Tag Archives: life

Why did I move across the country? // Free Association Writing

What is up, blog. I sometimes don’t know people visit my inconsistent blog. Nothing is here but there are still views. LOL. Warning: This is free association writing, aka blurbs, minimum back spaces, unorganized, thoughts and process.

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What happened to us?

I tweeted this yesterday.

I was thinking about the relationship between my brother and I. THINGS CHANGED.
We used to be this bad ass brother and sister. Pavements moving backwards as we stroll the streets to the bus stop.

Holding your hands and looking up at you. I thought you were superman. I thought you can protect me from anything that gets in our way.

Now, I look at you through a different lens. I see your struggle, I see your frustration, I see your lack of sleep, I see that you are overworked.

I don’t have the courage to tell you this in person but I just hope you know that trying to get through things financially.. but that isn’t the only thing that’s important. Don’t lose moments that can make you stronger as a Father, Son, and Brother.


PS. I miss using my website as an extension of myself.

100 Poems | 100 Days: Day 11

Escaping her homeland, she focused on the future.
One hand holding herself, another holding her son’s.
Leaving. Leaving everything behind.
Her mom, her dad, her sisters, her home.
There is no turning back now.
She just cannot risk it.

She made it to Hong Kong.
and landed in jail.
Separated by single women and men, and women with children.
Separated from her sister.
Alone with her son, she waited.

*will revisit when I feel more inspired..

100 Poems | 100 Days: Day 10

I’m like 2 hours late. sue me. Since I just got my car back .. this needs so much revising and editing but maybe ill revisit in the future.

This is an open letter to my car.
I love you.
I haven’t seen you for weeks and it seems like we’ve been separated over an eternity.
I never realized how much I take you for granted until you were gone.
So thank you.
For your hard ass leather seats, they are uncomfortable  and can go to both extremes of hot and cold.
But Thank you for letting me sleep in peace through all those drunk nights.
We’ve shared so much.
You have heard me laugh with my friends
You have heard me cursed during road rage
You even listened to the saddest slow jams with me and
You sat in silence when I needed space.
And your four wheels.
They are the path to our endless adventures.
Thank you for The good, the bad, and the I can’t believe I am doing this right now moments.
You know you da homie.
But most of all
Thank you for being my home when I had no where to run to.
You put a roof over my head and sheltered for my body.
They say home is where your heart is
Well my heart is engraved to your engine.
You are the only thing that is stable in my life.
Love, Han.
P.S. Don’t break down on me again. My life depended on you.

100 Days | 100 Poems: Day 8

I just can’t handle heartaches
just thinking about it makes my heart jump
and not the good kind either
the feeling that puts you in pain
all you want to do is lay in bed
and let time pass by
by then you just hope that this heartache goes away
but it doesn’t
the more you think about it
you get lightheaded
the more you feel your chest
it gets heated
your heart wants to break open your bones and dive out of your tissues and skin just so you can see your heart in melancholy
and when your heartaches don’t go away
you get heart broken
the kind your mama warned you about
but its not about the boys
its about the things you love and care for

100 Poems | 100 Days: Day 7

Certain poems I rather not revisit but here’s another one.

you left this scar on my body
like a surgeon operating, cutting deep into my skins and tissues
did you not feel that?
that vessel you just popped, carving into my heart that never stopped spilling ink on my pen that never stopped writing about you
but that didn’t stop you
did you not hear that?
the screams coming out from my brain
turn the volume to max, consume the streets with the sounds of unpleasantness and taint the concrete with eerie
but that didn’t stop you
did you not see that?
the open wound from my chest, exposed like an animal at the zoo. still on its habitat and visible to be familiarized
vulnerable and living for the world to watch and scrutinize
but that didn’t stop you
that didn’t stop you from creating this pain
that lingers like the stench of aroma that follows me every where. never leaving because every time it “left” the distinct smell hits and all the feelings com back
like the pain you instantly feel when you listen to that one song that reminds you to something broken
broken like my rib cages, you break pieces off when I think of you
this psychological battle im trying to fight
its not who you are, its what i remember you as
and all i can remember is this feeling
i’m just tired of fighting this feeling
the pain you engraved into me with that knife you cut me with
that healed into this scar.

100 Poems | 100 Days: Day 6

Aaaah, the last few days has been so crazy, I will try to catch up with all the days within the next few days.

A bantu I wrote in 2010

i am the ugly duckling. the kind hearted, soft feathered animal that gets lost while finding its path through the woods.
the determined turtle who finishes the race no matter what the distance is.
whose father left with no return and whose mother’s love for her daughter is not as strong as the love for herself.
i am the groundhog searching for my shadow.

Well fuck, I fell asleep last night. So here’s a late day 5 /:

I fear of being different.
Yet that is the only thing I am searching for.
I will no longer conform to fit in this narrow minded path of being the same
when embracing and accepting differences reveals personable characteristics
it is easier to sit in a room filled with safety nets, similarities that won’t go wrong
but unfamiliarity pushes people to the edge of the building
uneasy, rocky, uncomfortable
but being yourself is beautiful even if it is different
we’re not all the same underneath
we’re individuals
we’re individuals

100 Poems | 100 Days: Day 4

is it cheating if I post a poem I am semi working on awhile ago but never went back to it but I don’t have time to write a new one today ? (: oh well . day 4 😀

still in the works * kinda. .

Plan C

To the 18 year old teenager who dropped out of high school
a baby was coming to life
your plan A was to get an education but you couldn’t take Plan B so what’s left was plan C.
to raise
not knowing what you got yourself in to
didn’t think that THIS could have happened to you
in a night you thought you’ll never forget
turned to a night you might even regret
having a baby this young could never be a choice, so the right thing seems to be marriage in this Vietnamese household
but you love your partner
and love this soon to be child of yours
so you pull your strength together
pull your heart to
take this family to be yours through thick and thin
with nothing but high school credits of classes that taught nothing about protection, pregnancy or diaper changes
you took responsibility of another human being
driving your 1998 red honda civic
working 2 jobs to make sure this baby, will get the chance he needs to survive in this world

Let this little sister tell you I am proud of you
you sacrificed yourself for other people and that’s all I can ever ask of you
you give me hope that, not every man is like our dads
and that one day I will find someone who would sacrifice for a family as much as you do.
that being in your child’s life is worth more than stars in the sky
And even when times are dark and the skies are grey
You are my sunshine, my only sunshine.
Love you, big brother.

100 Poems | 100 Days: Day 3

Day 3 y’all. I’m trying to be consistent. Note* I like to write spoken word poetry so it’s meant to be read out loud. I am thinking I might record my poems or perform it .. kinda .. to have videos instead of just words. We’ll see.

My name is Nguyen, Dao Cong Han
Family name Nguyen, Given name Han
Legal or Government name Trish
Growing up I loved school but I hated the first day of class
Stepping through the doors of Kindergarten, I highly anticipated a great day
Looking over my shoulders, my peers were crying as their parents left them
Roll call, as the teacher would say
Was my most hated moment
Nervously I pulled my braided pony tail to the front as I waited for my name to be called
Han? Hand? Cong? Hon Kong?
I hear little laughs

It’s Han

This happened every single year throughout elementary school.
What’s worse? Substitute teachers.
It seems like they don’t give a fuck. So they would pronounce it anyway they want.

In middle school, my mom passed her citizenship test.
I was given the opportunity to change my name. So call me Trish.
But little did I know, more Vietnamese students were integrated into our schools
The teachers had to learn our names and I had less trouble with Han

High school
I want to apologize to those I called FOBs.
For people  who don’t know, they stand for “Fresh off the Boats”
Immigrants to the U.S.
They spoke Vietnamese in their circles with little courtesy to “American Culture”
You live in America not in Vietnam so stop being so annoying, were the thoughts going through my head

But now as I look back
What gives me the right to judge people of my color
Why did I hate the fact that, they spoke their native tongue, as I ignored mine
Somewhat, I felt superior because I knew the language of this so called “America”
I was brainwashed thinking the American way was the right way but in reality it was really the white way.
Colonialism at its finest
Society shaped this little girl to think that her name was not good enough
That she should be ashamed of her people, her culture and should embrace hot dogs and hamburgers
Because fish sauce was too strong and the only accepted Vietnamese food is Pho
You never want to be “too Asian” because racial slurs like Chink matters
And if you do anything else wrong you’ll end up in Alexandra Wallace’s video
Derogatory terms and bigotry against this skin that I cannot peel off
By the age of 5, I figured out my shade of yellow before I learned the English colors of my crayon box

Well baby, if you want me, say my name like it’s worth knowing
My name is Nguyen, Dao Cong Han
Family name Nguyen, Given name Han