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.