One thing I crave and miss is radio.

 

I've talked about this in a previous blog post, but I'll do it again since I can't get over it. The art of DJ-ing live on air was a haphazard thing I did as I lived my last year in college. Ms. Button was my air name, but I realized that if I slurred my pronunciation on air, it sounded like Ms. Butt. I think I will change it to Kim Casual (After seeing a youtube video on Jazz Casual, America's first TV Jazz Series), since I like the ring of it very much so. It was here that I learned the beauty of accidents and mistakes.

In Vietnam, radio culture doesn't exist as it does in the states because cars aren't a popular form of transportation, motorbikes are (I'm still waiting for the day motorbikes with radios come about, although that would be noise pollution chaos waiting to happen, it's sort of exciting isn't it?).

And also radio is from what I understand, more news than music. But from a young age when I discovered radio from my mom's am/fm clock radio my ears have been caught since. Back in the day when the combination of boredom and not knowing your future meant that you had a free day to play, I had spent the day listening to the radio. I still remember the day distinctly. 1. I thought it was really cool to hang out in my parents room on their king size bed. and 2. I had heard a song I liked. And other days my mom had control over the radio waves, but inside her room on her am/fm clock radio I was in control of it and could listen to whatever I wanted to and its history from there. I once typed up an extensive and detailed story on how I got into music. I wrote it on an electronic post-it. If I find it, I'll post it in its raw form.

In general, as much as I love music and the goodness it fills me with, I don't like to talk about music too much with people because I get a wide range of opinions and sometimes insults. Music, like politics, is where everyone has an opinion about it, but of course we develop our opinions due to different circumstances, existences, and environments. And just like in politics, you have your smart people and you have your idiots. A friend once told me that I was not well versed in music because I did not have an understanding or appreciation for the classic rock genre. At the time I was angry with this comment and did not react too well, probably with silence, as how I usually deal with situations that are not my cup of tea.

 There are a couple ways I do music and as my friend Patricia said once "Imma do me." With music I won't like it just because its a top 40, or because its the most popular song of the time. Although sometimes that's the case and I can't deny that, I like songs because of my process with it. I will have albums that I don't listen to for a few years before I accidentally pick it up in a shuffle. I like songs and albums recommended by a friend to me. I also like to explore an artist's entire album, and as a classmate once said to me as I vaguely recollect, that an artist made an entire album for a reason. I also like to obsessively listen to a song on repeat. I've just discovered this wonderful method of putting songs on youtube on repeat! It's literally as simple as typing the word "repeat" into the web address.

Lastly, I'd like to leave you with my favorite moment of going home for Christmas. This is Dominick. He's just over 1 years old and this trip was the first time I met him. He really likes me for some reason (maybe because I look like his older sister) and also maybe I wore this grandma like soft fleece sweater. In this photo, I was just holding him, and then all of a sudden to my shock he just lays his head on my shoulder.  So much love! It gave me so much warm fuzzies that it still lasts until this day every time I look at this picture. This makes me want to be at home. <3

Pictures because my words are jumbled.

Random bits of December 2010 for you.  8 months to go.

wandering

wondering if I get my exploratory nature from my parents. Looking back on their roadtrips, they took me and my brother along too. And their need to see every national park in America was quite mother fucking awesome.

My parents for many years lugged my little brother Jeffrey and I around America and Canada. Our most frequented trip was to Canada. Driving up to Canada was a three day adventure in my dad's red nissan truck. It had a hood cover on the back bed, and my dad would literally place a full size mattress in the back bed (probably illegal) for my brother to sleep on during the long hours on the road. When I look back, how lovingly thoughtful that is. I just recall crawling through the window in the back, and falling onto the many pillows and blankets in the back. I remember sleeping back there, rolling around and playing as the scenes of West Coast floated by, and getting excited when my dad hit the breaks too hard cos that would send me and my brother flying in all different directions. Adult chit chatter was present, but easily ignored. We were kids, we were not scared nor paranoid. Responsibility escaped us. I think Jeff and I played games or something to pass by the hours of driving. Then we would stop by hotels and my mom and dad would sneak us in so they wouldn't have to pay extra. I remember I'd love continental breakfast.

It would be very different from the breakfast I'd usually have at home. The cereal selection was to die for  endless supply of fruit loops, frosted flakes, and my not so favorite honey oats, all for free? Not to mention toast, jams of all sorts, and my favorite, honey. I recall on these trips, being grumpy. And also being frustrated that I didn't have the coolest clothes compared to other tourists. We were always dressed to impress or out of place I felt like. An Asian American family taking in the landscapes of America. We didn't have the proper hiking clothes or gear like other "American" families did. I think I felt embarrassed too. As I look back, our presence driving on the road, visiting national parks, seeing the fabric and nature of what America has to offer, would not be possible without a series of misfortunate events my parents had to go through. Many in their lifetime would never be able to see what we saw and do to what we did. I was lucky.

I treasure it very much. Man how fucking AWESOME it is to have been to Zion National Park, Yellowstone Park, Vancouver, Victoria, Angel National Park, Oregon, Washington, etc. etc. etc. I believe my collection of maps is somewhere hidden in my drawers, as my tendency to hoard items from the past has gotten to a new level with my new current adventures in Asia in the last few years.

I would get really really excited when we finally made it to our destination. I LOVED downtowns of any place, because you knew. You knew you hit down towns when all of a sudden the blurred scenery of green tall trees, scattered deer, windy roads, and busy bark ended. Then the city landscapes hit you.

I remember staying in this one city. It was a small city and I don't remember why I was there. It was rainy and cold, but all I remember is the pizza hut there. I would forward to the pizza hut every night because I think we were there for three or four days. Or maybe to a mind of a child it felt like forever. Routine was welcome in every place I went. In fact I think I was in search of it. This time routine was found in the form of a Pizza Hut. I would get a mini-pizza and it would come with a toy, a ruler, I still have it.

I remember one time my parents took advantage of a flight to Buffalo, New York. We then rented a car and drove everywhere. I remember thinking that renting a car was really damn awesome cos we were in a different car. Simple as is.

We drove to Canada, Quebec and Montreal, although I recall those cities being beautiful, with an air of black dizzy city lights combined with frigid tall buildings and clean floors I experienced outright racism in one of those cities that tainted my experience of going to a coffee shop and getting a coffee drink.

My mom would never really let us go out to eat at restaurants and buy coffee drinks let alone slushees back home. Only on these vacations would my mom slip a little. I remember getting the best chocolate drinks ever from my uncle in Toronto. He had missing toes. My brother and I were mystified at his missing toes and their old people smell house. Their mattresses were weary and clung to us, soft like beaten clay, and bumpy like molded cheese. But I loved that family because every morning my uncle would bring Jeff and I a cup of chocolate each and a muffin. Maybe this is where my love for chocolate muffins in the morning comes from. This was very different from my breakfast back home.

Hot chocolate. maybe that's why I like it so much. because it reminds me of the cold mornings where i would wake up next to my parents and brother and go downstairs to get that amazing cup of hot chocolate. A small gesture given to me by family members that I didn't know how to speak to. I only met them once. But I miss them. I miss those mornings, and this is all I could remember of Toronto, Canada.  The cup of hot chocolate, the muffin, and my dad speaking to a sister like I've never seen before and have yet to see since. I concluded that she was his favorite sister. I'm not sure why I thought that. But I still think it to this day.

We made our way up to Rhode Island I think, and maybe even Maine. I remember looking at leaves. I'm not sure if this is a combination of recollections of my older self, and younger self, but the leaves were as beautiful as they should be, like they say in the story books.

We made it to D.C., Maryland...I was grumpy and had big purple glasses. I felt ugly. I also had these strange dresses my mom bought from Pic & Save. I didn't like them because they were from Pic & Save. I also wore them with these plastic white boots. I hated those white boots, but I thought they would mask my uncool dresses. My mom dressed me at the time. I miss those dresses. I miss my big purple mickey mouse glasses. I think I had pimples at the time too.

We hit a cow during one of these trips. Hands down scary and strange all at once. My parents could of died, but they didn't that night. My dad is one of the best drivers in the world.

Somewhere along those lines, my brother and I grew up. Somewhere along the leaves, we grew bored of Canada, Oregon, Utah, and all those states. We grew up and became preoccupied with other matters. In fact, I was always preoccupied with other matters even during those trips, my insecurities, etc. Maybe I grew up and became more conscious but my brother and I noticed our parents arguing a lot more. Maybe as a kid our imaginations were taking over and we didn't care about the adult bickering. Or maybe I was fast asleep in the back of my dad's truck. But their fight for the last 20 or so years has always been the same.

Mom gives directions or instructions. Dad gets mad because he doesn't want to hear it. Mom remains silent. Dad gets grumpy and rants for a while, and tells Mom that he will stop the car to let her drive. Mom remains silent. Dad keeps driving.  About 10 minutes or so later dad will ask Mom for the next directions or instructions. And Mom would have an "I told you so moment."

Repeat. For the next two decade or so. Daddy has never stopped the car to let Mama drive.

Our last real roadtrip was to Santa Cruz, Mystery Spot. I think that was my idea. It was a bit of a heartbreak, but it was fun. Brother listening to his headphones the whole time. The above mentioned fight occurring. Me realizing that our days as little kids traveling with our parents may not be the same ever again. I believe I was 19ish at the time. I was heartbroken. I had grown up.

And now my life lays ahead of me. It's up to me what I want to do. The choices I make, its mine to make. No more being grumpy really. Little kid grumpy. No more mom selected dresses that I'm forced to wear. No more laying in the back of the truck on the bed Daddy made for the kids to sleep. No more hiding under blankets from the ferry ticketing booth so Daddy didn't need to pay for us.

I will still get excited for hot chocolate and slushees though. I will always remember the blurring trees because sometimes that is all I would see for hours at a time. The maps flying everywhere in the car. The  missing the exit arguing. The brown signs of national forests. The excitement I would get whenever my mom let me have a treat of a slushee or eating out at a restaurant. That I cannot forget.

current

inspirations:

hello René Magritte

from the left: friend, my mom, grandma, & aunt in Long Xuyen, Vietnam circa 70's

the original hangs on my wall

this

is one of the major reasons why I'm here. Mom's old middle school friend showed me some pictures this past week along with a huge bag of perfectly homemade pickled mangoes, some custardy apple like fruits, and a reconnection that my mom wouldn't probably ever thought possible. Her daughter. Her childhood friend. Enjoy the photos. They kick back to the 70's.

My mom (Bottom row, on the left) and the girls in her class. circa 1975.

Photo portrait of my mom given to her friend. circa 1975. My brother and I tried many times to imitate her signature as kids. Never achieved it.

        

Classmate photo of Mom (2nd girl to inwards from the left) and classmates. They actually have yearly reunions, with t-shirts, cups, cute stories about who had crushes on who, and a website.