drink water. You have to drink at least three of these cups a day so you can pee regularly. How many do you drink a day? It's good for you," she says as she walks away towards the kitchen." It's good for your skin and your body. You don't want pimples."

Sleep early if you have to wake up early/8 Hours of Sleep I'm always reminded of this when I wake up at 2pm. Or when I'm up on my computer editing photographs until 4am and she wakes up. Then the next morning I wake up at 6am for work. That's when she begins to talk to herself, but loud enough so I can hear. Some days I might only get 6 hours of sleep, but when asked how many hours, I reply "8" and the conversation ends happily.

Always eat rice If you come over, there will ALWAYS be rice in the rice cooker. Even if we are eating something outrageous like Pho that day, there will be rice. It's like that movie, There Will Be Blood. Just replace that with Rice.

Never owe people money "Yeah, I have to go to my friend's house to give him back his 20 dollars." My mom gets crazy and she rushes me out the door so I can get to my friend's house faster. She hates being in debt. She hates having to rely on others for money. She'd rather borrow/ask money from her than from people outside the family.

Don't eat fatty foods I brought home a box of chicken wings. She looked at them and proclaimed "Oh I hope you took off the skin before you ate the chicken. It's very fattening, you know." I'm trying to imagine myself tearing off the skin of a juicy hot wing. The waiter's going to be left with chicken skins and bones. She makes it a point to decrease as much fat as possible. She'll cut off any excess fat on steaks, pork, chicken, fish. If you ever want extremely healthy YET the most delicious Bun Bo Hue ever, come over! She does this technique where she puts the home made beef stock in the fridge so all the fat floats on top, which she discards.

Don't wear heels that are above an inch As I left for work this morning in my two inch high boots, she looked at me with caution. As I made my way down the stairs, she yelled from fifty feet away, "Be careful! Walk slower!" She's heard horror stories, actually just one story, about her co worker's friend's neighbor who broke her ankle from walking down the stairs in high heels. If it can happen to her co worker's friend's neighbor, it can happen to me.

Hello, Le Residence.

Maybe one day, I'll write about my parents, my brother. For now, I'll enjoy the time I have with them.

Here's a song for you:
Death Cab For Cutie- Brothers On A Hotel Bed

Have a fanciful Friday!

Vietnam Airlines Would Have Been Easier

"This is Air China, not China Airlines. You'll have to go out, and turn right. It's in the Tom Bradley Building," she said as she handed me my father's passport and flight information. I grabbed them and started walking briskly towards the sliding glass doors, with my father following closely behind.

"It's wrong. You should have checked," he said to me. For some reason, I assumed it was Air China because that was the airline I took to Korea. Who knew? I had to admit, yes, I was wrong, and my father was right. Like always.

"China Airlines has China at the front. And this one has A-I-R then China after," laughed my mother. "If I was here alone I would never even make my flight." She's really good making light of serious situations. Now I know where I get my constant commentary skills from.

Before today, my father told me to be home 7:30pm so I can take him to the airport at 9pm, 5 hours before his departure. I didn't want to bother arguing, so I dropped my plans and was home at 7:30. I never understood showing up to something 5 hours early, unless I'm waiting in line to get great seats at a show. His reasoning, like many, is because "in case something goes wrong." He's always extremely prepared, but that takes a toll on his mental health. My dad is constantly stressed, over the littlest details.

For example, as we were leaving our apartment, I handed him a pack of floss. I wasn't sure if floss existed in Vietnam so I gave it to him in case. If I had to choose between flossing or brushing, I'd pick flossing. It's liberating to know that the gaps between my teeth are vacant, and that I don't have last night's dinner in my mouth as I'm eating breakfast. He placed it in his duffle bag. After honestly a few minutes of staring at his bag, he took out the floss. He held onto it, looking at his luggage, then at his duffle bag, then back at the floss in his hand.

"Dad, it's fine to leave it in the carry on. As long as you don't have any liquids, or drugs, or weapons," I reassured him. My brother jokingly told me later when I told him this story that floss can be used as a weapon. I can imagine that. It's similar to how Middle Eastern women thread their eyebrows, but instead they can slice off appendages with a quick wrist motion.

My father didn't say anything and placed the floss in his luggage. He couldn't risk it.

As we were in the now China Airlines check-in line, he gave me 10 dollars to pay for the parking. I refused, confidently telling him that parking will not be that much, six dollars maximum. He took out the money from his leather fanny pack and gave it to the my brother instead.

The line was packed, and we moved every five minutes. As I looked around, I couldn't help but wish I was going with him. It's been 7 months since my trip abroad, and I'm still living in the memories.

A majority of the passengers were Vietnamese - I can tell by the numerous Nguyens labelled on their cardboard boxes. My dad had a similar one too, except his was protected with layers of tape, just in case. A few feet away from us stood a Vietnamese couple, the kind that made me resent my own people (at least in my generation). She had long, coarse, black hair with red highlights. It's as if she dyed it 1000 times and had it permed, then straightened, then permed again. I know I shouldn't judge, but I had nothing better to do in that line. She stood at 5 feet, maybe even less since she had on heels. Her waist looked like a 24, and I could bet that her twins were bought. They were round, and large, making her body disproportionate. I looked down at mine, and knew for a fact hers were fake. Sorry little babies, but you are staying the way you are. Her man was beside her, rearranging items in the luggage. He looked like a nice guy. Slender, around 5 inches taller than his companion. His hair though, turned me off. It was the typical Asian cut. I wish I knew hair terms, but it was buzzed on the bottom (a fade?) and there was hair on top. Sorry, but you probably know what I mean. If not, google "typical Asian hair cut for men." (I lied, I just googled it. Maybe styles have changed).

The breast augmented lady glanced over, and I felt her eyes looking at me. She's probably thinking I'm some 15 year old nerdy tourist who needs a makeover: more makeup, more hair, more junk in the trunk, more oomph. I gave her a kind smile, and she looked away.

The line began to move and finally, we were next. The check-in agent handed my father the golden ticket, the one he's been waiting for for the past 17 years.

"We can't go with you to security," I told my dad. "This is it!"

He gave me a kiss, more like a sniff, on the cheek. He then went to my brother and did the same. We are not an intimate bunch, until I went off the college.

"You should take a photo of that!" said my brother. I looked over, and holy moly, my dad just gave my mom a kiss on the cheek. We've never witnessed this before! Yes, we saw them holding hands when my dad made me record them at the park for his home made music video. And we've seen them dance when my dad showed me some ballroom moves before dropping me off at my eighth grade dance. But never have I seen my dad's lips pressed against my mom's beautiful blushed cheeks. Never! I smiled, not just because of the rarity of the event, but at the fact that it was so low-key, so normal. I can't imagine being with someone for 38 years. Go parents!

The walk back to the car felt quiet without the presence of my dad. We got lost looking for our car and the situation was rather funny. We joked around, pretending to be my dad, thinking of what he would be saying right now. Usually, if my dad would start yelling at us for being so forgetful. He would stress, and stress, and stress, and won't stop until we found the car.

Three and a half hours later, we were finally heading back. I handed the man at the booth our parking ticket. "That will be nine dollars," he told me.  I looked at my brother without saying a word and he handed me the ten dollar bill.