When we were younger my brother and I battled over everything.

There was the two of us. In our little minds, two means that we must divide everything by half, to not do so would be like defying gravity. No dividing between our parents. Hell no, why would we do that? Only between us. Of course this resulted in fights.

My brother and I claimed our territory of food and drinks particularly the processed chemical filled sweets and drinks. My mom would only buy things with coupons so this made these type of treats really really rare.

Sunny D. Jeff and I loved our Sunny D. The pack came in 6, so we would divide three and three. One day, being the great older sister that I am I was like "fuck it" and drank a 4th one. All hell broke loose.

"KIIIIIIIIMMMM DID YOU DRINK MY SUNNY D?"
"Ummm..."
"WHAT THE HELL MAN! THAT'S NOT FAIR!!!"

My brother held that grudge for a long time so much that he held my Sunny D thievery against me as much as he could.

The last slice of pizza
You drank my Sunny D.
Fine.

The last piece of steak
You drank my Sunny D.

And it went on like this for years.

Even when it came down to these mini yogurt drinks. They came with 7 in a pack. How do we divide that you ask?

The final mini yogurt drink:

I'm going to drink half of the last yogurt drink!

No let me drink it first.

No way I'm going to drink it.

But you always drink more than half!

Whatever.

You drank my Sunny D.

It was always about "being fair." And by fair that meant we divided everything by half. Of course perhaps he clung to this because I was never fair myself. I was pretty mean.

You're stupid.

STOP CALLING ME THAT!

If you don't do this I'm going to tell mom that you (insert something trivial).

STOP BLACK MAILING ME ALL THE TIME!

Stop eating your toothpaste. There are ants in it.

Your music sucks.

Today my brother doesn't listen to me anymore unfortunately. In fact, he's learned how to block me out completely and very well actually. I mean I never did a thing to him.

I've been present in all of my brother's major accidents in his life (Except the time he cut himself carrying a mirror hah!)

When I was five and he was a baby my dad told me to watch him a bit as he ran inside the house to get something.

Jeff falls down.

I laugh really really hard.

Then I notice that Baby Jeff is bleeding profusely from his head and I freak out instantly calling my parents.

I'm in trouble.

We were jumping on the bed for fun.

Jeff falls down.

I laugh really really hard.

Then I notice that Jeff can't move at all and is laying on the floor crying. He fractured his collarbone.

I'm in trouble.

He's brushing his teeth in the restroom.

HEY JEFFREY! (opens door really fast, slams into his foot)

Jeff falls down.

I'm in trouble.

Jeff is hiding under my blankets to scare me.

I run into my room scared of ghosts and leap really hard into my bed.

Jeff cries.

I'm in trouble.

I see some patterns.

My brother and I would do stupid things together. We spent hours on our beds rolling ourselves into our blankets like tacos. That was pretty fucking entertaining actually. One time my brother got stuck.

KIM I'M STUCK!!!

I laugh really really hard.

HELP!!

I continue to laugh really really hard.

I'M NOT KIDDING!!

I just saw a Sunny D commercial and realized how ridiculous it was that we fought over high fructose products.  If you take away those products, my bullying, and Jeff's medical bills, what you will find is two kids trying to make sense of the world. Even today I actually get a twinge jealous inside if someone has a bit more than me (smarts, money, beauty, sunny d), something in my brain reverts back to my child self, thinking, "that's not fair, they get more than me" Then I let that pass and realize that I'm an adult and can handle these things. I'm learning how to be giving.

"Being fair" was so simple back then, just splitting things in half. Today notions of fair comes in different forms.

I didn't get admitted to that school.
That's not fair.

I didn't get that job.
That's not fair.

She's prettier than me.

That's not fair.

Not fair not fair who cares.

Keep it simple folks, as my 5 year old self would say "split it in half"

I could never know what the dead man sees.

Most of the time I don't know how to express my emotions. Nor do I know how to talk about it verbally. But if you listen to what I am listening to you can feel my emotions. I have fallen in love through music before without realizing that I didn't know him at all.

It was only the songs, only the songs.

Anyways, I really like this song it encompasses how I feel or it just makes me happy. I don't read lyrics so I have no idea what he's really saying. It's all about the melody to me. I have songs that make me think that's what love feels like, what heartache feels like, what being high feels like, what hyper dancing must feel like, what running must feel like, what yearning must feel like and so on. So a friend once tried to understand how I like music, however, similar to how you don't understand why your heart beats faster when you meet someone, it's something that is innate. But I am very willing to share and really love to share, but you have to be willing to listen.

This is how I filled my bland suburbia life with a richness that I can never re-enact. There is something rather beautiful and unique about learning how to deal with life through song and rhythm. To bring color and rhythm into a place that is brown, white and square.

This is from Fleet Foxes' self titled EP. They are a Seattle-based band, which makes me want to move to Seattle even more and drive through nature, and listening to these songs.

On another note, I've diagnosed myself with a severe case of ugly duckling syndrome that is so engrained in me that its hard for me to get over sometimes and it manifests itself in different forms - making me rather avoidant of rejection and disappointment. I am a master at it.

I've developed this bad habit of teeth clattering when I get nervous around someone rather handsome or charming.

My grandpa the other day says "Do you have a boyfriend yet?"
"I used to a long time ago..."
"What happened?"
"He was a bad person"
"That's good that you know that. But you are almost 24 so maybe its time"
"Yes, grandpa."

According to my mom's fortune teller I'm getting married in 2012!

"But she doesn't even have a boyfriend"
"No, she is going to get married, I am certain, and you will introduce him to her, and they will want to get married and you will agree"

(hahaha) So be ready folks. 2012. With only about 2 years to make this fortune true, my mother has made it her goal to find him. Now every 20 something year old boy she meets may potentially be my future husband. She tries to convince me subtly.

"You know he's your age!"
"You know he went to University of blah blah blah!"
"He studies business!"
"He speaks English!"

"Mama, he's not going to be my husband! I don't want a husband!"


Also to note, I am the first grandchild on my mom's side - the first to be born in America. So far I think I've done a pretty darn good job of setting a good example for the little cousins. It's been six years since I have really been at home and I think its really time for me to return to be part of everyone's life at home - to be part of my little cousins life who have yet to leave the wonderful world of southern California suburbia. I have seen so much. Experienced so much in the last 6 years that I am okay, to cool it with wanting to search for something more. I've realized that beauty is what you make of it. Fun is what you make of it. And that it's all about the people. My restlessness no longer stems from this search for experiencing other things outside of the world that I grew up in, but it is extracted from a deeper connection with people. And while I am grateful for this outside world experience that I have had and the people I have met, lessons learned etc. It's time for me to come home. To come back to the simplicity that is so raw - that you cannot find even if you traveled to all the corners of the Universe.

Occassionally, or almost always I relapse into faded memories.

serious face*

Sometimes I slip between emotions and fall into a space that I cannot comprehend or convey with clarity. My favorite moments are those that I experience isolated, even when there is someone next to me.

"On the tip of my tongue

As the back beats cracks

I hit my drum

I get into my car"

It's more about the process, rarely about the result. 

If you reflect back on whatever memories your mind chooses to recall, it's selective, few, and unpredictable.  I surround myself with images, things I like, and visual things because well, I tend to forget a lot. I have a pretty good habit of collecting small items, such as ticket stubs, scribble pieces of paper, or receipt, throwing them in some drawer in case I may need it for the future. 

What if I want to remember? What if I need to show people, perhaps my grandchildren?

I think about these things.

She looks down because looking up may mean that she will see the blue hues not as how she intended it to be. She realizes that the possibility of giving up is probable but unlikely to happen. Relishing in moments of rising fears, her heart hears her breathe. Steady but heavy. Steady. But heavy. Heavy. She holds her breath. Pinches her nose so the water doesn't come in. Breathe. Steady. Leap.

And the blue hues swirled exactly as she expected.

Now being in Vietnam, my realizations are much more stronger, vibrant, and easily detected. Chosen displacement is a privilege and I take advantage of it. For the most part, I lay hidden and when my identity as a "foreigner" is revealed I cringe inside. A knot twists and I get over it. Annoyed but I'm over it. I've had many other realizations during my time here, too much to even begin to write down, but I suppose I must start somewhere.

• Our assumptions about people are always never complete.
• People process and reflect on things very differently from one another - this sometimes causes conflicts
• People don't think like me. Some do, but even when I think they do, they don't completely.
• Everyone has something to share - although the will to share is another story.
• People are very very giving.
• Sharing your life with someone requires a great deal of effort and opening on your behalf.
• You don't need to find love, really you just have to be prepared to accept it, it's all around you.
• There is no single right solution to complex multi-faceted problems.
• People only know as much as you share with them.
• Sharing requires a vulnerability from me that I am not really well prepared for.
• I create distance in order to not be disappointed by others. I get disappointed at myself instead.
• Children are a lot stronger than we think they are.
• People are a lot more resilient than I think.
• In order to really get the whole picture of a situation it requires time, access & understanding. The whole picture may never be achieved.
• Patience
• Sharing my thoughts and ideas is very difficult for me because I am highly afraid of judgement and rejection. Something I've conditioned myself with.
• The habits of my parents make complete sense.
• I wallow back and forth awkwardly between my identity as a child and an adult.
• I'm ready to fall in love.
• I am content with what is in front of me. 
• I lack discipline and often get lost in my thoughts or facebook. 
• Often times, the issues discussed in the first world never ever make it to the community being spoken of in the third world. They have no idea what you are talking about, what your life is like, nor do they care.
• Don't invalidate other people's experiences, thoughts, and opinions - yours is like that because of your background, theirs is like that because of theirs - find a middle ground. share.
• Adults don't remember what it's like to be in a younger person's shoes.
• I sometimes don't remember.
• People make up a lot of excuses for their fears.
• The Office is really funny.
• Being "silenced" because you don't know the language is a complete eye opener and transforms the way I think about "voice" To literally not be able to speak your mind is a very frustrating and disempowering process. It's liberating once you overcome it. 
• Express what you think to people, people cannot predict at all what you are thinking.
• Human trafficking is not going to go away.
• It's hard to "un-do" what a person has learned.

I've met amazing admirable people along my time here, and I am grateful to have made all the friends and acquaintances that I have made. I have learned that its not about wanting things and wishing it would be like this or that. Things do not necessarily come to you unless you are ready to receive it. I've also had the opportunity to spend  a great deal of time with older women, families, and strangers. Surprisingly strangers are really really nice to me. Even though its fleeting, it has shaped the way that I treat others in my life. 

*In real life, I actually cannot hold this look on my face for more than 10 seconds. I smile too much.

movements, shakers, salt, pepper.

My very own existence is rooted in many movements.

Maybe that's why I feel restless at times.

Tracing back to my Grandfather and Grandmother's link to mainland China, to my Mama and Daddy's refugee movements, to my own movement back to Vietnam these last months from America. I am at the brink of my own realization that I may be the final link to both of these movements, before they are forgotten amongst fleeting memories of black and white photos and echo in the faded distance of tongues -- essentially lost in translation and time.

"Your grandma really loved me you know that."

"I got the diamond implanted in my teeth so they wouldn't find it"

"These (empty lotus seeds) I used to pop them on my head for fun...see"

"People died"

"I fell off that bridge since my friend pushed me over. I freaked out for a bit"

"One time I rode my bike down that bridge, and then I pressed on the breaks really hard and my friend in the back when flying into the pavement. He lost some teeth"

"You kids in America have it so easy. I used to have to go to school very early then walk home at 10 am to 1 pm, the go back to school until 5 pm!"

"He tried to kill himself you didn't know that?"

Sometimes their stories don't really make sense to me. It sort of like when your turning the nob on a radio dial very fast. You can hear songs, but can't possibly comprehend what the song is, until maybe you slow down, and try to make the station clear.  Try to make it clear. Try, to make it clear. Try.