Transforming negative energy into positive energy is very difficult.

Negative energy can really pull you down and chip away at a foundation you thought you had rebuilt. It brings you to a position of helplessness and your efforts seem to lay to waste. Then there is the feeling of being unsupported, because when you are in the position of helplessness you look for a hand or someone more sound to reach out to you and say "It's okay, I understand where you are coming from" but you can't always have someone to help you.

This is where I find my strength from. My ability I think to face uncomfortable difficult situations for myself. This doesn't mean that I don't plummet into hours of watching the office to laugh and forgot about the negative energy that has arisen. (I love Pam, Jim, Michael and Dwight so much btw).

I was once really upset when a friend said to me that she thought I couldn't make it past 6 months in Long Xuyen. That I was incapable of doing so. This statement came to a surprise to me because I've always thought of myself as a strong, independent person who is capable of doing things if I put my mind to it. Maybe I had made it all up, my strength. 

Yet, I came to Long Xuyen fearless, then I became helpless and fearful. I couldn't ride a bike. I couldn't speak Vietnamese. I couldn't go out on my own.

I had become a very fearful person where before I rarely rely on people for emotional support (and have now started to realizing that I can't really do everything on my own) Yes I have fears, but I guess I  emitted such energy and character that really I was just upset at myself. For me, strength was an internal thing, I was not emitting it externally, conveying it to others. 

Time to convey my strengths to others.

Reality check: this is where I live.

p.s.

For some reason I've been unconsciously typing the word "don't" when my mind wanders as I type today. It might be a sign about something.

current state: plain ol' burnt out.

Lately, I've been trying to expand my vocabulary.

I think it's working. Now that I'm trying to speak Vietnamese at a beyond 5th grade level, I've come to realize that words such as eat, go, and no are not really enough to run a workshop. I will post my new vocabulary soon. Meanwhile, today during my last round of scholarship visits in Kien Giang (one of my favorite places to go for work where the dirt roads are red and the water is actually blue-green). For some of the house visits we had to cross the water on a little boat to get to their homes.

This boat that I rode on (and held onto for my dear life) is called a thuyền. In English, to my limited knowledge I only know boat, sail boat, raft, cruiser, and speed boat. I decided to ask my staff members and interns what type of boats there are, they gave me a whole list! YES to expanding my vocabulary to what I deem to be very useful terminology especially in the Mekong Delta.

with lovely pictures too.

I love peanuts!

Really I do, as evidence from my halloween costume this year. I decided to pay homage to Charlie Brown. A two dollar yellow shirt. Some black tape. My costume was complete!

Anyways here are some comics I found relevant to me today. and they're just cute.


In Vietnam, it rains alot.


Sometimes, I feel like this.


In Vietnam, they talk about your weight alot.


And in Vietnam, people are referred to the number they were born. In the south if you were first born you are Sister #2, if you are second, you are Sister #3 and so on.

Juggling balance literally and figuratively.

Walking Tight roping to a scholarship recipients home.

This past two weeks I have been making home visits of scholarship recipients in rural areas of Vietnam. Bearing a bit of discomfort of heat and dirty motels is nothing compared to the difficult lives of these young girls and their families. For those days I become intertwined with their experiences and thoughts. These areas are some of the most impoverished regions of Vietnam, close to the porous border, economic opportunities are limited helplessness seeps through dirt covered corners, and the nimble fabric of peoples lives are stretched and pulled. What remains is a sense of tenacity that is as cliche as this is, hard for me to describe in words. So here are theirs:

"Is America in a different country than Vietnam?" - a scholarship recipient

"My dream is to one day to set foot in America" - a scholarship recipient

"I want to go to college and become a police woman." - a scholarship recipient

"Guess what that tree is! Do you know what that tree is? (She points to the Jackfruit tree). - a scholarship recipient

"We live day by day" - a common thing said by families

"We make about 40,000 vnd to 50,000 vnd after a long days of labor in the rice fields" ($2 to $2.50) - a mother

"I really want my sister to go to school, I used to be in the scholarship program but I dropped out and now I have this baby, I don't want her to suffer like me" - an older sister of a scholarship recipient

"Their mom and dad passed away. I care for them all" - A single mother about her 6 orphaned nieces.

"My grades are at "poor" because I have to wake up at 2 or 3 am to go catch fish" - a scholarship recipient


"My husband makes 100,000 vnd, I bring in about 70,000 vnd because I'm weaker and can't do the things he does" - a mother

"I dropped out of school because our family doesn't have enough money" - a sister of a scholarship recipient

"My son and daughter work far, they have enough to survive out there and don't send money home" - a mother

"If I have time, I'll go to the market and help people carry water for a thousand" (couple of cents) - a scholarship recipient

"I live really far, so it takes me one hour by bike to go to school" - a scholarship recipient

"She's broken don't you know? She's broken that's why she had to marry to make something of herself. There. Is that enough for you to understand?" - a grandma speaking of her granddaughter in our scholarship program who got pregnant at 16 and dropped out of school.

"There is no trafficking here. I just go to work and home. We don't see any of that here" - a mother who lives in porous border regions of Vietnam where human trafficking is rampant

"Whatever my kids want, I can't stop them." - a mother responding to my question whether anyone in their family wanted to marry a foreigner - brokered marriages are very common in rural areas.

"Yes, I heard about it through your organization and events at our school by your organization" - a mother after I asked her if she had heard of women and child trafficking.

Dissipated, families are rarely held together. Sometimes, the fabric is stretched so thin it snaps. I see it snap. I see it broken. I see it ripped to shreds unable to repair itself with a simple needle and thread. Like their homes, their lives are barely supported. I know that as an outsider, my 20-30 minute presence for some makes little to no difference.  I can do little to "fix" whatever problems their households hold. Helplessness is in front of me and I wonder, if I had said this or done this, could I have prevented her from being dropped out? Could I have worded my sentences better?

One girl would not look me in the eye as I confronted her about dropping out of school. What will you do when you quit school? You're 15. You can't legally work yet. And even if you do find work you won't make that much money. Do you want to work in the rice paddies? Do you want to be a daily laborer like your mom and suffer? You know when you quit school it isn't great. You will have to work very very hard. You won't get to play with your friends. I know life is very hard for you but you have to see farther. It's not that everyone can get a scholarship like this.

My heart was breaking and I was trying with my broken Vietnamese so hard to have her understand. She wouldn't look at me in the eyes. I'm not sure what will happen to her.

Yet I know our miniscule home visits to over 400 girls in our programs is crucial to emphasizing the importance of their education to their future and prevention of trafficking. Some of them don't really understand the concept of our scholarship and why we are doing it. They also don't see what an education can do for them.

I visit empty homes. Homes where just the grandparents are there. Homes where no parents live. Empty not only because there isn't a physical sense, but because a sense of hopelessness has gotten hold of the family. Warmth and love has seeped into the crevices and escaped and what is left is uncomfortable stifling air of forgotten halted dreams. The feeling of crushed dreams clings to the walls, worn out and rusted, foundations peel and collapse. Crushed dreams and ruined hope is a horrible feeling.

Yet for some homes, as fragile their lives are they seem to move together with the seasons. The water floods, dries, yet always returns. The seeping lush green rice fields return to sweep over the mekong delta region into an ease that I cannot simply describe in symbols and words.

For some homes, their families know that the scholarship is an opportunity for their daughters to lead a different life and so they hold on ever so resiliently.

"We have nothing. I don't want my daughter to work like her parents, to be laborers for hire in limbo all the time. I want her to stay in school."


---


Another volunteer and I were talking about our experiences being abroad and removing ourselves from our familiar surroundings. There is something so simple with being stripped down to basics, to learning basic things as learning how to speak and express your opinions. The process is slow and difficult yet you learn so much. Because you are stripped down to your basics, to be unfamiliar you are essentially forced to learn, meet challenges that weren't challenges before, and overcome them. I see the process of overcoming my fears clearly, not clouded by comfort and familiarity. I've been pushed in ways that I have never been pushed before and I continuously face them. Finally, I am overcoming them.

Over a year ago I had an email conversation with my friend Danielle about voice. It was sparked by one of my blog entries from my other blog. I think finding voice is a life long process. Something that is consistently taking shape with every new and old experience I have. With every new thing I learn about myself. With every thing that comes with life. Finding your voice is strongly linked with how much you love yourself. How much you think you are valued and worth. Yes, its contingent on how you feel and the interactions are are having and also the people that surround you. It is contingent on many things, but I've learned that I cannot let factors take over me and limit me. I gotta just try, I just gotta keep going. I have to not let things make me feel down for a long time. Frustrate me. If you want something done then do it. I have to be mindful to rest my mind. Our reality is what we make of it. I have to try not to get lost in my thoughts and insecurities as I always do. Gotta hold onto my voice which I've always had inside me.

I sorta of link finding my voice with learning a new language. A lot of it is confidence and believing in yourself. More simply said than done. Before I didn't know Vietnamese at all. I could only hear and absorb it. I could understand it but I never used it.  Therefore I never knew how to use it and I didn't believe I could speak it so I didn't try. But as a result I was quiet of the times. I let things go because I couldn't express my opinions or thoughts. Things passed and I did not take the opportunity to do something about it. I let my limitations silenced myself.

But then I started to speak. Little by little. I spoke. I learned new words. I unlocked a language I always understood and began to use it. I absorbed the vocabulary. I tried to express my feelings. And now I am turning my thoughts and opinions into actions. This took me over a year to do this. I was patient. And something was telling me that I should stay in Vietnam longer, because I was just beginning to grasp the language, I was just begin to speak, beginning to wrap my finger around things yet I wasn't doing anything yet.


Now I'm starting to do things and this is such a tremendous step for me. To be able to take ownership of a space that felt so foreign to me. I'm always talking about the idea of ownership in different spaces from my current work to my activist circles in Berkeley.  Taking ownership is to be able to feel the freedom and ability to do something in a particular space and framework that you are in. I of course could not have done this without the PALS wonderful staff members, volunteers and friends that I have met along the course of my time in Vietnam. I am still working it, but now I know my voice is there. By being stripped to the basics, voiceless, I was able to discover my voice. An experience I value so greatly.

The process of nước ép chanh dây (passion fruit juice)

My second favorite fruit now, right next to mangosteens.

The wind rises on its own accordance.

And the water sits to its own content. With a subtle urgency, waves of green seep over the mekong so quietly that when the kites fly over hopelessness ceases to exist.

I've been away from home for 16 months now. These past few weeks have been a milestone of events from conducting my first training, teaching english at the shelter, and finally, conducting scholarship home visits on my own (with someone helping me write) to talk about the risks and dangers of human trafficking with parents. When I have to become dependent on someone I become really hesitant with decisions and doing things on my own. I have learned that I need to stand my own ground and face my own fears. It is the only way I can overcome them.

I knew I had to stay longer. To overcome my fears and insecurities all of which I harbor at an unhealthy rate. I'm learning not to hide things, to be emotional because it's human, to share with others and to be more present. I haven't completely accomplished this, but I've made a commitment to work on it. I also have great friends (Patricia & My-Kim) who just arrived and are accompanying me on this journey, bringing a HUGE sense of movement and color to my experience and projects.

They collapse, and she falls.

And sometimes somewhere in the middle of long stalks of spiteful weeds and tilted cement we find something that we thought we had lost. Floating along the lines of questions and confusion, she finds herself in a place familiar. Familiar because when she stands there time lets her know that he will not wait for her, a feeling ever so similar to a halted beat. Because suddenly a peculiar realization surfaces, one that is mixed with a dizzy cloud of the past and fictional memories. It is painful. The seeded fruits wilt to its side while the toes of children remain shoeless, unprotected and unsafe.

Then the wind decides to whisper so she dreams. The pathway seems to narrow itself, slicing the wind as it tries to escape. The walled windows gray from the miserable air of contempt and regret seem to stand upon itself in order to find what little light the surroundings had left. The smiles that remain in the small town are but of the echoes of children, too naive to realize that they soon will be unable to find that place of ease that currently filled them.

I delighted in the fact that he watched over souls.

The graves keeper kept quiet and followed. The musty sun was trying telling me that he once witnessed my 12 year old mother drive a car through the rice paddy fields with kids in the backseat. He hoped that she would not fall in. And while he was trying to talk to her, he now felt a distance.  He continued to follow. It was a type of distance two childhood friends feel when they move away from each other and see each other. Voices familiar become watered. I think the dirt roads were also trying to tell me something, but I couldn't quiet hear clearly. Our wheels barely noticed, having gone through on nice flat cemented roads. Hidden underneath, the bumpy road whispered to me, that my dad once ran through it not knowing the events the future held. The road did not know he would not see my dad for more than 30 years.

And as he crept closer, my attention was finally caught. Distracted by the sun and the dirt roads, I had not noticed that he was there. I read the "Noi Quy" (rules) of the cemetery. The words foreign. A man of calm, he wore a washed out one piece uniform precariously holding a cigarette in his mouth. Maybe so the ghosts can identify him. I had found myself in a cemetery to the left of Ba Temple in Chau Doc, a very famous Buddhist temple with devout followers who during a certain time of year make their way there, hundreds and thousands of people go to Chua Ba every year pouring our their struggles, hopes, and dreams. She listens. He follows. The sun and road tire.

We enter the cemetery after we convince our mom that she should find her grandmother's grave. Having made it here after hours and miles of travel with a plane, bus, and car I told her your grandmother is going to be angry if you don't see her as we were just outside the gates. My mother did not remember the sun. He was foreign to her. It was a small cemetery, consisting of Chinese people. Like her connection to the sun, she could not remember where the grave of her grandmother was. We looked and looked, and I stood there rather helpless since I could not read Chinese, I decided that the sun, dirt, and graves keeper could keep me company.

He seemed to have dust on him. The kind of dust that won't wash off. His skin was dark and folded, the sun too familiar with him. He followed us into the cemetery without telling him who he was, but he immediately offered help in trying to find the grave. Modest, he revealed that he watched over the cemetery."I look over this place, I know that TeoChow people are on the left and Hanh people are on the left." After talking to him, we told him a family member's name and he knew which grave it was. It's this one and the other one way in the back. He knew all the graves. I was fascinated that this was his life. In fact a tad delighted that he was the constant presence among souls long gone, and that he spent most of his days with the souls of graves. Stories tucked underneath cement he would never hear. However, I would imagine that watching over the graves, one would piece together stories as relatives came in and out paying their regards. Moms, Children, Dads, Uncles and Aunts sparsely make up the identity of the soul he watched over.

We asked him to help our family take a picture with my great grandmother, but he advised that taking pictures in three was not a good idea, that it was bad. He was superstitious, naturally. We thanked him for watching over the cemetery. And as we left, our wheels driving over the dirt road, I couldn't help but think that another piece of the puzzle was given to him, as he tried to piece together the stories of souls.

Cục Gạch Quán is my favorite restaurant in Vietnam.

Really, this is my favorite restaurant in Vietnam. For English click here. I have been meaning to write about this place for a long time, but since I don't really write about food, time passed and I ate here another 3 times to test it out again. har har.

My aunt, who I refer to as Mommy, was extremely skeptical of a restaurant that I would recommend. Being the great cook and picky eater that she is, she gave me a hard time before I convinced her and the family to come along with me and trust me. 

"This place is probably for foreigners." 

"Okay, Kim and Rebecca can eat here first and then me and you [my uncle] can find another place later." 

"Just because this place looks nice does not mean the food is good" 

"This place is so empty"

And so with a series of ego hurting remarks I became sorta paranoid that my aunt would not like the restaurant therefore be grumpy the whole night. However, my aunt has been back three times since then. YES WIN!

Cục Gạch Quán literally translates to Stone Restaurant (Correct me if I'm wrong). The decor was what originally drawn me to it, owned and designed by a Vietnamese architect I had really wanted to go just because of the vintage music devices they had lying about the place but it was the food that had me coming back for more.

The atmosphere is warm and welcoming like your "grandmother's home." I was confused when I first walked in because it literally seemed like I just busted into someone's house.

Reservations are recommended for big groups, but I've been able to drop by with no problems every time. In order to go upstairs you have to cross this small river bond (see photo below.)

They serve traditional homey Vietnamese dishes to your liking. Like it fried? Then have it fried. Like it sautéed? They can do that too. Or would you rather just have it boiled? Then request it. The entire restaurant only has one vietnamese menu and one english menu. People usually just come in having already ordered what they wanted over the phone or just asking the waiter what's good. Each dish I've tried is pretty damn good. Though I don't have any of the photos here (since I gobbled down the food before I realized I forgot to take a picture) I'd recommend the fried soft tofu with fried lemon grass and their fried soft shell crab. YUM. Each dish is suppose to have a "homey grandmother" feel to it. Basically you come in and tell them what kind of soup, vegetable, and meat you'd like and how you would like it and there it is - you have a feast of a meal made just how you want it to be. 

Is that a stalk of morning glory (rau moung) used as a straw? YES!

Besides the awesome decor -outside the door it says "Office of the architect" in Vietnamese - It's all the small things in this restaurant that draw me back again and again. You can see the owner's ideas and thoughts really come to life from the building itself down to the utensils you use. Their vintage dish ware is from a long time ago, the glasses are purposely egg carton shaped, and the entire restaurant looks like someone's home. There are three areas of the restaurant: the front of the house (1st Floor), the attic, and the book room (2nd Floor). I prefer the attic, personally since the small door that enters that area makes it seem like your stepping into a whole other place. There is a bed that is turned into a table, and comfortable lounging chairs.

I'd recommend not coming on the weekend as it gets outrageously busy and crowded which is not the atmosphere that I first fell in love with. Service tends to be really overwhelmed at that point as well. I'd recommend a tad early around 5:30 pm, on a weekday. The restaurant is pretty much all yours.

Done. ăn ngon miệng nhe!

So enough of my nonsense talk. Just try it. Aw hell, if I had a date this would be the place I would take him. For folks coming by to Saigon I'll take you to this place if you'd like, as long as you don't give me a hard time like my aunt.


Address: 10 Dang Tat, District 1
Price range: 30,000 vnd to 200,000 vnd

I'm a lazy dancer. When you move, I move with you.

Today is my first lazy Sunday in a very very long time and days where I have no obligations I tend to be creatively productive. And since I know that nothing can be created without trying, I am going to try. And because I believe sharing is caring.

I'm still obsessed with Metric's Fantasies (2009) album after a series of not so fantastic albums for 2010 from returning bands (ahem We Are Scientists, they do put on a great show though kids).  I reverted back to albums of 2009 that I still have not given the time for.  I tend to overlook details such as album and song titles. I usually fall in love with artists and albums after my own personal experience listening to them, not the hype (hispter comment noted). However hype is not necessarily a bad thing, but this is a whole other contradictory blog post to be written later.

So when I tried to look for a song by Metric that I remember from a show I realized I never listened to Fantasies. I recall a fellow biology classmate once said that an artist puts all their efforts into making one album and that he listened to entire albums not singles. Since then I try to listen to the entire album to get it, artists tend to put songs in order for a reason, one song is first because they want it to be, so do them a favor and listen to the whole damn thing. Sometimes I'll "get it" a whole year later.

Metric was the last band I saw in America before I left.  I am severely deprived of danceable shows/good music to the point where I think I have gone nuts. I can truly say that I love every single song on this album.

wishing you could keep me closer

i'm a lazy dancer

when you move, i move with you

-Collect Call, Metric

The following video video really inspires me.  Everyone has their flaws and downs, but getting through your "block" can become one of the most clearest, beautiful things.

Everybody, everybody wanna fall in love.

After realizing that I never listened to Metric's Fantasies (2009), it's been accompanying me for last week or so as I cope with a few things. My aunt from America just left Vietnam so I'm recovering from the mess it left me in haha. 5lbs later, a very tired and sleepy me, I've realized that I have learned how to be really flexible in Vietnam, routine is anything but achievable and perhaps I will never achieve that while I am here. While people come in and out of this country, as I make new friends, miss old ones, and talk to the best ones, I learn alot about the nuances of people and what makes them who they are. Due to the lack of freeways and my ability to drive, my time is spent talking to people or really just existing with strangers.

I'm okay with that, although I can be achingly shy at times. I work at an all women NGO, so I have little to worry about in the boy department. Anyways, I tend to stay away from that in general, knowing my tendency to be easily smitten. My emotions I can't control, but who I interact with I can. Distance I can do, but closeness is hard for me.

The future is scarily coming around the corner, and before I know it I'll be back in the states trying to make something of myself. I may return to the states in December and I really really look forward to that. One week in the lovely Bay and then two weeks for SoCal although I detest it.

My thoughts awkwardly float around my mind all day long and then at night too. They want to get out and become something but can't, instead I'd rather daze out into imaginary situations and reliving things of the past, it seems easier. I've been sleeping alot or feeling sleepy in general. This past weekend I somehow made it to Tra Vinh to visit my wonderful confidence boosting friends Linh and Thy who tend to smother me with so much love that I don't know what to do with myself if I didn't have a dose of them after two weeks or so. Linh is from Iowa and Thy is from Wisconsin (SO COOL). There is something very curious about the midwest and how individuals grow, interact, and shape their identities that intrigue me in general. Actually anything outside of California makes me curious in general.The landscape in which we develop and shape our minds cultural changes and its different.

Anyways, after a few bus exchanges and nice xe om drivers, my mood lightens. When xe om drivers are nice and trustworthy I conclude the place is nice. The xe om drivers didn't rip me off nor were they creepy so I concluded that Tra Vinh was a very nice place.  I have a general distrust when I first travel anywhere, until I understand what is going to occur, until I know what things are suppose to look like and how things run I  become comfortable and at ease. Tra Vinh is approximately 5 hours away, I had to take the bus from Long Xuyen to Can Tho (1.45 hours) then from Can Tho to Tra Vinh (3.5 hours).

The harsh sun tires his wrinkles. They collapse and try to hide but can't. Instead his skin retreats into dark bitterness.  I stare out in front of me with a religious sticker staring at me. This is the same image of a lady that hung on the rearview window of my dad's truck. It is the same lady that stared at me when I looked at my rear view mirror. I didn't know her significance but I just knew she was a lady. My dad took it off after a while saying that it hit my window too much and obstructed my view, yet, he had originally put it there to protect me. She stares at me and I hope she will protect me.

I stare out the window and see a women with no teeth pester a driver. Her small demeanor is defeated as she runs and  kicks the nose of the van and starts hitting the driver. I notice they're laughing, he throws water on her, unable to physically hit her. She yells in the screeching Vietnamese voice that occurs after too many years of yelling. Or maybe it just comes with the beating sun. The heat gets to me and I sit uncomfortably in my seat waiting for it to be 9:00 am so the bus can get going.   Although I am doing anything but moving, the heat is tiring me and all I want is the breeze from the window to come by. She stares at me. I try to let my thoughts wander as buses grumpily arrive at the bus station xe om drivers and others run to the bus and yell a myriad of things, locations, questions, xe om offers. I don't really get to see Vietnamese people run too often I was entertained. 

Because this was their life, I was interested. The bus station was their life, it was a microcosm for their memories, laughter, and friendships. Bus stations hold a general distrust, with people coming in and out, and the dirt clinging to anything it can.  For some this was all they knew and it pulsed in conjunction with theirs. I looked at our driver. He has a few "wisdom" moles. The driver's eyes are no longer dark brown, as if the bitterness retreated and no longer cared to remain. He lights a cigarette and starts the car while she stares. 


Now I leave you with a link to my friend Donna's new website. I admire her as an artist, awkward lovable friend, for her diligence and I don't know her overall inspirational badass-ness to get her creativity out for the world to see it. Hopefully I can do that too one day.

No, it's not that I don't have time but rather I am in a constant state of imbalance.

Imbalance. That's a good word for it. In the slew of the disroutine life that I live due to a combination of procrastination, wandering thoughts, and family I have done a very bad job of focusing on my objects of affection: music & art. Although I've always loved these two things because I can do them rather mindlessly and enjoyably and somehow they always returned to my life even in the midst of change.

During this time many albums have come out, actually I believe in the last few months that I have not been able to give my full attention to particularly: Arcade Fire's The Suburbs, We Are Scientist's Barbara, and Chromeo's Business Casual. Lykke Li will be coming out with a new album as well. Not including the slew of new things that are consistently popping up in our informationcrazed generation. And as a result I've been not feeling the spark in these albums as I try to listen to the music while working on some grant proposal. My hands hurt. I think the combination of listening to work and music doesn't work so well.

I've always taken a long time to warm up to albums. They have to hit me at a certain moment. I've had metric's albums in my ipod for over 2 or 3 years before I was like these folks are pretty damn awesome. Time it takes.


Okay, I'm going to find balance now. Be back soon. Until then my draft box, notebooks, and books remain incomplete and hidden.

In lieu of my non existent music blog.

Not only does his name consist of my last name (brownie points x a million) but Dam Funk from Stone Throw Records is coming to Southeast Asia. Short notice but I just saw glanced over my email and thought I would let my bloggy friends know for the sake of knowing. Asia Airlines should have some flights left.

Aug 27: Solo Set @ Zouk, Singapore 

Aug 28: Solo Set @ Capocaccia Jakarta

on another note my mother calls me today to ask me where the flea market was that I took her too. She lost her beanie which she bought from a Chinese lady that hand made them. She wants to go back and get it.  

I really like to talk on the phone.

I just have no one to talk with. The kind of phone with a cord. Not this wireless disconnected wireless crap. The kind of phone that you can twist your fingers around, that leave you tied to a room so you can't do anything else but talk to that person. That's what I like. I like to talk to people on the phone and commit my full attention to them when I talk. One of my biggest pet peeves is talking on the phone with someone in the room, with someone listening the conversation it's never the same.

Today my mom called me, and while I listen to her tell me her stories about Brisbane to Malaysia to her cruise from Canada back to southern California I couldn't help but smile and think how much I miss the phone. Miss my mom. I travel because of her.  Maybe that's why watching scenes pass by on a bus or train puts me at ease. If I can't see the window or road I feel uneasy.

Anyways not cellphone. The phone with a cord where you can wrap your fingers around. My office has one, and I'm dying to find someone to talk to on it for hours. I used to talk to my best friends in high school for hours, in fact I think I made best friends through the phone. It was my way to the outside world, because I when I was younger I wasn't allowed to go outside too much. I remember very clearly this pair of hand made pajamas I wore all the time. They were white with navy blue stripes made by my mom's hands. I liked the tough cotton feeling of them. I wore them with my red shoes. Sometimes my gold shoes. And if I couldn't find another pair I would wear one gold shoe and one red shoe.

"why she wearin' two different color shoes?" said the neighborhood girl.
"my mom couldn't find the other one" I said.

I would make things up. I really wanted to play with them. I followed them until they all dashed into a house I was scared to go into or maybe they wouldn't let me in, I don't really remember. I do remember a boy who use to bully me a bit but I think I had a crush on him. My two color shoes. He played ding dong ditch and I told him to stop it. That we would get in trouble. I remember falling once from my bike when I was with him. My dad told me to stop playing with him and I never knew where he went.

And so that is what my memory wants to recall today. I am still in Vietnam. My aunt and cousin from America are coming tomorrow to Long Xuyen and I'm excited. Time to bike ride.

Mekong stories stream through me.

And for the most part I forget to transport them onto paper or another medium where I can remember them. But sometimes by happenstance they come across my mind and I am forced to reflect on them. For work today I have to find quotes from our program, from what people have said to me under their tin roofs as the sweat drips down our faces, as children swim in the muddy rivers of the Mekong, and as life moves on unaffected by my presence in their homes.

This reminds me of a grandma who sat in her home when I walked in. She welcomed us. Everything we saw was probably everything she had. Her eyes were not teary because she was crying but they were teary because of her declining health condition. Her grandchild was a scholarship recipient of my organization. We were visiting in one of our bi annual house visits we make to check up on the family and the recipient. A young boy who seemed to be her grandson lingered in the background going about his business. The young girl was skinny, enough to squeeze between me and the driver on the motorbike. She listened to her grandma, and she went to help us get gas for our motorbike without a complaint. The sun was scorching but I suppose she was used to it. Everything I saw was everything they had. She rented out the other half of the house and lived in one half. Tin lined the walls and roof. Rust draped where it could. There was a tv to my right, near the pots and pans. The grandmother sat on her bed. And as the girl went away for a bit, she told us that the girl was not really her grand daughter, but she didn't have parents, so she took care of her.

This must of slipped my mind as I recall it sitting in my air conditioned office with my wireless keyboard and mouse. Necessities that suddenly seem unnecessary. What a small fact that I let register in the back of my mind. Secrets kept from someone just to let them live an unknowing life. Her tears were real regardless of what caused them.

One headphone down, one more left to go.

 As a person with strange shaped ears my dreams of sharing headphones with a potential lover are far reached. There is something strangely romantic about sharing music with another person, even if it never amounts to anything. Strangely romantic. Strangely friendly. Sometimes I can fall for someone just by seeing what they listen to. Just by the sounds they introduce me to.  It doesn't help that you like music too. Moments encapsulated through lyrics, memories surface through melodies.

However since my ears cannot hold onto earphones I remain in bittersweet lonesomeness. I brought two pairs of my favorite headphones with me, simple and light. Although augmenting my awkwardness, my trusty Sony (MDR W08) headphones have amazing sound volume keeping me company for many years now. I once found someone who totally agreed with me that these were amazing headphones too! I forgot who this person was, but when I found him I was happy.

I live by them. I first found them when I was wandering somewhere in a basement store in Berkeley. I bought them for about 10 dollars. Last month an old pair broke. I knew one was bound to break and out of precaution I had a back up. The left side is blown out and I am left with just one pair.

And to think of the time that passed by as those headphones filled my mind with the ability to forget. And as time passed the wires grew strained and somewhere too many snapped. But while those wires were strained maybe I felt nervous, anxious, or sad. Nestled between notes, its scary to think that I only have this one left. That if this one pair breaks I must go search for another one. Another that will make me just as happy as the previous.

I have a fever and a headache that won't go away.

Laying under the mosquito net, with my unprotected feet hanging out, the pounding veins of my head leave me careless or apathetic about the situation. Go ahead. Bite me. I wake up in a cold sweat. Feeling rather dazed since I don't understand why the air conditioning feels so hot and why I'm laying in the wrong direction in my bed. What the fuck. I don't want to turn. I'm too weak. God I'm sweaty. I lay there for a little bit. Not really able to move. Not really wanting to, tangled in my mosquito net. Where is my pillow? I somehow manage to drag myself into the original position I fell asleep in. My eyes grow heavy and I doze off and wake up in and out I go. My head hurts.

This sorta reminds me of this one time I had been really sick and got a pretty high fever and I took some really strong generic nyquil as a kid. I hallucinated. Feeling rather disorientated I was convinced I needed to make a planet so my friend wouldn't die. I recall twirling my hand in the air as big as I could. I jump to my brother's bed hoping he would make it stop (You try being a 4'11" asian girl trying to make a planet bigger than earth without freaking out.)

"Uhhhhh Jeff I don't feel so good." 

"Just go to sleep." 

A very appropriate little brother answer to a big sister hallucinating type of situation. Returning to my current situation some few hours pass. I think the blue light from outside begins to take over the blackness that was there. Man, I don't feel so good. Why is it so fucking hot? I'm cold. I manage to get up to blindly press some buttons on my air conditioning remote. I think I made the room hotter. The blood rushes to my head and it hurts. My knees are week and I somehow manage to text my Vietnamese teacher that I cannot attend class. Around 9 am I'm still in my doremon shirt. I put on tights to go downstairs. I tell my staff members that I have a fever and a really big headache. I've also had chest discomfort for the last two days leaving me rather fatigued and my 2nd period of the month started (TMI, sorry). I see the doctor tomorrow.

A friend noted it may be psychological. I wonder if it is. I wonder if my body is reacting this way because I'm scared for the next year. Another year in Vietnam. I don't think I am sad per say. I'm over that part. I just feel rather stuck, stuck in my insecurities. Faces that had become familiar have left me. I'm out of my comfort zone again. I easily fall into the comfort of being hidden, of allowing others to act for me, make decisions for me, be the one that pushes me to do things. I haven't pushed myself out of my limits in a very long time I believe I am doing so now all alone in my mama's homeland. My body reacting quite horribly to it.

Hopefully I get out of this physical funk very soon. I think my body is trying to teach me a lesson. I ain't gonna be all hunky dory forever! Whatever. I took some strong pain killers and now I can listen to music without it hurting me. As for now, I feel a really strong need to profess my love for Toro y Moi. I am still procrastinating working on my music blog because I want to make it great. And with all the things I want to make great I usually put it off for a very long time out of fear of starting it. 

My affinity for men in tight pants and curly hair doesn't falter with Toro y Moi. But besides being outrageously adorable and talented, Chaz Bundick hails from South Carolina, he's mixed race, he even references his parents in his interviews and not scared to show his soft side. I'm smitten.

Snippets of his interview - for the rest please click here.

I was curious about the title of the album: Causers of This. Who are the causers and what are they causing?

Girls. Girls are the causers.

And they cause the music?

Yeah. There's one girl that mainly caused that album, I guess you could say. It ended up being like a concept, but I wasn't going for that at all, that's the only thing I could write about at the time.

Is "Freak Love" about her too?

No, the whole album's kind of about this post breakup lifestyle of mine. I dated this girl for four years and some of the songs are about me meeting other girls and it's just not working out. I'm trying to get over it and I'm still obsessing over the previous girlfriend. So "Freak Love " is about this one girl I met, she said that she's into polygamy. Totally freaked me out, I was like what? She wasn't joking.

...

That really goes together with the beginning lyrics of the song, too, "come home in the summer / live a life that you miss."

Yeah when I saw the video I kind of teared up because there was one part where my ex-girlfriend was in there, I give her a hug in the beginning.

Oh mah god are these used?!

Old photos from Vietnam back in the day, unsure of the years, my mom said it was my "grandpa's time" Ignore the strange flowers, they were part of a powerpoint email forward from a grandpa's friend.

According to my mama* it's gross. The thought that vintage/used clothing can be fashionable and awesome is not really possible to my mama, unless it's from her closet. "What if that person was dead?" she mutters with a tone of worry and disgust. Trying to cope with my love for old and used clothing and items, she blabbers more about selling her old items so she can make money like these people. My mama has never gone vintage shopping with me. She tells me to hurry up as I grab a cute pair of leather Etienne Alger muted tan pumps made in Italy in mint condition and a stripped business skirt made in Japan all for a good steal of $15 from a vintage store sale somewhere out in the suburbs of Australia. I took a great deal to get there from getting off at a dreary stop on the subway to a good 15 minute walk. My mom was scared to walk into the neighborhood so I tried to assure her that all the "cool kids" do it too, while I attempted to thwart her attention away from the haphazard graffitied walls of empty industrial buildings and shattered glass bottles on the floor to the sprinkled bits of hipster teenagers going to the same destination as me. It's okay mama, I promise.

* mama is mom in Chinese (妈妈)

Vintage photo in front of the white house they lived in California, fyi I never wore that blue dress.

Before most of my "vintage" items came in the form of my mama's ever growing collection of clothing from the 80's and 90's. Refugee vintage if you so will, the kind of vintage that holds memories that I will never be able to fully understand. My mama never really threw her clothing away.  Contained in her closet lies memories faded from the wear and tear of forgetting and living. The warm sun no longer pink when it sets.  There was something strangely comforting knowing I was wearing something my mama once wore. Once wore when she walked through the streets of New York fresh tired eyes peeking over a landscape that her daughter will one day call home. Clothing that protected her skin against the cold leather benches of the greyhound bus bound for California as the trees and nicely paved roads scurried past too busy to notice.  

It was like the possibility of those memories living once again, without words. Unspoken. Her threads speak as threads have always spoken to me.

Threads speak to me. They speak in a way that a lover's gaze lingers in your mind even after they are long gone. You long for it again. The echoes of a rapid stitch as needle threads fabric, repeatedly, over and over, masks the sounds of her kids growing up in a culture she may never full understand.

There was never a dull silence in my house.

Today, the sounds are replaced with honks, shouts, and other noises that a city makes when it feels stuffy, grumpy, and sweaty all at once. Noises my mother understands. I find myself in Vietnam, where vintage is not as popular in contrast to the high fashion stores pushing their way through the already cramped and awkward urban landscape of "economic development." Here I am always on the prowl for vintage items and with the help of some great locals I have had some great finds and wanted to share it with you.

Duong Ho Huan Xuan (Street), District 3, Ho Chi Minh City

On this street you will find sprinkled bits of old man clothes to second hand purses. I particularly go to this one store that sells only vintage shoes that they get from Thailand. They have a great selection, but very few sizes, its either a hit or miss, so if you do find one... its feels oh so special. The street ends with a hoard of non-vintage shoe stores and a school with a lot of fat cute spoiled kids. Price ranges from $5 - $30. (The shoes/purses, not the kids)

Frames/ glasses carts: Behind the bus stop in front of Cho Ben Thanh (Market), District 1, Ho Chi Minh City

A friend told me about this one after I went nuts over her awesome glasses frames that reminded me of my big purple marble ones from the 4th grade. On this street hidden away due to the rather distracting and lovingly chaotic bus station, there is a bunch of carts selling used glasses frames, watches and the likes. I was able to find some great strong frames here that can be easily made for your prescription glasses or sunglasses at any glasses store in Vietnam. Price ranges from $2 - $3. Be sure to bargain.


CON QUẠ ĐEN RETRO & VINTAGE SHOP
JUST heard of this have yet to go but sounds exciting. The same friend with cool glasses also linked me to this on facebook. It seems to have vintage dresses and designer vintage purses so it's a bit pricier than I would like but I will check back after I go hunt down for the store. If you'd like to hunt it down before me please do and tell me about it! Price range: $10 to $350.

141 - Lầu 1 - Phòng 14, Nguyễn Trãi, Q.1

 Ms. Minh - 0909.382.328 - 08.6291.0985 

shop.conquaden@gmail.com

"Hoàng Minh (Quạ is her nickname at home) is a freedom twenty-seven year old girl, after 5 years studying in HCMC University of Architecture and 2 years working in Advertising (Lowe World Wide agency). She loves to find inspirations everyday about fashion, photography, art, vintage, retro, collage, eating, traveling and so much more. Now she opens her retro & vintage shop for sharing cute little things she found on her way."

Her website/blog page. (Scroll past the entry about the moon cup, haha, and you will find her cute fashions.)

Cho (outdoor market) next to Dai Hoc An Giang (University)

There are two stalls that I go to:

1. a lady that sells vintage purses and clothing and miscellaneous. Cute cozy crammed with fluorescent lights hovering over you while purses dangle from the ceilings. Price range $1 to $6
2. a lady that sells many many many jackets and is covered them like they are pouring out of a pool already too full of clothing. Price range: $1 to $3 

And now the warm sun sets pink.