That feeling when you speed up on the semi-empty street, singing yourself to "What's Up" and "Susie Q".
Hanoi, thank you for this ephemera. I know it won't last, but the sentiments probably will, at least for a while.
Friday, October 3, 2014
Monday, July 14, 2014
Broken scenery, packed minds, relinquished memories.
There are always that many steps in packing. First comes that dreadful noise of the cardboards scratching against one another, which sounds like an out-of-tune violin played with a stroke. Then I look around for bigger, sturdier possessions to fill that newly empty space, believing I can always tuck the tiny things amidst the layers of clothes and books later.
I must be unlucky, because I have too many of these little unnamed things to bury all away. A few of those, which I thought were lost or discarded along the past 8 years, somehow find a way back right in front of my face. The high-school yearbook covered by flakes of glitter, the oversized Metallica t-shirt, the set of woolen scarf gifted to me on a summer's night, a Conn memorabilia here and there, an overdue postcard. Despite the wrong assumption, I remember them well - all of the whos, whens, wheres were as transparent as a bus window. Blurred and dusted, but it shows me just what I need to see - the movements, the sounds, the affairs that passed by and lingered within it.
Memories are emotionally constructed. "What you end up remembering isn't always the same as what you have witnessed." (Barnes, 2011). People like to venture into their own twists and turns on that trip down memory lane. That inexpensive scarf suddenly represented embrace and warmth, to be felt transatlantic. The glance that happened for two seconds suddenly became a mamihlapinatapai that lasted a decade. Likewise, traces of devastation and heartbreaks are repressed the same way we kicked trash under the fridge hoping it will just "evaporate". Many times we force ourselves to pretend it's gone. Some others, we genuinely forget about its existence. But the moment we decide to move on we end up finding it in our baggage. And no matter how much we vacuum or compress that baggage, we would never escape its burden.
And of course, there are things I believe are always there, just because. The finger-sized ekeka that I used to carry everywhere not for good luck, but for the comfort that somebody came to Peru and thought of me. The mixed tapes that sing songs about love, youth and changes. All of the pictures from summer camps. Every greeting card whose way to get to me is a story itself. Now I kept them in the bottom of a plastic box, but at some point in life, each and every of them has managed to keep me steady, even if just for a minute or two. The past looks lighter, the future easier when simple pleasures and sentiments stay the same.
I remember packing a few years ago and missing one of these "simple pleasures." An mp3 CD with the full discography of Led Zeppelin, Pink Floyd and The Doors. I couldn't recall who made it for me, but I remember when. It was the same time disc trays were obviated from laptops and PCs. Needless to say, it ended up a memento for "that time when I was a wild, passion, young, guitarist-wannabe girl." I dug through every corner and niche of the room for the next few days (even Heathcliff couldn't do a better job with Cathy's grave), but only ended up with more souvenirs to lump the boxes. It didn't take me any longer to call of the search, but I'm still not convinced that CD, that apocalypically-flat donut of plastic, is not somewhere around the house. It might be bookmarking an unopened book or stuck in the inside pocket of an ugly coat, and if I look one step further, it might just as well be within my reach again.
I never got to the final step of packing, because let's be honest, who knows not about packing. After all, the hardest part is not dragging things out one box and placing them in another, but lingering and pondering over each and every souvenir, which is like a life bookmark. All of a sudden, it brings back memories of that time period, and suddenly you remember how your life used to be.
Don't we all have some kind of token that we hold on to, never to be exhibited, only kept for occasional nostalgia? And aren't we all hauling some kind of baggage in our lives? In retrospect, how much have they held us back from moving faster, or further, or onto other directions, or from dancing as if our hands are falling off, or from swirling under the rain? I know this sounds paradoxical, but sometimes, the strongest thing we can do is to let some memories and their corporeal illustration go so we can be freer and lighter. Who knows, your baggage might not be as spacious and your heart as empty as you believed them to be.
So, in the middle of an empty room, I can hear my breath echo against the white walls like farewell whispers. A part of my past is in its place, ready to be present in my future.
I must be unlucky, because I have too many of these little unnamed things to bury all away. A few of those, which I thought were lost or discarded along the past 8 years, somehow find a way back right in front of my face. The high-school yearbook covered by flakes of glitter, the oversized Metallica t-shirt, the set of woolen scarf gifted to me on a summer's night, a Conn memorabilia here and there, an overdue postcard. Despite the wrong assumption, I remember them well - all of the whos, whens, wheres were as transparent as a bus window. Blurred and dusted, but it shows me just what I need to see - the movements, the sounds, the affairs that passed by and lingered within it.
Memories are emotionally constructed. "What you end up remembering isn't always the same as what you have witnessed." (Barnes, 2011). People like to venture into their own twists and turns on that trip down memory lane. That inexpensive scarf suddenly represented embrace and warmth, to be felt transatlantic. The glance that happened for two seconds suddenly became a mamihlapinatapai that lasted a decade. Likewise, traces of devastation and heartbreaks are repressed the same way we kicked trash under the fridge hoping it will just "evaporate". Many times we force ourselves to pretend it's gone. Some others, we genuinely forget about its existence. But the moment we decide to move on we end up finding it in our baggage. And no matter how much we vacuum or compress that baggage, we would never escape its burden.
And of course, there are things I believe are always there, just because. The finger-sized ekeka that I used to carry everywhere not for good luck, but for the comfort that somebody came to Peru and thought of me. The mixed tapes that sing songs about love, youth and changes. All of the pictures from summer camps. Every greeting card whose way to get to me is a story itself. Now I kept them in the bottom of a plastic box, but at some point in life, each and every of them has managed to keep me steady, even if just for a minute or two. The past looks lighter, the future easier when simple pleasures and sentiments stay the same.
I remember packing a few years ago and missing one of these "simple pleasures." An mp3 CD with the full discography of Led Zeppelin, Pink Floyd and The Doors. I couldn't recall who made it for me, but I remember when. It was the same time disc trays were obviated from laptops and PCs. Needless to say, it ended up a memento for "that time when I was a wild, passion, young, guitarist-wannabe girl." I dug through every corner and niche of the room for the next few days (even Heathcliff couldn't do a better job with Cathy's grave), but only ended up with more souvenirs to lump the boxes. It didn't take me any longer to call of the search, but I'm still not convinced that CD, that apocalypically-flat donut of plastic, is not somewhere around the house. It might be bookmarking an unopened book or stuck in the inside pocket of an ugly coat, and if I look one step further, it might just as well be within my reach again.
I never got to the final step of packing, because let's be honest, who knows not about packing. After all, the hardest part is not dragging things out one box and placing them in another, but lingering and pondering over each and every souvenir, which is like a life bookmark. All of a sudden, it brings back memories of that time period, and suddenly you remember how your life used to be.
Don't we all have some kind of token that we hold on to, never to be exhibited, only kept for occasional nostalgia? And aren't we all hauling some kind of baggage in our lives? In retrospect, how much have they held us back from moving faster, or further, or onto other directions, or from dancing as if our hands are falling off, or from swirling under the rain? I know this sounds paradoxical, but sometimes, the strongest thing we can do is to let some memories and their corporeal illustration go so we can be freer and lighter. Who knows, your baggage might not be as spacious and your heart as empty as you believed them to be.
So, in the middle of an empty room, I can hear my breath echo against the white walls like farewell whispers. A part of my past is in its place, ready to be present in my future.
Monday, January 6, 2014
A week late... for 2014 resolutions
Put it here so I can be publicly held accountable for my actions. Sorted by urgency and desirability level.
Professional
Development
Excel my Advanced Excel skills
Complete the ArcGIS courses
Learn basic Python
Academics
Apply for PhD programs
Finish the Personal Finance & Jazz Appreciation online
courses
Personal Objectives
Begin my writing project
Follow my 2014 reading track
Pick up where I left off with music
Travel to Hawaii and/or an authentic American city
Exercise daily with P90, Zumba & P90X
Sunday, August 4, 2013
"It's always darkest before the dawn"
We all have that one thing that we used to treasure so much, but years gone by, we put it away to make space for other new, special things. We know we’ll never use it again, and we know we’ll only glance over it every once in a while. Yet, we still keep it there – in our hearts, on our back, through our movements – dusted and weighted like a ghost hiding in the corner. We either bear the burden or struggle with it. It occurs strange to me, though, that win or lose, and we’ll always find ourselves saddened and crying over the loss, either the loss to the battle or that of the one that got away.
Monday, May 6, 2013
What I talk about when I talk about travels... (or a bucket list)
- A trip through Greece
- A trip across Ireland
- Pompeii & Verona (Italy)
- Hiking in Mount Tibidabo (Spain)
- Angel Falls (Venezuela)
- Palawan (Phillipines)
Wednesday, February 20, 2013
chuyện không biết kể cho ai
Nhiều khi đọc phải những status tào lao và những comment ngớ ngẩn, ngứa từ mắt đến miệng và tay mà cách giải tỏa duy nhất chỉ có thể là lầm bầm vài câu đá đểu. Vì mình có thể mean nhưng mình đã qua cái thời thừa hơi tranh luận qua lại trên một cái mạng ảo. Vì mình phải biết chắc cái đứa kia cũng phải đủ [...] để tiếp nhận mình (và đáp trả thì càng tốt). Vì mình nói chung là "không thích người" nhưng cũng không có nhu cầu bị ghét.
Nhưng mà suppressed emotions thì rất có hại cho tâm lý ý :((
Nhưng mà suppressed emotions thì rất có hại cho tâm lý ý :((
Saturday, December 1, 2012
Nhà (và nhảm)
Sắp về nhà. Hơn một tuần tí tẹo nữa thôi.
(On a side note, có lẽ từ trước đến nay mình chỉ ghen tị "đời thường" với V., vì zai của nó là thằng con trai duy nhất mà, sau hơn 6 năm trời yêu nhau, mình vẫn đọc được sự si mê và yêu thương nồng nàn trong mắt. Không PDA, không "they look sooo cute together", không fancy, nhưng mà cảm nhận của mình về tình yêu của zai dành cho nó thì rõ rệt đến kỳ lạ ấy.)
Hơn 1 năm rưỡi kể từ khi mình quay lại và ở tịt tại Mỹ. Trong suốt khoảng thời gian đấy, 3 đứa bạn mình lấy chồng, 1 đứa có con. Chưa kể là các thể loại cưới xin linh đình mùa trên Facebook. Mình nhìn chúng nó rồi nhìn lại mình. Mình yêu đương được hơn 5 năm, mọi thứ đến nay vẫn tốt đẹp nhưng chả hiểu nghĩ ở đâu, tự dưng nhận ra là cũng chẳng có hứa hẹn đảm bảo gì. Kiểu như con bạn nó bảo mình cái việc cưới của nó gần như là assumption for granted, là một bước tiếp hiển nhiên sau 6 năm trời, chứ cái passion với desire to be together thì không có. Mình cũng nghĩ thế.
(On a side note, có lẽ từ trước đến nay mình chỉ ghen tị "đời thường" với V., vì zai của nó là thằng con trai duy nhất mà, sau hơn 6 năm trời yêu nhau, mình vẫn đọc được sự si mê và yêu thương nồng nàn trong mắt. Không PDA, không "they look sooo cute together", không fancy, nhưng mà cảm nhận của mình về tình yêu của zai dành cho nó thì rõ rệt đến kỳ lạ ấy.)
Và vậy là đến một cái sợ. Mình không sợ ế, không sợ lỡ thì. Cái sợ lớn nhất là mình sẽ mất đi spirit để chuẩn bị một cái đám cưới thật hay ho với âm nhạc hút hồn. Sợ mình khi ấy sẽ bị ảnh hưởng bởi cái cảm giác mọi người bỏ nhỏ sau lưng kiểu "ôi giời, thì phải cưới chứ không lại bỏ nhau". Mình quan tâm đến thiên hạ là một phần, quan tâm hơn là mình bị ám thị bởi những cái suy tưởng đối đầu nhưng lại tồn tại song song trong đầu mình.
Thật, mình không sợ ế, không sợ lỡ thì. Mình có Plan B, mình believe in adoption. Mình cực ghét cái kiểu đàn bà để status, rồi đi chơi, rồi khoe, rồi cảm xúc lúc nào cũng 100% hướng về zai. Ts chứ, yêu nhau thì phải chiều chuộng, quà cáp rồi chăm sóc nhau, chứ không thì yêu làm * gì. Đọc/nghe/nhìn mấy cái kiểu đấy mình mừng cho người ta thì ít, mà buồn cười thì nhiều. Đàn bà Việt, dù có đi năm châu bốn biển, học rộng tài cao, cuối cùng vẫn dùng người đàn ông của mình làm indicator of success/happiness (mà cũng có thể là do tính đố kỵ sân si vốn dĩ).
Mình vẫn có một vài cái sợ. Fear of living against my beliefs, fear of being too ordinary, fear of being denied and unrecognized. Trong sự nghiệp, gia đình, yêu đương, mình cũng đã phải đối mặt với những nỗi sợ ấy. Lúc nhiều lúc ít. Nên thành ra, depressed cũng có, vui vẻ hớn hở cũng có, tức đến phát điên phát rồ cũng có, mà cái kiểu kệ mẹ nhà nó cũng có. Có lần ngồi nói chuyện bâng quơ với bạn, mình bảo rằng kiểu người như 2 đứa có lẽ khó mà có hạnh phúc trọn vẹn. Không phải vì chúng ta không biết đến niềm vui. Biết nhiều là khác. Chúng ta dùng những niềm vui con con ấy, những lãng đãng im lặng ấy, những điệu cười không thành tiếng ấy để sống qua từng ngày. Nhưng chúng ta cũng vơ vào mình những nỗi buồn tâm khảm, những cảm xúc không giải thích được với ai vì nó quá mơ ảo, rồi lại tự dằn vặt mình. Cứ nghĩ nếu cứ giữ mình bận rộn thì cảm xúc nó cũng sẽ bị nhét vào xó, nhưng không may là mình vẫn phải có những khoảng nghỉ, những lúc lơ mơ trên xe bus, đi bộ trên đường, rồi sắp tới là 18 tiếng trên máy bay.
À đấy, sắp được về nhà với bố mẹ rồi. Lần này mình sẽ cố cởi mở hơn với hai cụ, sẽ coming out rồi hút chích với bố, sẽ đi ăn vặt rồi cafe với mẹ. Sẽ hang out và nói chuyện với một số người nhiều hơn. Và sẽ dành một buổi để gặp lại một vài người and that's it.
Bình thường mình không viết blog kiểu loạn xị này đâu, nhưng mà mình vừa type vừa nói oang oang với cái đầu gối, nên mình dùng văn nói.
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