The End of Another Semester

It's almost 8 AM and I'm still up because my sleeping pattern is out of wack! Well actually, throughout the whole semester I usually slept around 5-6 AM and wake up around 12 PM. Ah. I really don't know if this is exactly healthy for my body, but I hope to regain a normal sleeping schedule (11-2) this break.

Reflection of this semester, Fall 2009

it's been quite interesting living at DA HEIGHTZ in Rochdale, the well-renown, or rather notorious spot for parties that hold over its maximum capacity of 30 -- we've had 200-300 people come in and out at our parties. While it kind of sucks to have the downstairs room, the experience living here is quite indelibly memorable. Aside from cheap rent, cheap landry, I am really loving the community aspect of co-op living. I am really going to miss my roommates and this atmosphere when I leave for Viet Nam next year in the Fall. Of course I won't miss the dirtiness of the apartment though. hah!

I declared American Studies as my second major this semester and after taking two of the courses offered under the department, I can say I really like what I am learning and I feel the topics discussed and the different theories really correspond to my own fascinations, curiosity, and questions about American life, or even the questions surrounding the definition of America, being an American, and American culture. Very interesting! Because I'm double majoring now, I'm hoping to graduate by Spring 2011, or Summer 2011 at the latest.

I think one of the most important aspects of this semester for me is the new type of consciousness--or different sets of question in regards to my life here, in San Jose, and elsehwere--that deals with my position being a student here at CAL, an elitist university and how I've realized how alienated and detached I've become.

To tell you the truth, it's quite depressing thinking about how just by being here, by being a Cal student, by having that attached to your name and people's perception of you, it can be quite condescending to other people who do not go to this prestigious university--just by you being you, or what ever/how ever you want to define it.

My birthday is also coming up, December 25, Christmas day. I remember growing up my parents would celebrate Christmas because of me--they did it because they did not want me to feel left out from all the other children at school who would talk about their Christmas day, waking up bright and early in the morning, running to the Christmas tree with their parents close by opening up presents under the shining light the Christmas tree star, and how they got the newest toy that they had always wanted and or the newest video game, or pair of shoes, or skateboard. My parents wanted me to feel like I was a part of America.

I wish I could show more gratitude to them now, but it's hard because emoting has never been an easy thing for especially when I am at home. I don't know if that type of tendency is part of my psyche or habits or whatever, but it's very hard to express how I really feel at home. You can say it's cultural, but there can always be a change. Perhaps I'm just not used to being expressive at home because lyrical or verbal love is not emphasized in my family; love is rather a form of sacrifice, and it's usually silent. Hmm..

I don't want to drag on for too long. It'll be dull. Until next time. I really have to get back to sleep. I'll be sure to get on this more since it's quite therapeutic.

Poem From Anthology Workshop

Family gatherings is where I hear the
thump thump
of familiar voices in Vietnamese karaoke the
thump thump
of the rhythms of little cousins' bottoms sliding down the rough carpet stairs the
thump thump
of the footsteps made by mothers in the kitchen cooking the
thump thump
of the slapping of playing cards on dinner tables by uncles and fathers the
thump thump
of my heart beat
cause.... that is where the home is.

Back On The Road

SASC SI 2009 was truly inspiring. Despite "shit happening," I thought it went pretty well. The cohort of mentees this year was a unique one. SASC is truly a family. As each year passes, my age hits me more. I can't say the realization of age is only apparent in family, but I can say that perhaps in my mind, I associate the two things together most of the time. I think about it more whenever I am in my own family or at home.

The theme this year was "Re-Mapping Our Geography", which is a little different from past years' as it focuses on drawing, and redrawing your understanding of yourself. How did you become you in the first place? Where did you come from? How did you get there? Why are you here? Where are you on the map? Where are people like you on the map? Is the current master map inclusive of your own history, your stories, your belonging, your home? With this theme, there is a huge emphasis on belonging, space, travel, and advancement. Instead of using roots all the time, we played with maps and geography. If you think about it, geography is a huge part of our lives. It's not just limited to pin pointing where you are on the map or spinning the globe to check out where is where. You have the power to change what has already been set. Things always change. Do you want to change with it? Or do you want to ignite the changing?

I'm back on the road, and I'm moving forward. I'm in control of my direction. Even if I have no direction, I am still in control of myself. I am free to encounter whatever will appear in my lifemap. My past will be my compass. My present will be where I stand. My future will be where I go. I'm back and there is no stopping me from moving on, going to anywhere I want to go, and being where I want to be.

Best Man

I could still remember when you used to take me down, sit on my face, and fart on it. And another time when I got really mad at you, I threw a stapler to your face. Luckily you dodged it or else I would've regret it even more. Now, it's time for your wedding this Sunday. It looks like I have to throw a speech at you on your wedding day.

My brother Bob's wedding is this Sunday. He chose me as "best man". I seriously have not come up with a speech yet. I've been youtubing and reading tutorials and guides on how to make this speech. I'll try to whip up something by tonight hopefully.

I'm happy for my brother. When I was still a boy with all my three brothers still living in the house, I could never have imagined what is to come on Sunday. It seems so surreal that I will be up there with him and his future wife, Maria, speaking. It's going to be an interesting night. I'm excited to have a larger extended family here and in the Philippines!

Ba Noi

I can still remember the tobacco in her mouth,  the constant chewing of her mouth that made the wrinkles on her face dance, the fabric wrapped around her head like a hood that covered the grayness of her hair.  Ba Noi, my grandmother, my father's mother, was one of the two women in the house: my mother and her.  

I was 7 at the time and I had just moved into my brother Thuan's room.  Before, I had slept in my parent's room where every night was a Chinese movie night.  I used to stack the black tapes pretending they were sky scrapers.  I would see how many tapes I could stack until it collapsed.  One time, I made a tower of tapes surpassing the height of my adolescent body.  I also remember the tape rewinder we had that looked like a car.  It was ironic that the car did not rewind as fast as the VCR. 

It took me awhile to realize that the movies were Chinese dubbed in Vietnamese.  I had always wondered why the lips sometimes did not match the the melody and the rhythm of the Vietnamese langauge  and why sometimes the ambience sounds were obscure.  I suppose I was too used to the animation of cartoons on Nickelodeons where characters' lips moved up and down like a nutcracker.  Up and down.  Up and down.  No variation.

It took me awhile to understand my grandmother.  From what I can remember from my childhood, I did not have a great relationship with her.  What I do remember was I looked down her and I was ashamed of her.  I looked down on the tobacco she chewed throughout the day. I was ashamed that she could not speak much English and was always in the house, immobile.  I was ashamed to bring my white friends home, fearing they would see me differently after they had seen my grandmother.  I looked down on the cave-like room she lived in, like a bear, like a vampire--always in the dark.  

I often teased her and let her chase me up stairs to my brother's room.  Her raspy voice, groaning of old pain would circulate the empty house.  My premature, pre-puberty voice gigling, laughing like I meant it.  I still regret doing all those terrible things to her.  My grandmother used to take care of me.   She became my my mother when my real mother could not take care of because her work--putting together angel dolls for a company--a few cents a doll.  My grandmother loved me, but I did not love her back until after her funeral, after I grew up a little bit more after that.  Thank you/Sorry Ba Noi.  

Faces

My father and uncle sitting cross-legged around circles complemented with beer cans. The smell of cigarette smoke and alcohol consumes the air. One of my uncle with a cigarette in his mouth deals. A deal sealed, you can never take it back. Whoever made the deal must win or pay. Either or, either or. Faces, some red some smiling some dark some pale, face each other and onto facing the face of the dice facing the ceiling. The rattling of dice in bowls sounding like rattle snakes rattling: the click-clacking of venom. A strike into the heart with a bite. A bad omen. Dollar signs are on the line: who will take all that cash, all those chips? These color-coded tokens of yellow, red, white, and blue, have faces of dollar signs. The American faces on grassy-green bills show $20 on each of the sides of the rectangle: back and front with the front facing up. 2-dimensional. Stacks of them on carpet floor. American presidents on these leaf papers face these new refugees who've just come in. Faces around the circle face those faces of the currents of history printed and value instilled. Say "Hello" or "A-lo" to a pot of gold? Jackpot? Andrew Jackson? Jack Nguyen? Their eyes on the prize, in-n-out and between them, only them.

Dinner Table / Ban An Com

The dinner table in our house has gotten smaller and smaller over the years. It had started with my mother, father, all three brothers, and my grandmother to just my parents and me. I visited the chairs on the side we never sit on at that table and it's getting a little dusty. I miss those days.

Just to think how it would be in Viet Nam where family is center of people's lives compared to the individualistic mindset we are grown up to have and adopt here, it's mind-boggling. Sometimes I wish I had a more cohesive family. Compared to my other Southeast Asian friends' families, my family, from what I know, is only limited to my immediate family to a few families on my mother's side. In spite of everything, I am really grateful for the family I have.

Other than the dinner table and the car, there isn't much dialog between my parents and me. I'm learning more and more about my family than ever before. Ever since I got back from Berkeley and recently, SASC, I've grown more conscious of my family with many of the things I've learned in the back of mind every time I'm with them. Too bad I cannot communicate with my parents that well like I used to although there is much more dialog than before. At least the ambition and connection is there which was not there before.

It's unfortunate that it's almost like a "give and take" relationship while I'm away in college. I've lost so much of my Vietnamese due to being away from my family for so long. While I've been losing my "native tongue," I've also gotten to learn so much myself in my first year. I wish I was still back at Van Lang (the Vietnamese Sunday School and also the old name for Viet Nam). I miss that too.


First blog post. I'm trying to get used to this.