Author: Thang Nguyen 555

Thang volunteered for Relief Work in Asia/ Africa while pursuing graduate schools. B.A. at Pennsylvania State University. M.A. in Communication at Wheaton Graduate School, M.A. in Cross-Cultural Communication at Gordon-Conwell Seminary, North of Boston, he was subsequently certified with a Cambridge ELT Award - classes taken in Hanoi for cultural immersion. He tells aspirational and inspirational tales to engage online subscribers.

…and what have you done

CV or Eulogy version?

Who and what are you? …so, this is Christmas…and what have you done? Giving or taking, contributing or exploiting?

In “This is for Everyone”, Tim Bernes-Lee recounts his discovery (HTML) that places platform in everyone’s hand, “solidly” and “intentionally” (not just grab everyone’s attention to monetize by delivering it to those highest target-ad bidders).

What a romantic and a necessary notion. I love his snippet when Vint Cerf elbowed him: “You are holding up lunch” (Tim’s Turing-Award acceptance speech went a bit overtime).

People do good and do well both at the same time. It doesn’t have to be an either/or zero-sum society. Christmas celebration in Gaza? Yes. The homeless got a meal, the lonely got invited and the orphan found a home (for that matter, a Messiah got a manger).

Abraham obeyed. As a result, we got succession, continuity and lineage down onto David the King, then the Messiah. Sure, the world needs news, messengers and mouth pieces. It needs thinking soldiers, thinking AI’s and thinking taxpayers. Hey, you spent our public dollars for your own gain (Bag Man).

Three cheers for Mac-Kenzie Scott who gave billions. Our new “civic” trickle-down economy propels the engine of commerce, for continuity and progress of the many.

Medicine sans frontiers enable longevity and reduce infant mortality. When they grew up, needing food, education and yes, guidance, we turned away from them, failed to instruct as to what and what not to take (not a knife to kill your parents, a gun to shoot on campus) and how to learn long to eventually draw up somewhat of a CV version on LinkedIn. Be all you can be i.e. honor, decency and loyalty.

From potato chips to graphic design chips, the physical layer (Born to be wired in Softbank’s data center investment) allows us to thrive by reaping the fruits of bots’ labor, finding solution to the right question, at times preventive more than corrective. Rodin portrays the thinker, solidly. Hopper shows the back of our “Night Hawk”. Aristocrat’s spare time: sitting, sipping and pondering about life, liberty and love. Billions now can afford the fear of missing out thanks to the app layer (private) which built on top of (public) military-industrial-complex funding and university researching.

Will there be light? Abraham, it’s me.

Let sons, and daughters too (those who got early-childhood vaccines) go to college, gain some knowledge and thrive in the Age of AI. I am old enough to remember the Tylenol scare, the Oil Embargo and the Iranian Hostage crisis. Dr Fauci on Nightline, talking about the AID scare. Old enough to remember (eye-witness) the burning monk and the pissing marine (his excuse to disappear behind the embassy stairs for absolute last exfiltration).

Crises constitute life with all the singing and shooting. Recording and replaying, MP’s and MP3, “so this is Christmas….and what have you done”.

Do your part, advancing the race, our human race in view of Big Data. Shame it not and certainly not the One who made you among wildflowers. Our world needs a Messiah, more than a messenger. Few, Tim Berners-Lee among them, are lucky to be a byline …and what have you done? CV or Eulogy version of yourself?

@work

At work, at play or at home, one brings his/her whole being, warp and weakness, to bear. Therefore:

You play long; they play short (Bill Clinton used to note in one’s life career, a worker has to switch jobs 7 times. Of late, I overheard 4-years was a good “run”. Do the math!).

You wait and watch; they make it happen.

You weigh the importance of a decision i.e. life vs work balance, opportunity cost, the road not taken. They push for urgency of a forced choice (y/n pathway). All because you still struggle in a physical world, while they have moved on to virtual world.

You dig deep into context and nuance; they are hot on being in the know (of late people are bumping into each other, with no eye-contact for fear of missing out the “conversation” in the ether).

You are a team player (in the age of AI and remote work this is hard for people-oriented folks); they look out to be number one (type A and task-oriented combo). Numbers on the board. Bigger COLA.

You think disagreement are to be avoided (for the sake of harmony); they are conversation-toppers to dismiss you (time is money): King of the Hill, no time to pick up a shiny “lucky” penny. Speed of thought.

You seem to “fall short”, hence better get with the “program” i.e. hustle to work the law of average.

You pride yourself in being a realist; they talk the dream, with confidence of a con “producer” who swindles hundreds of dollars out of hundreds of little old ladies, intentionally and knowingly plays the system i.e. a flop benefits more per tax code.

You lose; they win (sale leads inherited/stolen from laid-off colleagues).

Then they got promoted – as should be – beyond their level of competency (Peter’s principle). Fast in/fast out- (the Happiness curve takes on a Bell-shape, not hockey-stick’s. What goes up must come down, the higher the climb, the harder the fall. Bernie who?)

After all, while you focus on the steak they sell the sizzle. Right! yesterday we’re prospects. Today customers. The sizzle settles down. Where? at Wendy. “Where is the beef!” (product integrity).

Then comes time to be forced out, whitewash history, cook the books and cash out via biographical make-over (post- sanitorium self-aggrandizing reputation rehab, edited “eulogy” version – in David Brooks’ term – employing hungry ghost writers, or, AI assisted writing tools). “I am not a crook!” (the American people ought to know that).

That which is unsustainable will always be unsustainable e.g. Cold War, World War or Longest War. Per long arc of history, we’re lucky to be registered as a byline.

Only the poor will always be with you, at the border or out on the street. Mr. Rogers no longer hummed: “it’s a beautiful in the neighborhood”, or more playfully, “something strange in the neighborhood…who are you going to call…” all along avoiding eye-contact with local homeless.

The long loneliness.

They play it short e.g. pausing the machine, shutting it down, furlough and merger, severance and OT. Winner-takes-all society. The K-shaped economy.

“Don’t give the dog a donut”…. Some are born to be wired. Others to beg or die at an early age (malnutrition, ill-educated and lack of vaccines and vulnerable to cults and sub-cultures).

You live long, at times self-sabotaging and self-inflicting @home, by default serving as an echo chamber and conduit for social media lies, internalizing past critique and criticism that happened @work. Ironically, those unscripted comments, even quarterly performance reviews, were long forgotten, as bygone as the lamp you brought back from work (Joe vs the volcano) in those open Bankers boxes.

But the algorithm in the cloud doesn’t forget. Its function is to resurface “verified” version, as click baits, solicit immediate attention/emotion (to personalize programmatic ads). AI arrives without alarm. Slowly, surely then suddenly. Our new “electricity” to enable and make possible new Trillionaires?

Back then it was the laying of the Transcontinental Railroad with the Irish and Chinese coolies.

Nowadays, it’s the laying of fiber along said tracks (Wil-Tel) to extract data and dollars.

You have become what you detested. After all that self-projection and transference. Heroes and traitors, deserters and underground resistance (the Pianist).

Perception, like policies, always carried with them their own seeds of destruction (or expiration date). In Chunking Express, pineapple in can has expiration date. Even love has it.

No one wants to sit through a pre-mortem exercise. Or else we wouldn’t have failed, maimed and died needlessly. La vie sans joie. Street without joy.

At work, at home or at play, conflicts are inherent. Leaders expect diverse p.o.v.’s and tension (what DOGE! to the point of complete shut-down – in the vein of “destroy to save”). Thriving in chaos they move forward after weighing the long and short of policies, to reach 75% certainty. Timing is everything (with exit strategy in mind e.g. executive buy out package). Little did they know, it’s the 25% of unknown and unintended consequences that kill you.

Those who did the most damage gets the largest leave package (to save money in the long term. Speaking of long term, SNAP is good for future generation who will in turn contribute to our dwindling Social Security and Medicare pool).

We are not perfect. This reflects in our prejudice, perception of reality and personalities/clash. We bring to the job all of ourselves, warp and weakness (Don’t you hate those bot-filtering questions about ethnic origin, handicap and military service?). Obedience to authority studies confirm this. At My Lai, we did. At Uvalde, we didn’t (some was reportedly using hand sanitizer while waiting around for the shooter to run out of ammunition or ambition).

To those who are at the very top, what transactional games? They live it but never show like fish swimming in the water.

After a while, the real and the unreal merge like an actor deep in character. Role playing Ponzi at the top. Yes, we betrayed you. You’re now clustered in urban, sprawling around, where it’s “safer” (never mind traffic congestion due to antiquated infrastructure e.g. overcrowding sewage, fewer servers, pollution and overpopulation).

Rural vs Urban, small-town feel (eye contact) with urban amenities (Google fiber). Born to be wired. It’s best to pinpoint a fixed coordinate for control, navigation and if/when needed, drone destruction and reconstruction (Gaza beach).

At work, you play long; they play short. The best outcome is a compromise.

The problem with any pursuit, work or play, is by the time you reached destination, you’re too exhausted to enjoy. Earlier expectations by then have morphed (Maslow scale applied e.g. Valley of the dolls, our main character once wished to take up marriage for security, but by the end, self-actualizing already took hold).

Coffee and coffee. The common denominator. Even that is on the list of cost-cutting measures. Drink the Kool-Aid instead.

Globalizing the ill

Have you noticed first slowly, then suddenly, certain things just disappeared? Hardback, softcover, large print, vinyl and boombox…just to name a few.

Monuments stay. Libraries and cathedrals stay.

Millionaires used to leave behind endowments for library to spread and strengthen literacy and civic education.

On this note, I call on Tik Tok, Meta and Netflix to start giving back as a form of voluntary reparation for the crime of mass neuro-cide. The same mass they have “hooked” with self-inflicted race-to-the-bottom i.e. globalized content of the least common denominator- to maximize and monetize eyeballs (16 billions viewing trash talks, body parts and cheap comedy).

No? Oh, we’re just tech platforms. It’s up to Congress, section 230 etc… who couldn’t regulate Chinese content (no one reads nowadays, much less Chinese).

Opium and opioid for the mass. It makes for easier control and to manipulate. Lots of data to back up Ad billing claims. It used to be a tossup for marketers in analog broadcast eco system. Next morning Neilsen rating and ranking to find out if the show aired the night before was a hit. Now, the mass begs: “please hit me with your few-seconds-blip”. The subliminal is elusive, so self-evident and expected like toll at the toll booth.

We are willing creatures of conditioned reflex and response. Even response in the absence of stimuli. Brain dead. Neuro-suicide. Water-dripping torture.

With this slow-boil effect, suddenly. “I wake up to the sound of music, Mother Mary said to me…Let it be”. Tolerate it. Live with it.

Trillionaires today sell dreams on Mars, sacrificing today’s generation for a future nobody can stay around to verify.

Just to make sure you are not a machine. Can you commend so I know those eyeballs are from real – people with emotion and in motion.

We need a new generation, with a new explanation not zombie nation, whose citizens are well-oiled and mechanically sold out (AI is doing the selling, and we the taking).

We need Black Sabbath, not Black Friday. The globalizing of the grotesque. Who cares about learning (actually it is lifelong unlearning since edu-care means to bring out from pulpits what’s hidden inside) when things are readily available, cheaper, faster and better (sewing machine for fraction of yesterday’s cost).

All of a sudden, no longer do we jump, hop or frog-leg as should be. All tranquilized, narcotized and anaesthetized. A hyper-ill online “community”, albeit globalized (currently with little oversight – all distributed, blame or otherwise, leaving responsibility to self-regulated, self-correction in scale).

With minimum requirement for admission, an internet connection, then you’re in. MP3, MP4 etc…with no MP’s to guard the gate (against barbarian). The neuro-dead nexus of inter-subjectivity.

8 billion stories and counting. To get noticed, with the help of AI. It’s the best and worst of times. With hidden punchline and bottom-line: we’re hooked on it as new habits and norms. No twists of plot, no nothing. Certainly not hardback, softcover and vinyl. All 1’s and O’s.

Oh! talks of the town now involve a guy, at his own request, was beheaded while he was jerking off live online to troll. Masturbation and “kill me” for hire merged into one. A story that begins and ends in a close loop. No plot. No moral nor guardrails. Ecstasy and nihilism, violence and victory (of the platform that laughs itself to the bank).

Inadvertently, we are globalizing the ill which used to stay within walls; border walls or firewalls. Improved Gong Show is now re-open for business, wide open and welcoming the Good, the Bad and the Ugly. The last seems to get dignified by more Likes (fake news got around the world while real news barely finished tying its shoes).

Back then, around the Great Depression, people were in line for soup and bread, not at Tiffany, nor 84 Charing Cross Road. What was that device called phone? Without the benefit of seeing forward, little did they (1929 generation) know, today’s kids anywhere and everywhere, AI-assisted, could google and no one knows and can control content.

Good luck Tiffany Gore.

Much is given, much demanded. C’mon, Tik Tok, Meta, Netflix and Nvidia. You have reaped the benefits of write-offs. Isn’t it time to give back, just a few books (instead of cooking the book). Or if preferred, an occasional free content that elevates the mass (positive reinforcement). Help the truth and the good to tie their shoes, literacy vs ill, scholarship and mentorship instead of quick Prime “free” shipping (pickaxes, shovels, and sieves in today’s digital Gold Rush).

Millionaires in the past used to donate to library to lift up the mass, the huddle mass. Like vinyl with revenge but not return, certain things slowly then suddenly vanish without a trace. Have you ever wondered why?

Received vs Perceived

In ancient times, messengers/couriers had to run distance, arrive exhausted and get killed . Message-received more than often turns out different than message-perceived. Try it the next time you have a party, after a few drinks. Start a gossip, see how it takes on a life of its own unrecognizably at the other end.

Even in our age of Tera-bite broadband, lightning-fast fiber and millions of podcasters, we still haven’t done a good job at communicating. Folks like Reagan, Noonan, Gergen, Psaki hard-earned their money. In their capable hands, message-intended has higher chance of getting passed audience’s pre-conceived notion.

“The President said…”, he intends and means this and that. Please do not misconceive or prejudge.

Rephrasing and repeating.

In modern times, Press Secretary got fact-checked all the time at once. Not killed, just “fired”. Unknown unknowns.

Right before April 30, 1975, Dr Hung Nguyen held a press conference, paid for out of his own pocket, plus some pocket change from a sympathizer. The embassy staff of SVN had already fled, after cleaning out the safe.

The WH itself held a press conference, announcing that the war was over, and ALL personnel had been evacuated. No fact checks. Turned out there were a contingent rear guard troop on the Embassy roof (at that tail end of the war, people looted and burned oil drum worth of US currency).

Lucky for Kissinger, who lived well into his old age. In contrast to ancient times when rulers did not have to abide by the Rule of Law. In today’s charged atmosphere, having a heart in the right place is not enough. One has to be a diplomat, politician and a press secretary all at once. Don’t say “genocide”. Too violent and offensive. Don’t say “murder of innocent children.” (mass shooter).

Those are just two examples of how emotional language could stir. It’s there in the dictionary, but once it’s sent, received and perceived. oh boy oh boy, there is no stopping. I did not say staffers at the SVN Embassy “embezzled” to start their new lives in America. Had I written “staffers stole from their struggling country’s coffer whatever meager money for rice run”, I would have stepped on toes. It’s ironic that as a victim of war, I now have to be more “diplomatic” than the corrupt diplomats themselves.

Somebody did something to someone. And that someone died, unable to send any message from the grave.

Yet in front of the multiple mikes, I phones, watching eyes and notebooks, we have to restrain ourselves. Let Karma and the Court do their work. Justice grinds slowly but surely. There will be apprehension and compensation (hopefully with interests).

There will be punishment for crime committed. That’s what jails are for.

All I want is to have clarity of thoughts, warmth of heart and empathic language to convey my sense of sadness and sorrow. Good intentions and speed of delivery are never enough. Message-intended more than often gets mis-perceived.

In Asia, it’s not what you give, but how you do it.

Today, we’re all un/disqualified as a messenger. Where is your pouch, bike and helmet!

Let AI do the job. Can it do the job? In Joe vs the volcano, Tom Hanks’ supervisor from Hell keeps repeating himself over the phone: ” He gets the job. But can he do the job.”

Only when its (AI) heart is in the right place. Like Reagan’s City on the Hill, Noonan’s Characters count, Gergen’s the fire in next gen, and Psaki…. let ‘me be clear….

Repeat, reframe and even then, message from the heart still gets misperceived once received.

Reflections

It’s been fifty years since, yet that US-shaped cake with red-white-blue icing still lingers somewhere in my memory: all typewriters stopped, and all Child Welfare staff joined in “Happy Birthday”. Placing unaccompanied minors into foster care to them was just a job. To show me, unpaid interpreter, some humanity was extra.

The 322-22 highway curved along the Susquehanna River to lead the way. My first time away from home. Alone. To face destiny. Everything, everyone and everywhere looked utterly alien.

My mom stayed back in the camp, like a mother hen, guarding the fort of Indian town Gap (yet we had a heart to pick up a hitchhiker). My sister’s family of 6 got group sponsor down to Northern Virginia. My guitar brother had, without missing a beat, restarted his US pharmaceutical career in New Jersey. Voila! 4 different zip codes.

We’re almost out of the woods or so I thought. Maslow scale? No sweat. Starting at the bottom and working your way up the food chain aka the American Dream.

Balls of various shapes and sizes tossed and thrown at us: straight and curve, hit and miss (Playboy centerfold smashed in my face for instance). Threats behind e.g. hot war, Cold War and nuclear war, then war from within: doubt, death and fractious families/nation.

Naive and eager, I rolled up my sleeves: toilet flushing, floor mopping and sandwich-break on night shifts. You probably read about Steve Job’s notorious 3rd-shift demotion per poor hygiene and low social skills. In my case, back then, what “social skills?”! By wiping down really good, I thought this could somehow by way of penance scrub away our collective sin (just finished a book by my classmate: Rain on the Red flag. Could have been my story).

Fast forward to today, with declassified materials, we found in Kissinger a perfect scapegoat, whose politics of backroom dealing undermined the war.

After being washed and dry, sterilized and bleached, immersed and sprinkled – emerges an old Oriental at the gym. “You’re from Vietnam?”. So, it’s still my fault? (a walking sad reminder of a sorry time).

In America, one must first “find oneself” (individualism), live for the moment (without an inkling of the past) before self-effacing phase (world citizen) – the personal before the universal, I before We e.g. shaved head and painted face chameleon (like Woody Allen’s Tron lookalike in Sleeper, or in his Blue Jasmine – “yep, we were very civic-minded,” says the like of Madoff’s wife i.e. Cate Blanchett).

“Don’t stop thinking about tomorrow”, with given fine-print disclaimer (never in Large Print).

Suckers are losers. He who finishes with the most chips wins. It’s always been a numbers game/winner-takes-all society (what else to be there, given predictable and planned obsolescence e.g. fuel, hybrid, electric and Toyota’s recent hydro power, Wayne’s world to Waymo.

Breathe in.

Things will change again in 50 years e.g. hot or cold war, post-cold war, globalization then Monroe Doctrine 2. 0., the China card, Russia card and soon India one. Good luck to citizens of small nations – take heed: per Napoleon’s “whichever side got more ammo wins”. Hence, DoW (department of War).

That said, it’s time to take stock: my mom passed, my dad passed, my sister passed. It’s she who said “It’s finished” at our father’s funeral- while my dad seemingly and reluctantly complied, in limbo and in transit from the Western world to the afterworld.

This was quite consistent and characteristic of him who took the whole decade to join us in the US – someone who once had been in the employ of Air Vietnam yet could barely get a seat on the plane. His dictionary was Larousse. Mine, Merriam-Webster, an office parting gift to kick off a lifelong word search and soul search. Half-life living, in infinity, father and son, ignoring headwind on wings of wax, with occasional reminders of certain end.

In Other Colored, Orhan Pamuk wrote: “Everyman’s death begins with his father’s death”.

In my end, my beginning. While I appreciate being “sentient “and all, that alone could not predict my destiny. His journey consisted of constant uprootedness.

“Oi coi tau nhu xe doi long” …” if you missed the train I am on, you’ll know that I am gone…. you will hear the whistle blow a hundred miles”.

Although I did not leave camp by train, it sure feels like something that runs in the family: urban dwellers turned nomads. Whether it’s in 1954 or 1975 time passes all the same: like a blink of an eye.

Valley of the gods

From zero to 1. Disruptive behavior e.g. move fast, break things. West Coast upending East Coast, Palo Alto Rte 128. Tear-off jeans displace upscale jeans. “Stop-out” is the new “drop-out”. Who needs college! College? it’s where they teach you to question where technology is heading, whether it’s serving the need of humanity (the majority) or just follow through with humanistic and/or mechanistic rogue train.

When Singularity is here, when machine is more spiritual than man, and we shall all be more like (Greek) gods. Living forever, from head to toe with nip and tuck everywhere in the middle part (organ transplant anyone?). I am not sure I can afford the experiment, nor can I find things to self-occupy should I outlive my natural expiration date. But one must admire MIT (East coast) and revitalized Mission district (SF – West coast). H.G. Wells would be proud.

Between 2010-15, we witnessed another wave of tech revival: successful entrepreneurs turn around to help the likes of Gu’s Upstarts, solving a critical problem: the unbank. Everybody was into disintermediation, from Carvana to Casava, from Uber X to Lyft premier. At Nvidia, itself is its worst enemy. It’s the Nvidia way. Imagine waking up, brush your teeth and say to the reflection “today, you’re my worst enemy”. Yet its stocks show some truth to it. We’re full of blood and illusion (King Midas) and there is no need to be reminded.

It’s an exciting time to try and fail. Failures are badges of honor. It’s like the opposite of Russian Army in occupied territories (where there was no turning back). In the late 70’s, there in the Valley (silicon), people arrived in drove – driving up prices (of garages), to the tune of 2,500 dollars per square foot – to be barefoot and be disciples of Steve Jobs and Bill Gates. Hardware and software.

Public right to know vs privacy, net neutrality vs networking. Data is in. Dating is out. Who has the time. We will someday become gods. Or sexless angels. Keep the apps coming. Finally, I understood those Fortune Gods in Chinese restaurants: gourmet and gyms don’t mix. Eat the grease and enjoy life eternal.

Singularity is near. We earn so much money dropping out of college, we can always afford nip and tuck. First, they tell me I have to grow up. Then to thread carefully for fear of breaking things. Then they tell me to “move fast and break things” (no regrets). Now, Daniel Pink found out about “the power of regrets”. oh boy, opioid. So confusing. Peter Thiel often recommends students to drop out. In today’s climate of student loan and student visa restriction, perhaps one should put equal weight to that fork on the road: “To enroll or not to”.

To take the second option is to bet on something like Home Brew and Whole Earth Catalog can happen again in our productive lifetime. Some bets pay off. Most times, in the age of AI, one can still lose one’s shirts. Never become a graduate nor a god. In the valley or at the mountain top. The Greek sought wisdom, the Jews signs. “Give me a sign…hit me one more time”. When the Emperor gives a thumps up, gladiator lives. Down, dead. Binary world we live in, always zero or 1. Keep going down that path, zillions of forks on the road. I once… was blind…but now I see.

Our secrets

Paul Tournier said, “Nothing makes us so lonely as our secrets”.

Those moments when we felt more like Fredo than Michael Corleone. Fredo, played by Cazale, half Irish, half Italian was at one time in a relationship with Meryl Streep (also in the Deer Hunter where she played a Vietnam draftee’s bridesmaid in a Slavic shotgun and send-off wedding who in a spur of the moment, accepted Christopher Walken’s proposal – best man and bridesmaid coupling).

In real life, Streep stood up for Cazale so he could finish his production contract. With cancer – unplanned but manageable – he came across feeble, hence a bit ill-suited for Nam (missing out on those Russian roulette wagers, a script originally pitched for Vegas).

Also appeared in Sydney Lumet’s Dog Day Afternoon, Godfather 1 & 2, the Conversation, Cazale was made for second-fiddle roles. Our water boy. “Stop playing around with that (handgun) – here, Nam’s Russian Roulette wager “click” – sweat or blood).

Like a Jim Croce’s line “every time I tried to tell you, the words just came out wrong “; he couldn’t quite defend himself, physically or verbally – not a quick wit – more than often he froze, on a hunting trip or bank shoot-out, terrified with gun – Carbine – to the side).

Subdued and weak (swirling around on a tiny moped in Gene Hackman’s confine sound lab – in the Conversation), he was more a sound man than cameraman (often taller like Michael Douglas in Three-Mile-Island prescient role).

Chris Cuomo of CNN was furious when called “Fredo”. DJT was also mentioned in the same breath when he grandstanded (the Divider pg. 137).

I turned one when both siblings were in college: hence, chores for change. Why not! Someone had to off-load my busy mom.

I know what’s it like to have my Fredo moment. heck, Fredo life. I once was in tears at a friend’s father’s funeral – to a fellow Penn Stater’s surprise. Perhaps I used the occasion to offload my pent-up loss i.e. my father was left behind in Vietnam for a good decade while my friend’s dad “wasted good wine”, hitting tennis balls, in State College.

Other time, a TV producer talked shop jokingly to have me cover Three-Mile-Island melt-down live (an intern was supposed to be expandable = like that sound man in The China Syndrome, fiction incidentally, released a few weeks before real life). When my brother got married again: “Your turn to take care of Mom” (family first). But, but…. (no “but”).

It’s settled – by the new Godfather (that) Fredo does Vegas. Spined-off to outer “Siberia”, his first self-determination to stand on his own feet in the desert on behalf of family (mafia) interests, then fell prey and seduced by a sense of false belonging (indulgent and decadent sub-group – his new “family” sense of belonging, whose “Sinatra” figure face down on the massage table.

Fredo, our outer most electron, experienced “de-individuation” (that stripping process that molds a neglected household member into a cult member, reinforced by mob behavior and herd instinct). The Stockholm Syndrome.

Strong men are quite magnetic. After all, they are “anointed”. the Othering = the weakling. We “are pre/destined” for bigger dreams. F*** the fear (foul language was intended to shake loosed old ethics and stoke his rah rah Mad Max base).

“No one listens until and unless we take up arms.” “Shoot ‘m. (Thailand toddlers at a day-care). Rape them, rob them (Thai pirates on Boat People). Results? record-high guns death. Killing as a way to get attention and be immortalized (9/11 martyrdom?).

This is for all lonely people on our lonely planet and On-line: faster connection, fewer commitment and minimum accountability (spam and hacking). Attention-starved and all spread thin. Before the internet, it’s existential loneliness (TV screen).

After the internet, it’s exponentially existential (myriads of “others” – just popped up per software recommendation – always and mysteriously “suits” our propensity and temperament without algorithms like Fisher Temperament Index in match.com).

Petabytes of personal data on X and Meta, Twitter and Tik Tok. Don’t ever call me “Fredo”. It’s the “n-equivalent”, like “gooks” and “illegals”. He who dies with the most “like” wins.

When I am weak, I am strong. Go ahead and call me “rooky gooky”. Strong” Saul-turned-“weak” Paul – a 180-degrees U turn – from “righteous kill” to “love is kind”. No wonder those in a lower caste empathize more – for the meek will inherit the Earth. Beggar shows beggar where (stale) bread is. At this edit, R.I.P. Pope Francis, Jesuit and champion of the downtrodden.

Meanwhile “Genius”, forsaking their stewardship, tend to exploit and extract, from Mother Nature and others – even in the name of Manifest Destiny – for personal gain. “Screw it, let’s do it”. Of all the money, at times borrowed, poured into building bombs, a tiny fraction finally is, unintended consequences, in the hands of common folks, taxpayers, in the form of ARPANET and GPS. Yeah! The equalizer 3.0.

Cazale was in four films that I am aware of. We don’t often think of him as an Oscar-winner for Best Supporting Actor or Meryl Streep’s boyfriend. He ‘d just “done time”, sweated and bald, slumping on the floor at the bank corner or ride in the front seat (Dog Day Afternoon).

We want Robert De Niro (or Michael the Marine) to return and save his fallen friends. Rambo-like. John Waye as Jesus. Revisited and white-washed history in Honorable Exit (or a banker who “saved” 113 Vietnamese, getting a kick and taking his time during “fifteen minutes of fame” e.g. obtaining intelligence from a hooker’s relative).

Yet, our uniform-clad hero hunter had his sudden “Fredo” moment, just like all of us (as he leaned back and hid out of sight in an airport taxi, skipping his own Welcome- Home party – feeling awkward and undeserving: “Johnson, how many babies you killed today!”). It’s one thing to pull a prank by taking on a dare i.e. running naked in the snow; it’s another to see or cause Kim Phuc running from real hot napalm like a Berkeley nude jogger.

In the end of The Deer Hunter, our decorated veteran, tried re-entry i.e. got a deer in crosshair. Unlike his subsequent failed Russian Roulette rescue mission, he got a choice: enough killing already! (My Lai, Song Thang, Song Be with napalm/agent orange). Recreational sporting once enjoyable, now self-projecting. Heroes got secrets too! Can’t get his friend back but he can let go the deer! Imago Dei. All creatures great and small.

So Catavina fades in on Clairton hillside, early 70’s scene. The feel and the fear of being seen as dim-witted – unlike 1945 Times Squares iconic kissing sailor and the nurse.” I feel a distance, far away”, he uttered to Meryl Streep, who was cleaning up after a no-show party. The last few inches are hardest, especially when she happened to previously pick your best friend over you (only to see him went AWOL).

Out-takes show congenial Fredo getting slapped around, tossing and throwing empty lunchbox in the air like Blue-Collar cap.

Every day is Graduation Day at the School of Steel. “This is for all the lonely people, thinking life has passed them by…” All the “Stevies” of Vietnam.

Nothing makes us so lonely as our secrets.

Preface

A Purdue graduate has designed a robot that can cut through the Rubik cube chase in a blink of an eye. That’s 51 years’ worth of twist and shout, frustration and triumph. Next gen is with new promises albeit working at greater speed. Daughters, all futures. Dad past.

Julie Kim Le’s showcased in split-screened reproduction of the heirloom violin my father hand-carried over to America after that lost decade. As if “yesterday once more” on the radio (our only means of receiving news, opinion, propaganda and music besides newspaper or mobile au parleur mounted atop those three-wheel Lambrettas, Vietnamese Jeepneys),

When first arrived at Penn State, I couldn’t type, couldn’t write couldn’t spell (“Psychology” what’s the “P” doing there?). Journalism 101 was such torture.

After dropping out that first week, I got right back on the broadcasting horse my sophomore year. Woodward and Bernstein would need Robert Redford and Dustin Hoffman to portray them in All the President’s Men. Hence, the craft and creativity of white balance, lighting, audio and close ups. When visiting the Post, old workplace, Mr. Bernstein commented that “things are so quiet”. It’s quite contrast to the analog 70’s.

Typewriters, at the time, smoked. In journalism lab or actual newsroom, you could feel tension in the air or on air with producers, like Vicky of WNEP-TV 56, who tried to beat the six-o-clock deadline: bending her typewriter into submission, then stop watched the last lead-in paragraph for network news cut-over). Yesterday, I revisited those days myself with September 5, the DVD.

Everything and everyone seemed to smoke. From Three-Mile-Island nuclear reactors (non-fiction) to Michael Douglas – hairy camera man in The China Syndrome (fiction) – from Slap Shot to Shaft detective, from Rocky Horror to Rocky Balboa, men of muscles in itchy jockstraps and knee-high socks.

Did I miss anything? Oh, Woodstock relics and residual. All hair. All groovy.

Just a few weeks before graduation, my underwear and change of clothes were also Heli-delivered to Harrisburg where we were stuck covering the “meltdown” (I was simply an intern, but the ABC-affiliate needed to ferry the 3/4 inches tape on its return trip, so might as well).

Now that I remember that incident against a more traumatic backdrop of (Crisis and luck) babies not underwear got tossed like basketballs from hovering choppers, or fast forward to two heli-crash in sand-dusty desert during the Iranian-hostage rescue (Shadows of regrets).

Still with me is that yellowish copy form letters by US-Aid whose “winning hearts and minds” project my sister worked for. Her luck and determination rubbed off on our entire family (Why should they have it all).

We’re creatures of our own habit: our people love all things French e.g. baton, baguette, beret, beignet or use animal symbols to brand products, and how Westerners – colonialist and war-hawkish – were seduced by while trying to subdue our people (the Quiet Vietnamese), their enemy (Past as prologue). Apparently the GVN leveraged its weakness better than the US its strength.

To uncover this conundrum, I spent a whole month in Hanoi (Dec 2008), walking around and visiting bloodline relatives previously stayed behind North of the 17th parallel, our Berlin wall. By looking under the proverbial hood, I learned a lot about myself and where I came from. No longer do I want to be hip (Vietnamizing Woodstock) or climb career ladder in Me 2.0.

In truth, Me 3.0 devotes to depressurize, decontaminate, deprogram and detox (the Materialist). A generalist, I’d have died trying to fulfill parents’, siblings’ and teachers’ (the Intangible) expectations, God knows I have (Our secrets). Then technological AI and subscription model (programmatic ads) are molding and manufacturing industrial homogeneous stove pipes and specs e.g. individualists and consumers after its image. Everyone thought they found common ground, but only in walled-off forum. Outer-directed but in-group.

By the time I obtained my version of the American Dream, it’s obsolete.

” He is no fool to lose that which he cannot keep gaining that which he cannot lose.” Jim Elliot was prescient.

After Penn State, I worked briefly for Children’s TV International, then grad school. While there, I audited an undergraduate English lit course – not in our prerequisites – to get a better feel for Western thought life. After all, I grew up witnessing weapons, not words, that had more say (Tet 75).

Seeing my course incomplete report, that teacher across the street took up issues with my graduate department. “Hey, none of my business, but.” Little did she know I was going to drop everything anyway; from Russian’s War and Peace – to A Separate Peace, for refugee camp. Those camps housed people who had survived repeated rape and piracy. In brief, I made a quick U turn, from the football field to the Killing Field.

Living in those camps once again forced me to reflect upon and appreciate my own condition: “all blood and illusion” as King Midas put it. Then reverse culture shock found me in a Mackintosh society, with Moore’s Law and money doubling its speed every 18 months.

With penchant for getting out in front or being in the thick of trouble, from the Fall of Saigon to the threat of nuclear meltdown, from the plight of Boat People to the death of distance (MCI), sprinkled with 9/11, covid and AI rise; I now am reluctant to move fast and break things (Third Tower) nor do I indulge self-denial e.g. heavenly mandate, “white”-man’s burden the like of Tom Dooley (On Earth as it is online) or Albert Sweitzer.

Once a mama’s boy (mother as life source) in “Mom’s Ao Dai” I was worried of turning “Psycho” (what’s that “P” is doing there again) i.e. slashing shower curtain in Hitchcock’s horror scene. False self-perception shaped by media.

On top of shame (new northern kid often got bullied in the South) in 1.0, I was offered a spiritual solution: guilt (original sin) 2.0. To cope, I churned out an “Elegy of a trophy son” in long-form (3.0)

At times, not knowing how to prove my worth (“do an bam” parasitic free-loader!) in high-context culture (Thuong cho roi cho vot = when you love a kid, give him a spank), I tried to please every generation that came before and after (just to be safe).

One culture demands submission (Phuong’s sister – the Quiet American) the other worships independence and individual freedom (where financial middlemen are glad to help). I notice more couple lately settled with adopting a pet than raising a baby.

You’re damn if you do, damn if you don’t. Both cultures play the “not good enough” game,

As Marmalade in a CBS documentary showing shirtless G.I.’s in the jungle of Vietnam:

” The world is, a bad place, a terrible place to live” …. then “oh, but I don’t want to die” ….

Unlike Stevie (Christopher Walken) in the Deer Hunter who out of adrenaline addiction, sent his Russian Roulette jackpot back to support his Slavic dancing buddy (groom draftee turned paraplegic), we sure will run into each other over Frankie Walli’s “Can’t get my eyes off of you” e.g.” I thank God I am alive”.

Even as I penned: “you may be done with the killing, but not the healing” I exaggerated for form. Ever since I gained awareness of my immediate surrounding, violence – verbal or physical – has been a constant (6 or more successive coups after Diem’s) despite our rhetoric of “turning sword to plowshare.” Oliver Sack says it best:

“My predominant feeling is one of gratitude. I have loved and been loved. I have been given much, and I have given something in return. Above all, I have been a sentient being, a thinking animal, on this beautiful planet, and that is in itself has been an enormous privilege and adventure.”

Good luck w/Rubik cube as if AI were not to stay.

Shadows of regrets

Our elderly statesman, former President Carter, once told Charlie Rose he still regrets not sending enough choppers out on Eagle Claw, the Iranian hostage rescue. In the same vein, I couldn’t forget Operation Frequent Wind whose choppers couldn’t be rid of quickly enough.

Those who don’t act also have regrets. But perhaps less than those who do. Thankfully, we are living in a digital age i.e. more tolerance for risks and failing due to larger data set. Keep taking those selfies, until it’s right. Keep tweaking those EV batteries, redesigning those chips and testing the Beta software. Seth Godin once said that without all his previous unsold books, he would not have a hit. Revision and regret: revision makes better version while regret erodes confidence which leads to resign to fate.

BCG has a chart which shows people, leaders included, last longer than the companies they helped create. Top 10 companies now fluctuate just as quickly as the USA TODAY Top 10 books. Recently notable dot.com survivors grew into conglomerates e.g. Alphabet and Amazon, Alibaba and Apple, pathway that GM and GE once took.

Will these giants live down their own ITT-size regrets? We are talking about huge projects like human life extension, on-demand autonomous ride sharing, and space X. Google promises to design its phones and A.I. with users in mind – more bars and faster fiber to the curb. Apple maintains its lead in customer satisfaction, given stiff tariff at this edit.

From Frequent Wind success to Operation Eagle Claw failure, we learn that helicopters and instruments might tactically be well planned, but they are at the mercy of field variables such as sand and wind (in the desert).

I’d rather live in regrets for having acted than not at all, to live at the margin than underlive proper. A few more helicopters could have altered many lives, lessening the amount of regrets Carter’s included.

On losing loved ones

A lifetime of interaction reduced to just a name on grave marker. Something is hollowed out, a vacuum unfilled.

While living, we gave so much weight to feelings: anger, humiliation, humor, humility, assigning ill intention, assigning blame, false accusation, second-guessing and self-projection.

Just stressed out. Just figuring it all out. Then understood, finally (no finality to anything. Just an abrupt and unannounced end).

We are a mixed bag, lash out not on strength, but out of weakness (self-preservation). We were quick to see flaws in others, most conveniently, people close to us. Proximity breeds contempt. Distance makes the heart grow fonder.

Death put a nail on all of this. No more lingering, self-recrimination or regret. Find someone else to mutually commiserate. Drama on screen at least shows credits to actors after THE END. In life, we are conditioned to take down as opposed to build up, criticize versus praise. Bad news, especially fire and storm, make the news.

Here, at the place of final resting, one experiences loss. Warp and all. But loss. Eerie and prolonged absence. Terminally. Like a train at rest at the end of the line, no longer to be attended to. No more departure nor arrival. No luggage, no ride. No ticket.

Just immobile. At rest. All the striving, struggling and competing. A man/woman in full.

Sunrise or sunset, no difference! Being early or late? No difference.

Loved ones, once hugged or greeted, now just a name to be “viewed”. Folded and enclosed, three-dimension person to just a name, from left to right. Two dimensions with choices of font. Yet from our deepest, we recognize resemblance…the face (at arrival gate) the voice (long-distance collect call) and definitely the eccentricity (Killing Me softly…). In dreams and memories. When asleep or while awake.

My sister wouldn’t let anything stand in her way. Colloquial expressions that extinct: “noi cau” (getting angry), “duoc the” (on the roll).

My Dad exercised not at the gym, but in the woods, not punching bag but banana trees. He once swam and pushed a boat on which sat weeping folks among whom my mom, brother and a neighbor to safety.

My brother-in-law insisted on the rule of law (he made no effort to hide his contempt for Kissinger) yet once flanked on both sides by high-ranking “enemies” – forgiveness aside. Just human-to-human link (after having a few, tipsy and all).

And Mom. Blessed Mom. She was busy the whole time I could remember. 30-years’ worth of student workload, correcting mistakes, misspells and miscalculation. Class ratio 57:1. No wonder, my interaction was what left over of her day. Not to mention gender and generation gap.

Now, they are safely under snow-covered graves. Names spelled in accordance with and in the order, originally given: Last name, Middle and First.

Family names first. Individual last. Clan vs individual. Harmony trumps eccentricity.

97 per cent of the same gene pool, rice-fed and war-weary. Striking features similar laugh. Family.

Pew Foundation found 2/3 of people are still religious, mostly due to Covid (and larger forces at work, such as imminent death itself).

A majority of us believe there was a soul, an afterlife, a place of dwelling beyond death.

Just in case. It doesn’t cost anything to hedge the bet. To have faith in the unseen. No use to speculate.

Meanwhile, current address as we all know, is not our permanent address.

That permanent address is not on Amazon shipping label. In this case, it’s a Section. Serenity.

Un-visited graves. On losing loved ones. It hurts like Hell. One’s life is diminished, especially in Asian extended-families culture (Everything all at once etc…) Rest of life living in limping, underlived in fact. still structured but with bitter taste in the mouth (survivor’s guilt).

People as species, in an intergalactic struggle for survival.

On losing loved ones, we try to fill up the huge holes inside. We spot faces in the crowd, gray hair and bent back, on a walker or on wheels, waiting for a ride or being assisted at handicap parking. Deja Vu! Flash forward to our very selves. That’s when we cultivate and grow empathy, compassion and charity. Per Saint Paul, the last is the greatest.

Yet they don’t sell it on Amazon under C, after Books. Nor do they talk about it on Tik Tok.

On subject of loss. R.I.P. Play Misty for Me…..The first time, ever I saw your face…Sis, it must have been at the mid-wife hospital where I first sighted and followed your movement (still a young girl then and was not so sure about your newly born baby brother and all). Later, shadowing you to local convenient store, to create an opportunity for myself: the more you bought, the more likely I got those bonus lemon candies.

I must stop here, but as long as I still have a heartbeat, I won’t forget, you take me to first day of school, Ecole L’Aurore …Mom, ironically, started hers at nearby Elementary- busy tending to other people’s kids.

Y’ all nurtured and encouraged me. We’re chain-linked, like roots, on life raft, tearful and frightful, with minimal hope. Together, we’re with better odds to survive the Unknown. Now that losing you doesn’t feel so bad, since I know you already knew what it was.