the best books have interesting stories, chalked full of symbolism and figurative language and everything else those high school english teachers made you hate.  but even the greatest books can be ripped, pulled, slashed apart…analyzed so much that the themes get repetitive and dull.  or maybe you pick one up, and it intrigues you throughout, but in the end, you don’t really know what it all meant.  you still got something out of it, eh?  or at least you try.  but then there’s that annoying question again…what’s more important, the artist’s intent or the audience’s perception? 

“inside every person is a drama”

 yeah well….humans are silly people.  and rather than just taking it as it comes and realizing that going down valleys and up mountain tops aren’t always the most fun things, we build roads.  we build roads to make it easier….to go over valleys and through mountains.  and well, that’s kinda funny to me too…because yeah, its easier, but isn’t it sinning?  we’re defying what God wanted for us.  or is it what he wanted?  but at the same time, i kinda picture God sitting up there watching us and laughing and going…hah…silly humans.  think you know the answer to everything.  and so….things happen like your car breaks down, or you run out of gas.  and in the end…you’re still stuck.

how do we know?

i’m a different person at school than i am at home.  i realized that things i worry about at school mean very little to me when i am home.  but home…home is always with me. 

 

too bad i only visit home.

 

to be honest, i don’t really miss home.

 

i think i’m turning bitter. 

Ok.  Story time again.

 

So once upon a time, long long ago, (before the age of sandy), lived adam and eve.  There was a tree, a snake…ok, yeah i’m dumb.  fast forward.

 

Anywho, apparently, during the war, the viet cong came in and forced my dad to join them.  If he didn’t, they threatened to take away his parents.  so being an obedient young man, he went.  But…my dad being the strong-willed (or maybe stubborn) guy that he is, woke up one morning soon afterwards and said to himself, “self, I don’t have to take this.  I’m going home.”  (ok…so maybe it didn’t happen EXACTLY like that…but hey….i’m writing the story here.)

 

Meanwhile, his brother (my uncle), had heard that there was a boat that was gonna leave the country soon….and knowing that his little brother (my dad) was not so happy in his new… “job”…sent word to him.  Things were discussed, a li’l planning happened….and soon, my dad ended up grabbing some guns, some ammo, and pretty much just picked up and left whatever base he was currently at.  (pardon me, because I don’t exactly know how military stuff worked in Vietnam).  So yeah, simple as that….my dad left the country, fully equipped with his brother, my mother, and deadly guns.

 

16 and a half years later, after settling in good ol’ North Carolina, my parents finally decided it was time to take the offspring (that’s my brother and me) back to Vietnam.I was nine at the time….and surprisingly, I can remember quite a bit of it.  (i.e. this entry) However, something I learned tonight, was that my parents were really scared to go back.  Little did I know that my dad was some sort of fugitive.  Apparently, after my parents left Vietnam, the police came and interrogated both my father’s and mother’s families.  They even took a picture of my dad from my mom’s dinner table.  (the table was lined with family photos, covered with a large piece of glass.  My mom had added a picture of my dad to the collection….at the time, they were the happy soon to be wed couple).

 

But anyways, as I said earlier, my parents were afraid to go back.  Within the first week of being in Vietnam, my dad was called to the city (about a 10 minute boat ride and a 15 minute motorcycle ride from the small island where my parents are from)…and asked about his departure from the country, sixteen years before by the police.  They kept him for a whole day….asking/drilling him questions.  Who did he leave with….what boat did he take…how many people were on it….was so and so on the boat….did he take the weapons…where are they now?  At one point, the officers decided to let my dad think about everything he’d done…and said they’d come back inside in 10 minutes.  Twenty minutes later, they hadn’t yet returned…and all the questioning, not to mention possible jet lag and of course, the 16 years of catching up my dad had started to do with his family…left my father awfully sleepy.  so, of course, he decided to take a nap in that nice li’l office.  And then, BAM!  An officer had come back in and hit the table really hard.  “Why did you fall asleep?  What makes you think you can fall asleep?”  My dad said…. “You said you’d be back in 10 minutes….I haven’t slept much, and I got tired of waiting, so I went to sleep!”  yep.  That’s my dad.  so….then the guys decided to send my dad home…told him to collect his thoughts and come back the next day.

 

So yeah…he came back…told everyone what happened, but then someone reminded him by that he was already an American citizen…meaning…can’t very well do too much to him.  Couldn’t throw him in prison or anything like that.  They just wanted some money.  So, the next day, he returned…paid the fellas $100 american smackeroos.  And…when asked to return the guns, my dad said, “the Americans threw them into the ocean when we boarded their ship.  If you want them back, take it up with them.”

 

Or so the story goes.  Meanwhile, little nine year old sandy was busy discovering what a well was and watching her 64 year old grandfather climb a coconut tree, completely oblivious to it all.  So much history, so many stories…..so much family.  I hope I can go back soon.

“there must be something going on in that head of yours.” 

 

nothing i really care to share, but ok.  we’ll give it a go.

 

Tired of hearing the same three stories over and over again.  Spinning.  Arms outstretched.  Look up.  Look down.  Spin faster, faster.  Arms outstretched.  Tears.  Faster.  Running.  Faster.  Falling.  Faster.  Faster.  Leave me I just get confused.   undone.  

 

I haven’t heard her speak.  What’s she think?  I’ll always be here for you.  Shut up.  bounce off me.  Keep bouncing off me.  You care so much for me you don’t realize that how much I feel.  You understand that I don’t know the words.  I understand that you make my sense.  But you forget to let me try.  why do you have to give up before you force me to try? 

 

Make them listen.  Make me listen. You will find the answer if you let it go.

 

Am i weak?

 

 

yeah. 

Twenty five years ago, he noticed her.  He wanted her to notice him, but wary of his own abilities to express his emotions, he looked to his friend.  He asked his friend to write a letter to her.  He even asked his friend to deliver it for him.  It was like one of those classic stories.  He even took the time to memorize the letter.  Of course, if you read something enough times, if you repeat something continuously, it’ll get engrained into your head.  But still, he remembered.  He remembered because he wanted to.  He never found his own words, but she loved him anyway.  He remembers, still.

 

Twenty five years ago, she was scared.  She didn’t know what love was, nor was she really looking for it.  Her family depended on her.  She had younger siblings that looked up to her.  She was so terrified, she wouldn’t even touch the letter.  It remained underneath the lamp for days, safely hidden, where she would sneak occasional glimpses.  The story was almost classic.  In the end, she read the letter.  He called for her, and she followed.

 

Eventually, they ran off together.  Perhaps even sailed away watching the glimmer of the sunset behind them.  They found themselves in a new world, in a new life…together.  To leave everything they’d ever known, their very own families, was bold.  To leave the comfort of home and knowledge of what the future would bring, in order to search for hope in something even better, was brave.  To leave together, putting complete trust in each other, was an act of love.

 

Twenty five years later, it all seemed to be a distant memory.  It became one of those would be nostalgic memories where the memory would still bring a smile, but the nostalgia met real life and faded.  Twenty five years ago.

 

Here’s to year 26.

overwhelmingly scatter brained as of late.  but i think i’m getting used to not focusing. 

he said to me, life isn’t really that hard at all.  i think i believe him.

i have good friends. 

we talked about love and loving.  love as a verb and not a noun, blah blah blah. 

last year, we went to foster’s market and talked about, well, me.  and whether i thought people cared.  or rather, if i felt they did. 

i told my brother when i was 12 i didn’t know what love was.  he laughed at me. 

dorm life.  freakin hilarious.  makes me sad sometimes though.

a few months ago, i felt like i was losing touch.  i think….i’m giving/i’ve given into that.  i can’t decide if its purposeful or not.  this change in weather has flipped, kicked, turned, me over.  let’s be trite.  a new leaf?  HAH!  blegh.

i don’t feel useful anymore.  i feel selfish.

smiles still make me happy.  so do old people. 

I keep trying to take pictures.  It’s not turning out as well as I wanted.  I need to figure out how to play with my camera the right way. 

goodbye.

in viet today….he pointed out my mistakes.  again.  it didn’t bother me that i made a mistake.  maybe it should have.  it didn’t bother me that he corrected me.  he should have.  

after class, he gave the class a talk about what an opportunity it was for us to learn vietnamese in college….in america.  he told us it made him happy and proud that we are doing it…that we have grown up here but understand the importance of keeping a native tongue.  that we understand that language is a way of keeping a heritage strong.  he told us he was very happy to attend viet night last year and hear lien say “i am proud to be vietnamese.” 

he told us not to compare ourselves to anyone else.  that this is an individual journey.  an individual goal. 

i know all this.  i understand this.  i understand and i try hard.  i have been trying so hard.  i understand that he’s being hard on me because he wants to push me.  he said he doesn’t care if we hate him…because we will forgive him later.  i don’t hate him.  i respect him.  i respect him now and i always have….because of his own journey.  because what he is trying to do for us…to teach us.  i respect him because i was taught to respect my elders.  i don’t undersand why i keep trying…but nothing comes out right. 

i got angry today.  when he pointed out my mistakes, alone, i got angry.  it was obvious that i hadn’t studied that much. but it wasn’t pathetic either.  i was angry at him for repeatedly pointing out that i’m not “working to my potential.”   it makes me angry that all these people see my “potential” but i stand blind to myself.  it makes me angry that i try so hard to figure out how to honor my family and make things right…but its never enough.  that things happen and make me feel like i’m doing it all wrong.  i’m probably just being dumb…i’ve always wanted too much recognition.  i assume its an issue of pride.  i don’t think i quite understood that lesson on pride.

i think i’m tired.  tired of trying.  just keep swimming, eh?

i’m missing something.  not exactly sure what it is.  i hope i find it soon.

it wouldn’t be the same without.  nothing is, right?  it makes sense.  one thing leads to another.  a chain reaction.  but move on.  always move on.  can’t stop.  can’t watch.  can’t breathe.  that can’t be it.  something must be wrong. it doesn’t make sense anymore.  it never made sense.

you wake up one morning and realize that by and by your decisions will always be your own.  that those decisions you hate to make are the result of who you were.  who you’ve grown to be.  those decisions are taking over your life.  the choices.  but you shouldn’t let the choices run your life, eh?  the decisions are what matters.  or maybe its just the opportunity of choice.  i don’t wanna say i won’t change.  but i’m not saying i want to either.  but ya know, it does get quite lonesome. 

but it’s ok…