Monthly Archives: March 2014

I heard that writing is good for the soul..

So I’ve decided to try to do daily feels / daily posts like how I used to back in xanga. It doesn’t always have to be about a topic… just daily stuff to clear & cool down my mind off my blog. It’s my blog. so ya

Song of the day: John Legend & Linda Stirling – All of me 

Let’s start out with this morning. I got a call from my mom to transfer her money. Money has always been an issue in my family and to keep it short, I paid for her taxes. And to make it long, I love my mom. I love that she has sacrificed so much to keep our family together. Living in a single household for I don’t know, my whole life, has made me realized why I don’t identify myself with a lot of my Vietnamese brothers and sisters who has already “made” it (or even the ones who have dads). Some people are privilege to not worry about rent, bills, gas, food, because their parents can provide for them and that’s beautiful. Your parents went through the motion of refuge and diaspora; then successfully made a living, assimilate, and adapt to this new culture. Not everyone get’s that chance. There are still families who are struggling to make sure that their children get a chance to be successful. I didn’t truly understand that until after high school. Everyone’s looking at me to “make it” for my mom. It’s kinda hard right now when I want to focus on education and also need to think about providing financial means for myself and my mom. So this is how it feels like to be my mom. I guess I don’t care much about the money part, it’s just stressful (I’m totally downplaying that part right now). LOL I totally went off topic but my main thing is that check your privilege. Some of my cousins grew up with same morals and values but they have the privilege to not worry about working for a living during high school and college … makes us different.

SIDE STORY: On Sunday, my little cousin was telling me he was mad at his dad for not paying Continue reading

100 days


We all about bein “ONE HUNID” / 100
Yet these past couple days 100 has never meant something so different for me
100 days since you have been gone and I am still learning to cope
I could care less about anyone or anything
Do other people deal with death like this? Or is this a weakness of mine
I feel vulnerable and weak
CALL ME CRAZY, cause I am all over the spectrum of high and low energy.
I have so much I want to say but I’ll save it for another day.

I just want to thank my big sis Julie for listening to me today. Sometimes it’s hard to tell me people about what’s going on cause all they want to do is tell you how to feel and I am tired of that. I can identify my own feelings. Thanks. So it’s nice for someone to just listen. and thats it.

Another thing, I am probably gonna change my layout o_o I want something different

Nothing Even Matters

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Like I said before, I have a hard time being home. It is like I purposely put myself in this sinkhole that I cannot plug. Yet when I am far away I yearn for this loving & depressing place.
We dragged eerie in this home and it hasn’t escaped. I don’t know if it ever will …

You know how heartbroken it is to see your mom come home from work with tears?
My mom leaned on my head and shoulder for support. For me to validate her feelings with the things that she had to deal with.
Sometimes I feel that I am not enough.
At least not yet anyways.

Nothing even matters no more.

I’m staring at the clock
It’s a quarter to three
I’m tossing in my bed
Cause I just can’t sleep
Cause you’re not here with me
I’m reaching out for you
I wish I could talk to you
Trying to figure out what’s going on with me
I’m used to having all the answers for everything

I think I’m really good at taking music lyrics out of context and relating/interpreting it to how I feel lol.

Hello March

It is a new month and I am trying to do some changes. But today I got a called from my mom reminding me that on the 16th is when we’re going to temple for my grandpa’s 100 days of death.

Can I tell you how I’m NOT looking forward to go to this. I don’t want to let go. I am not ready to let you go grandpa. It was just 3 months ago that I saw you. That I had a conversation with you. That I sat on your bed and talked about where you were going to sit for my graduation.

I had a hard time at work today. I kept looking up to hold back my tears. It worked. I felt distorted and felt paranoid if other people noticed. But honestly, if they did. I don’t care

You took a piece of me when you left. I can’t find myself when I look in the mirror.
I am a lost soul without you.

How do you say good bye to forever.
How can I accept never seeing you again.
I just can’t.

Fresh of the Boats // “FOBS”

It’s funny how perspectives and opinions change as we get older. I thank my experiences and the knowledge I have gain throughout my 22 / almost 23 years of life. I am hungry for more knowledge, about my people, about our struggle as a community, and our roots.

Fresh of the Boats. FOBS. A term used in my high school to create a division between my Vietnamese brothers and sisters. Separating those who spoke Vietnamese, who spoke Vietnamese and English, and those who forgot their native tongue and recited only the English language.

FOBS. A term used to degrade and devalue people who knew little English and nothing about the American culture. Who knew nothing about fashion and wore clothes that were hand me downs or handmade by their mothers. Pieces of different fabrics to create a protection of their body and skin.

FOBS. A term used for those who spoke Vietnamese with pride and continuing conversations out loud regardless of knowing little or fluent in English.

FOBS. A term used in disgust because “they” brought shame to the Vietnamese community in this American society. “We,” Vietnamese Americans, judge them for not matching up to American morals and values.

FOBS. Referring to our parents who were the real “Boat People” that fled the communist homeland for a better life elsewhere. Who, survived treacherous water of the sea with scarce resources of basic human necessities of food and water. Who waited in camps to find refuge in other countries who are willing to take them. Some, waited 6 months – 1 year while others never left the refugee camps.

FOBS. My mother. My Brother. My Family. Who lived in Hong Kong. Who Lived in Philippines for two years. Who stayed in PRPC, Philippine Refugee Processing Center. Who had little space to sleep, and literally fetched water with a bucket. Who stood in line for food. Who’s trip to California was delayed because of my due date. Born in a refugee camp, I will not forget what my family has gone through for my well being and survival.

Anyways. Just a little something I was thinking about. I need to do some more research about this / gather anecdotes from my family ahha!