Tag Archives: spoken words

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.
a CHILD
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

Spoken Word: Grim Reaper [11.14.13]

To be honest, I wanted to start off my blog by posting my previous fun experiences like going to a stussy launch party but I just can’t. My world feels like it’s crumbling down. My grandpa was hospitalized yesterday and I drove back to Orange County to see him …. he looked so weak. He is currently in the ICU for monitoring and I can care less about my internship and work today. But I still have to go. Anyways, I wrote this poem a couple weeks ago when one of the patients I work with at Mattel Children’s Hospital went to PICU (Pediatrics Intensive Care Unit). He needs multiple transplant organs and he might not make it (He is still in the PICU). The poem is to shed light on the darker side of working with children in the hospital and how I felt at the moment thinking about him and other patients.
grimreaper

Although working with children is a blessing
I am having a hard time shadowing the reaper
I can’t stand the fact that I might not see one of the child, here, next week
You see, I have always loved and appreciate life
but this
this shit is too real
this shows me that life is too short
that even if you have never done anything wrong
your body may fail you
that you’re praying to an angel called the waiting list
that you’re counting on the grim reaper
so you can take other
ORGANS
church echoing with the sound of hope
hope that a death of another will give you life
will give you parts that you need to survive
because the one that YOU were born with, failed
failed to allow you to enjoy the simple things like
like sun rays tracing your face on the deck
the smell of spring in march
failed to live up to its promise
a healthy life
but you wait
you wait and wait and struggle through the
dialysis that makes you fatigue
infections that spread like wild fire
needles that poke more holes in your skin than an addict with heroine
cancer that made you think twice about survival and life
beating your heart to death
it makes it difficult to love your body, love yourself, and love life

STAY STRONG
don’t let those scars wound you even deeper but
do let it tell stories of every stitch and knife you have been under
don’t let the tubes coming out from your body define your worth
don’t let the bare skin of your head define your beauty

I have never been so close to this thin line of life and death
So I continue to shadow the grim reaper.