Thang Nguyen 555

It’s Thanksgiving. Can’t think at all, but if I have to, I would put 2 and 2 together.

To know that nothing is permanent, especially our problems (per Charlie Chaplin, who also said, “a day without laughters is a wasted day”).

So let’s begin with some “impernanent things”, like Covid, Napalm, Agent Orange, Opioid, Injustice of the Native American – our fellow American, host of this land of “our” land…

By the way, what were those photographers in fatigue, taking Putlizer-prize photos of displaced children, scared to death of their then-destroyed homes?

I debated in Journalism class about Ethics in Photo-Journalism: should I, as a photographer of an unfolding drama, drop our gear to intervene and miss a moment. Of course, we could rescue this one and that one, but only have two eyes and two hands for this sort of mission creep. Or we cover it as precisely and professionally to enlist help, from around the world, and for ages….

Hemingway, once a Medic driver during WWII and the Spanish War, decided to live through those dramas himself in order to write, economically and empathically.

I had my moments of fear, trepidation and loss. Yes, I left everything and jumped on a unmoved barge (it was not even a boat with a captain).

Damn barge.

At times, it moved. Other times, it didn’t. Can’t say nothing to it. Just sit, hold your breath and your pees.

Fate in the hands of the Unknown.

No lights, except for occasional flares and flashes from afar, whatever distance we put between ourselves and what just hours before had been Home.

I understand and empathise with those kids…running naked, not toward an unknown future, but away from familiar home and unfamiliar danger.

Who wanted to become an US citizen in that life-and-death moment. Who wanted a Lexus, a Louis Vuitton bag…or even some clothes (she must have taken a bath when napalm rained down on her over bathwater..BTW, the girl in the picture later became whole, married with a family who loved her…something to be thankful for).

So on this Thanksgiving morning, I thank God for the four adults(2 down, 2 to go) of my original family (themselves refugees of war to begin with). The two survivors called me, one in assisted living, the other, can still drive to visit our oldest sister, in ICU after just her first day in Assisted (mild strokes).

No one invited them over for a Thanksgiving dinner just yet (between them, they got 6 kids, grown and accomplished. Bastards!).

For me, I’ve got 2 daughters of my own, and one adopted who have just become an US citizen (after I saw her inhaling second-hand smoke, not Napalm’s – the journalist’s ethics in me creeps up….keeping me busy….”Dad, this, Dad that’” for the past 7 years).

I thank God for protecting me so I can protect others.

I have lived a life “skinned my head and skinned my knees”…having enrolled in at least 10 schools at my last count.

Learning my “ABC’s” in three languages…being proficient in none.

Being grateful that I still am breathing during this forever pandemic, and after our longer and longest war (Vietnam, Afghanistan etc…).

Always running, once looking backward….fearful for my life…along side many others….

Together, we run, we cry, we laugh at the absurdity called life….which is not permanent…

Charlie Chaplin once said “Nothing is permanent”… He is so right….especially, about “a day without laughters is a day wasted.”

So I laught at myself. At how quick at times I found myself in tears…even as grown man, crying at love and loss e.g. lost links and loyalty, a lost house we had just repainted, the moss-covered alley through which to and fro schools. At many failed dates and fates. Had I known then what I know now..( I would linger and never let go…to store photographic memories of those faces….which we both knew were our last. “On Earth we were briefly gorgeous”.

On second thought, perhaps Nick Ut was right to capture “the napalm girl” (which won him his Putlizer). Or else, we wouldn’t have a graphic..to illustrate the point. The point is even our WORST moment of War is not permanent. Time heals both ungrateful and grateful heart. Mine is very much the later. How about yours? On this day, I hope yours join mine, in saying “Thanks”. That’s all we have to say, and meant it. The Maker knew both kinds, like in the back of his hands, who is His Judas and who is his Johns. And the Word made flesh….the Logos…among which the word “Thanks.” (non-verbal language count)

My oh my…. I once thought it was end-game: no more “Je t’aime” , a chance to say “Thank you God”, “Cam On Ngai” . Now we can all laugh til tears running down our cheeks…Don’t let Thanksgiving 2021 go down as a wasted day i.e…..without love in our hearts…or.whatever is left of that wounded organ of ours, napalm girl’s included. If she can do it, we can do it.

Just Yes or No. Black or White. Heaven or Hell. You get the gist.

No nuances, context, or even human lies (selective memories).

As we grow older, we store more memory. It’s harder to recall a particular incident or name.

Filter it.

Narrow it down, the Search.

Forced choices, alternate only.

When I first arrived to College Campus, not knowing a single soul. Campus Crusade for Christ approached me, at my most vulnerable point of my life. “May we sit down?” they, two of them, Scott and Dean, said. “Sure”, I replied, trying to finish my Whopper (w/out cheese).

Would you like to go to Heaven or Hell? (Bill Bright, their founder, was a Sales man). Alternate choice.

Later, a well-versed in Sales myself, I learned that people tend to gravitate towards choice B, when asked a binary question (close-ended, not open-ended).

I went on to have a bunch of degrees in Communication, Broadcasting, Cross-Cultural communication….you name it.

I even went overseas, to live among different people, of races, classes and cultures. Just to get it down. From person A to person B, without a lot of noise.

Message intended never equals message perceived. Hence, comes the lying, misperception and reading-into the situation. (that’s why palm reading is still around today).

We will never have PERFECT 100 per cent communication break-through. Even among spouses or best of friends. Teachers/students, politicians (esp this type) and constituents.

I don’t even venture to mentioning Priests and Believers….I am in total surprise that after Martin Luther (not Marin Luther King) with his “priesthood of all believers”, we still see priests’ abuse to the degree that the Church has to use its “holy” coiffeurs to settle out of court.

Back to my Barbie World and Binary World. These “damn” machines are learning, while we are sleeping. (So does Henry Kissinger, whose name appears in more recent AI publication along with Eric Schmidt of Google).

It learns how to “auto complete” our thoughts. Our spelling. Our everything.

Binary world. No nuances. No fuzziness. No changing of mind. Of second thought. Second guessing. Or context and cultures. It is all about “quantisation”, of our vocal chords, our biological rhythm. In China, the Machine dictates. Where you can work, what street you can cross (not jay walk – or drunkard’s walk).

In short, enjoy, while it (freedom) lasts. When the machine has done with its learning. Oh my. I am out of here. Back to Barbie’s World. Back to the Jungle Book. Africa is rising anyway (By any and all demographic indications).

In the jungle, nobody knows your name. Just shake the proverbial tree. I am still hanging in there.

But against the machine? I am out.

It remembers. It stores. It recalls. It retrieves….with 99.99999 per cent of accuracy.

Of late, I have done all the ghost work a man my age can muster: cashier (self-checkout), print my boarding pass (and while at it, my luggage tag), reserve my rental, book my hotel, make my own in-room coffee (while still leaving behind a tip for whoever make the bed for the next guest). etc… All started with a self-serve island at the pump (except for New Jersey) – as if it helps reduce gas prices.

Automation. Artificial intelligence. Machine and man, working together. Efficiency.

But….there always is a “but”.

I don’t get to chat (as an extravert, this denial and deprivation is akin to death). I can’t voice up my doubt, my uncertainty and my fear.

Just choose. No room for guess. For ambiguity or ambivalence. Yes or No. Black or White. Left or Right. Heaven or Hell. Heck with this. I am going to bed. Let the machine run and rule the world. Along with dictators and their henchmen. There is a quote:” the world is getting worse, not because of bad actors, but because good men stood by and turned heads”.

Freedom? Democracy? Justice? All Jokes? how about beauty, honesty and truth? Dream and memory. Kindness and compassion? and God forbid, Love and hate, plus a thousand shades in between. (I had my shares of heart breaks, of misreading the body language vs spoken one “If I stayed here just a little bit longer…won’t you listen. to my heart oh my heart”). Want those? Go back to your Barbie World…..and even then, it’s not even safe there. I read yesterday, some guys picked a fight with a muppet on Sesame Street. Saying it’s Korean American. Not White American, hence, not a true one (No wonder, “On Earth, we’re briefly gorgeous”.) He threatened to de-fund PBS. Good luck to land an interview with the Newshour to voice his grievances.

Barbie World is behind us. Binary World, ahead. We are living in a limbo, a purgatory of our own divided making. And I feel both tired and eager to fight for what’s left of what I know the world should and could look like. Well, at least, you may say, as a legacy for my grown daughters. Love them. Will die for them. Any time. (“I am a Barbie girl, in a Barbie world….”).

Of late, we’ve been pre-friending online. Then came our face to face get-together: dress and cross-dress to impress. Pressing the flesh. Pushing the schedule, re-arranging the furniture, setting up the sound system and of course, bringing in the food. Voila!

We’ve got a venue, a mini-event. A party.

Every fifteen minutes or so, as if seeing a ghost, we heard a loud scream: someone arrived unannounced and unexpectedly.

A three-dimensional friend joins in. As if jumping out of the screen. Still with roaming personality (hovering), same winding speech ( village people during oral tradition) and of course, our action-oriented MC who just wanted everybody to dive in to eat (different time zone in his stomach).

Either from Sarasota if not Saratoga, Saigon or Little Saigon. We got lost. Or we showed up. Voluntarily. Decades ago, the opposite way (ditching classes for a matinee at Vinh Loi – French last bastion for cultural propaganda: Alain Delon…”Je t’aime”, Je t’aime toujours. )

We came. On foot or on wheel chair. Drying or dyeing our hair. with cholesterol pills and glucosamine pills.

Still recognisable? That’s good.

Still alive? Cool.

Still with hair or no hair, no problem. You’re in.

OK, this is for you, for you, for you. Who is this in the zip lock bag? Co “Tea”..”Cu onion”, “number 2”, “Principle Cinnamon” and of course, last but not least, “stinky socks”……hahaha ( I lost a fortune on prizes, underestimating my classmates’ IQ).

My body is aching (came home really late last night). Had seen my daughter (undergoing chemo therapy) before the get-together. I had to drag myself there. Sensitive friends saw through my facade, “somebody got to get this guy out of stress mode…give him a drink”.

We made concious choices: eating or greeting, dancing or dressing up like a drag queen (at least, in my case).

“We had joy, we had fun, we had seasons in the Sun..” Wine and cigars, upgrading to first-class…why not. It’s the package (severance or retirement).

Partying at any age. Lucky nobody rented a Party Jumper out front. Or else, some of us might have tried. (Sorry, got interrupted by a text, my oldest sister finally moved in to Assisted Living. She used to go to the all-girls Trung Vuong, CVA’s counterparts,( Rain in Saigon Rain in Hanoi).

Time flows one way.

Upper classmen often quoted ” one cannot swim in the same river twice”… Class 71 are harbingers of what we someday find ourselves.

Down that road, by any measure , we will be cut short by attrition. Decent interval. Just like the winding down of the Vietnam War that plagued our school years.

The remnant will continue just as we did last Sunday, and many Sundays after that.

But per “Song with no Name, # 8” “Ve sau va nhieu nam sau nua, co Buon nhung van khong bao gio bang hom nay:”. (melancholy might resurface now and then at unguarded moments, but it wouldn’t be as heart-wrenching as today). Class 71 lost another one right after their 50th Re-Union in San Jose. Yet they managed to leave behind a publication…whose conceptual founder tried to “bond” with me in between customers (he operates a one-stop business mailing center in his retirement).

I’d rather us meet up than never. It’s been worth it . I failed – 67- and tried again for the 68 entrance exam, only to change horse mid-stream 72. Van, my new friend, recounted a bus trip he was on…looking out the window, seeing young Malaysian riding bikes, male and female (not main dans la main) but girls sitting cross-legged in back; so care-free and blissful. He, at the time, was “housed” on that island under duress and anxiety, ill at ease given local hostile reception. The grass always seem greener…

On the plus side, we’ve got Thoa – our writer/designer who felt the warmth of a thousand fires.

Perhaps in a few years, Thoa and Truong Nong (B3 and B1, respectively) can collaborate on OUR 50th issue.

It would be our last great gathering, on canes and on wheel chairs, grey hair and glucosamine.

Who can go backward? Time waits for no one.

So long my old/young friends. who “skinned our heads and skinned our knees.” ——–

penned by Chau (lop dem) – AKA Chau 10 checks, who alone, escapes the curse of time.

Please friending me (if you can even recognise me). Virtually only. No more incident at the Beach.

Looks as if we were stuck with one another for a while on spaceship Earth. Did not ask for it. Can’t get off it. Might as well live with it.

“It” here involving the virus, with Climate Change and as in the case of my daughter, breast cancer.

I have travelled a lot, stepped on the plane, at times, with one-way ticket.

But lately, the vessels I were on were mostly smaller, for shorter hops, fellow travelers younger, nimbler with larger carry-on. All masked up. All staring harder for facial engagement.

Then I found myself seeing old friends, far away friends, more frequently.

The “animals” feel the crumble first. Of extinction and destruction.

Of erosion and final end.

We know. When it’s time. When the End Game is approaching.

Many of us rushed and exited the Stadium before knowing the final scores to avoid traffic. The same with our existence, when those threats are looming: infrastructure, a heated climate and a cooling economy.

Kids are living in anxiety, though they don’t show it (vaccination? increased pressure to live up to yesterdays curriculum – pre=covid one).

Educators are expected to hold the standard (academic), but politicians are not to constituent pressures.

Kids are more adult-like, while adults kids.

An upside-down society where norms are abnormalized.

More cultic than cultured.

More digging our heads into the sand than lifting up our eyes above the horizon.

Only when we reached the peak can we see the other side, and enjoy the majestic and magnificent view from the top.

If it were only nature (the Garden of Eden), we then wouldn’t last long, emotionally.

We need other people, not for their service alone. But for companionship and contest. They also need us, to bounce off their views, to vent their frustration and to applaud our accomplishment.

Lately, I have attended old-friend reunions.

I have seen people grow, people died. Many never out-grow their given personality.

But most are successful. We were the ones who passed the exams, passed the challenges life threw at us, at our generation.

Who would start high school only to be delayed due to an invasion. Who would end high school due to a collapse of a regime.

Yet we tried and thrived despite. To complete our assignment (class) and our mission (life).

Never look back. It brings nothing but regret and remorse. “Just move on”, they said.

To the next peak and valley. Still ahead. There always are, those unknown.

Do or die, as a friend said.

The force of circumstances. Of nature, of trials and tribulation. Of known risks.

Still moving on. Yesterday and today. Often without a manual. Without pedagogy or philosophy.

Just be, just do, just live. Then add style to pepper it, spice it with arts, music and poetry.

At times, it’s not just passing the school exams but passing the challenges of life that counts.

Life is what it is. To many, it’s a blessing, others curse. To me, it’s a journey, an uphill one. Many times exhausting. Tearful even.

Then the last time I checked, I have become, though not yet overcome. But the man I am today came about with a price.

Price paid for joy, for fun, for lessons and for discovery.

And then God made man….leaving him alone to find out what’s it’s all about.

Those who venture more find out more. Those who venture less, miss out more.

Life is a long and winding road, of self-discovery (as the “self” interacts with other elements to find out what’s it is really made of). Our Maker gave us life, with best intentions and poor instructions. Partially abandoned, we are here to help one another to make it through. Hence, it looks as if we might be stuck with each other for quite a while, with masks on and on an empty stomach. Time to eat, again.

What kind of Creator who allows the worst to happen to my most loved?

What in the world does He think He is, playing God, throwing the dice around.

My daughter, barely out of the gate, with full life ahead of her.

Now, unrecognizable (no hair, thick glasses and covid mask).

That face which I kissed a thousand times.

It were as if I had faced my cancerous self.

And I hated the Maker. His product needed recall.

A factory reject. Irregular. Returned merchandise.

I am not perfect. Then so does He, a 99.99999999 per-cent Manufacturer .

Yet God demands and desires our bowing down in reverence (like the Last Emperor expecting underlings to walk backward).

Fear doesn’t make a lasting relationship, not when it’s unwilling.

I am right now very unwilling.

Perhaps it’s pre-mature. He is testing us, all of us. From outside threats to inner well-being.

To see if your beliefs and faiths hold.

As if we’re containers and vessels, stuck at the port of entry.

God has a supply-chain problem. Can’t deliver the boosters.

Can’t affect change and renewal in stubborn people.

Can’t shed more lights in darkness, where we all are and cursing at.

With dawn comes new hope (and hunger).

The poor shall always be with us. So are the alm bearers and pall bearers. Tree planters and tree profiteers.

We destroy, disappear and deny.

Just a little bit of footprint here, and over there, another firepits. Smokes get in your eyes.-

Until our bag is full, mouth over-stuffed and stomach over-filled.

When time for inventory, they are not blessings. Most were loots, from innate greed and unchecked desires.

We lust and loot, as if everyday is Black Friday.

Then return and exchange.

But life flows one way. No return, no exchange.

Can’t go back to pre-cancerous stage. To pre-teen and pre-med.

To pre-marital stage.

To pre-exam dates.

So we live on, in denial, in grief (as in my case, in anger).

Last night I hated God.

Not because He blessed others (Positive Thinking, Your Best Life Now, in Spanish).

But because his definition of goodness and beauty is in stark contrast to mine.

In short, God and I are not twins.

We don’t see eye-to-eye on many issues. He by definition lasts much longer.

So it’s an unfair match from the start. The cards were stacked against you and me. Creator vs creatures.

God, Man/Woman/Animal/Machine. Sometimes, not in that order.

We go along, and get along. Rant and rave, but move forward as bi-pedalist nonetheless.

We even invented the wheels, front wheel/ all-wheel drive.

We move, as if we knew where we were heading. Just drive.

Don’t put the gear in reverse. Heck with the camera and geo-location assist.

Just be. On the Road. Like Kerouac and Alan Ginsberg. Pot holes and poetry.

Life is an extended experience. Of getting to know ourselves, our reactions to circumstances and people.

And even to God.

What’s your belief? Is it helping you. When you ‘re down. Do you still need a friend. Or your faith is sufficient to carry you through, like a crutch. Like Chemo.

Can’t stand current culture wars. Current climate and current undercurrent. First they de-legitimized a lawful election. Then they undermine our elected leader. Everybody has a right to criticize, to opine. I exercised my freedom of speech (the speech God gave me out of his spoken word: “Let there be light”) to voice my complaint, to the Highest. More Supreme than any Supreme Leader, more than Chinese or Russian Leaders. Certainly, higher than North Korean’s. I said ” I hate you”. How about that.

Emotional man I am. My Dad (a brave and brawly one) in me. Now it’s my turn. To “play” Dad. To provide and protect. To stand down and up. Against invaders, against foreign forces and agents. Against virus and cancerous cells. Against forces unknown and threats evident. Sometimes I wish it were as easy as sending out an Amber Alert. To solicit for eyes on the street and help in the world.

But I know breast cancer is a private battle. Good things, we are not all alone. Like hair on our head, they do grow back. People, lots of them, do care. Even when God doesn’t seem to (He appears to be both Manufacturer (product) and Outsourcer (Service).

Last night, I hated God for the right reason. And I meant it. With as much force as I once loved Him. Just the other side of the coin.

In Sierra Leone, a fuel tanker and a truck collided. Both drivers got out unharmed. But the crowd converged to “conserve” fuel (that leaks out). Result? lots of burned deaths.

In Houston, a crowd surge at Astroworld, resulted in 8 dead and many injured.

Two societies, two mentalities. Same results. One saves resources, the other surges for celebrities, to be near the “Holy of Holies” (Stardom).

In Copenhagen Climate Conference, young people turned out in drove, demanding immediate curtail of coal.

Take me home, Country Road.

We live in a new world. Machine-assisted living. Lots of tube, of chemical and industrial products (vaccines). We transform and bend nature to our likeness, for our longevity and to suit our view of what society should look like. What do we end up? Crowding ICU’s. How do we get here? By mistrust and division. Who gives us guidance and guardrails? Pastors who quit, prof’s who can’t testify.

A society that drifts, that can only agree on those objective measures (Key performance Index) like roads and bridges, broadband and EV charging stations.

It’s always been hard. And harder of late. The stoking of hate and fear, the negative emotions (that certainly unite the crowd against the Other, whoever they may be. Damn them. It’s them. They who did this…).

Uniformity is mistaken for Unity. Pass the hats around. It’s free. Wear it as a new badge of honour. Hell, “I am white, blonde….no chance in Hell I will be in Hell hole (jail)”.

Wow! Karen and the gang. Sisterhood and sorority. Live above the crowd and fly above the cloud.

Judge jailed her too. After bargaining, down to one misdemeanour…trespassing Government property (ain’t your private jet, which by the way, is in long-term airport parking). The D.C. Jail is now home to many J6 criminals. No leader came for them. Supposed to. Where is Q?

Every one is a martyr. Death for a cause. Rightly or wrongly. But the law of the land is where the bucks stop.

It’s in the above mentioned instances, where it’s not quite clear cut: can I move up a step to get near the stage? Can I scoop up a gallon of free gas. That’s when crowd madness trumps individual judgment. It’s what killed you.

When I was about three, I joined a crowd, chanting crowd, marching through our neighbourhood. With torches, and sticks. Going no where. Just around, full of passion and purpose….I got lost. Until my sister spotted me, yanked me out of it, to go home. Where I belong. Impersonal crowd might provide “togetherness”, a feeling we need and miss (sense of belonging), and the numbers are always strength etc… But it more than often drives you in a wrong direction, echoing the illusion and madness. Crowd is certainly neutral, but it takes on a life of its own with propensity for destruction.

Yesterday, we read about all the wrong reasons for not being in a crowd, from Sierra Leone to Astroworld. Then there are crowds that tried to draw our attention to humanity’s impending doom (Greta and friends). Finally, there is a huge crowd, virtual crowd, on Social Media, targeting us for Key Performance Index. They make money of us. Sheep to the slaughter house. We have been had. Out of our own volition and will, without a fight.

We came from outside of Saigon, yet we are labeled: “Miss Saigon”. Agent Orange, B-52 carpet bombing, and of course, Strategic Hamlet campaign drove us there, a city of a little over 1 Million before the war.

Why not. A Shakespearean saga, Vietnamese version: “selling your body” for the greater good. A transaction; nothing more nothing less. Some of us got raped at an early age – even by close relatives. Eat your young (they treated us as if we were canned goods, to be “khui” – with cat food can opener). Auctioned up our virginity for good luck.

Hence, Miss Saigon, Miss Bangkok, Miss Okinawa ….wherever there is a war in the Pacific, wherever drugs and dollars are rampant ( MPs busy at work).

Sell, sell, sell.

The last chopper. Hang on tight to dear life.

Bar girls and bell hops.

Abandoned and aborted children.

Even the so-called orphan charity flight (with under-the-table corruption and black-market dealing) did not make it. It crashed.

Everything could have gone wrong had.

The Vietnam War.

Back to our Miss Saigon, with high heels and mini-skirts (the French 60’s style).

Come on in!

Check us out!

high stools, high counters, drinks and deals.

My tragicomedy character sees herself transported cross-culturally and cross-generationally: country-side to city, bar stool to Bar exam.

She typifies both what went wrong and right.

A twist of fate. The stone that was rejected turns corner stone.

The underdog with his sling shot.

Samson brings down the Temple.

Monte Cristo gets his last say.

Miss Saigon gets her steady pay checks. Lots of them. For revenge. For compensation. Justice and fairness for all.

Her children, of mixed races, United Races, go on and thrive, and contribute. Even fight for others. Vietnamese refugee child clerking for Afghanistan justice.

Miss Saigon, now grey and mature, been through and lived in both sides of the world.

She not only smells opportunities, she seizes them.

Lots of steady income. No fuss. Live well.

Come on in! Come see Mama. I am the owner. Of every saloon and spa in town. Good times, guaranteed.

War and Peace. Seen them all. Weathered them all. Come out of multiple crashes, unharmed and charming phoenix (of course, lots of cosmetic surgery behind).

I am an aged Miss Saigon. I hate men. But love their money. What can I say. It’s the flow and fluidity, embedded in our nation’s struggle and reflected in literature:” Thuy Kieu”, sells everything for the greater good, for filialism, for patriotism, for every “ism” out there, except for my individualism. Yet, out of my bosom, comes a whole new race, mixed races.

Every decade or so, we come across a new variation and version of the Ponzi scheme: old people – instead of being on cruise trips – end up being in court, to deliberate and persecute perpetrators, whether it’s a Christian radio host who promises of a new Kingdom or a Credit Suisse/Archegos guy (also a Christian who put all hustlers to shame – undeniably looking legit and at times, delivering high-yield (who wouldn’t want it).

Then came the collapse, and jail time. Only next time, it’s Ponzi 2.0. behind the veil of respectability again, with Evil lurking (see Steven King’s footnotes).

They will keep trying as long as there are still “sheep” out there.

So far, as I can recall, we have put the Worldcom guy (Bernie) away, then Madoff, the Penn State/Michigan defensive football and gymnastics, respectively. Then of course, the Boston, France and Baptist clergy.

Such is the nature of our collective denial. Like covid deaths (5 million – talking about denial). Or climate change disasters and deaths (someone else’s – not us). Swept under the rug, or down into the bottom of our consciousness.

The truth is: we are processing grief – whether it’s on campus or online (suicide on campus, shooting on campus etc..).

In my younger days, I proccessed grief too (my family torn apart, my nation torn to pieces. My slate got wiped clean like first New England snow). I was a walking dead – suppressed memory – on campus (working the night shift, trying to get to Communication classes during the day). Superman! (classmates from the football team slept through too).

I blocked out my immediate past, as if it hadn’t happened. What war? What country? I did not know nothing about nothing. In denial. In grief.

Then it creeps up. When the mask is down. In between “shows”. Friends did not know or did not care (all-white campus: are you from North Vietnam?). Just play the game, a role, like in a Shakespearean script.

We were “born to run” baby, Sister golden hair! “and I can’t live without you, can you see it in my eyes?”

Just write it off. No climate change (as I write this, there were thunders and lightening outside….that cut off the internet). Good riddle. No inflation, no covid?. Just a day-to-day existence, with lots of weight at the gym and illness in the head. Pain-killers please!

The problem with Ponzi scheme is – those who don’t participate fear of missing out, those “in the know” think they have it made, until… Mind you, when zooming out in an infinite long shot, we’re all in this together: a cosmic Ponzi, where time is our invention and each minute, albeit precious, fools us into believing we have it made (someone have just stolen my kid’s bike – humanity have it made? a few months back, it was her scooter. )

I am OK, you are OK.? So let’s get on with it. Chinese cheap goods. 2 degrees Celsius warmer? It’s for someone else (our offspring) to worry about.

After all, we’re not the Special Envoy to deal with huge issues in Europe. We’re day-to-day hand-to-mouth folks, in perpetual denial (oh, John John did not show up here, perhaps later tonight at the Stones concert). No wonder, from the get-go, we already put our blinders on, refusing to see Ponzi (even Pope or President) for who he is. Can’t beat him, might as well join him, preferably the sooner the better – for fear of missing out – scarcity is also relative – or before the bottom fell off.

In denial, we live only a half-dose of reality. In facing reality squarely in the eyes, we live in full, the whole enchilada – spicy, ugly and dangerously. Some like it hot!

Booster 1, booster 2 etc…

EcoPeace for the Middle East.

Water thieves, catalytic-convertor thieves…

I.D. theft, Honda Civic theft…

Evangelical fired, evangelical re-hired…

Greta giving up on politicians, politicians giving up on Trump, Trump giving up on Twitter, Twitter giving up on Trump…

Just a tip of the iceberg today. And it’s only Wednesday, our new Friday.

No Time to Die….living on borrowed time, on borrowed money, and certainly, on borrowed bed (Airbnb).

Maybe better days are behind us. Maybe we should start smoking (don’t inhale) and start “a la recherche du temps perdus” (the auto complete can’t even “speak” French). It tries to fix it up as “a la research du temp Perdue”. Heck! I don’t go for Perdue Farm today. No Opioid or chicken.

I have blogged on this topic of humanity vs machine, and how hard we have to fight to stay in place.

Yet, it is taking over. Not all at once. Just one at a time. And of course, time is not on our side.

Now we can blame the algorithm for all the ills: amplifying our divide, inundating us with misinformation about voting and vaccines, and of course, recommending ill-suited friends on facebook.

Yes. Finally. Never been my fault. It’s all facebook’s fault (at least, the whistleblower says so).

No one is responsible for societal ills, except for society itself.

Science, technology and society. BTW, hologram was introduced more than 40 years ago. Now it might take off. That way, we can tele transport some images of me to you. Blame it. Not me. I might be a glitch. My parents’ faults. My schools’ faults. My spouses’ faults.

Leave me to take in my kids’ blame. Now that’s mine entirely. No way out. No avoidance. How our kids turn out, 100% our fault. Face the future. Face the fact. Face the re-Flection on the mirror. Who do you see? Case closed.

Then, I see Greta giving up on politicians. Brazilian politicians giving up on their president, politician of course. Republican politicians giving up (and receiving funds, supposedly to Trump’s new social media site) on each other, Dems almost giving up on one another during the Build Back de-Bacle.

The “giving up” movement almost over-shadowed the “giving-back” movement. The wealthiest American saw their wealth 70% richer. They could never ever give up, and never ever – to a certain extent – give back. Don’t know where/how to start. In Katie Couric’s phrase “willful misinterpretation”, billionaires perhaps honestly can face the studio camera and claim “willful ignorance” about current dilemma. Once the world goes to hell, where the hell can they spend their money? In hell – since where there is crisis, there is opportunity – the Chinese are way ahead of the curve: they got you covered on that too (currency in Hell). For us, the living, water, vaccines (booster no 2 after another six months) and clean air are our currency.

I resent those who tell me how to live, who to become and what path to take.

After all, I grew up in a household with 4 adults – in shifts – just for that: do’s and don’t’s.

Further up, all those “institutions” (tuition and instructors) from French lycée to Mandarin-oriented HS, from “secular” campus to secluded seminary, supposedly churned out graduates for the betterment of society. Yet, I learned from them conflicting accounts of what life is, meant to be and not could be.

Mind you. I tried. You can tell from age 4 on up, I have (and now, everyday first-day of school of life e.g. existential threats which, when I was back in school, hadn’t even existed: climate change, covid and A.I./misinformation.

This propaganda, that propaganda (during the Vietnam War, one supposedly dead man, Nguyen Van Be, held up a pamphlet whose picture showed him died for the North. In the South, I walked downstairs still in pajamas, straight into my own wake – with classmates held up a local newspaper showing I had committed suicide due to an IBM (grading) machine malfunction – today’s equivalent of those Dominion lawsuits.

How could it possibly fail me- a straight A’s in 1974 while others, B’s and C’s candidates been out celebrating.!

Then no one seemed to be responsible when shit hit the fan.

They closed the door (of the Embassy). They started the engine (of the tug boat). They ran away (honourable exit).

Blame it on Kissinger. Blame it on the Plumbers (Watergate). Blame it on Thieu, or Ky.

Blame it on anyone, except ourselves, the collective selves, byproducts of centuries of push/pull & wishes and whims forces (in Good Morning, Vietnam: our Armed Forces D.J. found himself “dating” the whole village – buying movies tickets for a long line of chaperons). We own the mistakes all right, but diffused .

Since we’re not quite “us”, it’s easier to shift and spread the blames around: from “I” to “We”: we ‘re the victims. War victims. Pirate victims. Consumerism victims (opioid?), of ill-suited match-making and match.com, of evangelism and baptism, of Ponzi scheme and facebook algorithm.

Blame it on China. Blame it on cheap goods, high-price of oil, but never on our addiction to anything and everything (for a kick).

Meanwhile, the commons are in ruin: roads and railways, bridges and airports, supply chain shut down and slow down. One never misses the well until it is dried up ( just wait up until Chinese goods’ slow-boiled pricing pulls a bait-and-switch on us – now that we’re all hooked on cheap products – we, the global community, pay either way, if not already- as we observe the climate change trajectory.)

I resent others for telling me how to live my life. After a few pokes, these self-appointed life coaches walked away in frustration “be that way then”, leaving me with lost ground and lost momentum i.e. my opportunity cost . Talking about a double self-sabotage: not being assertive up front (to set boundaries) only to pay out at the back end (of those dysfunctional and toxic relationships).

Some of us (prodigal son) learn by trial and error (the hard way). Others, by deductive or inductive reasoning. Most by osmosis or hand-me-down (my Dad is a high-ranking official – how about yours?). Each has different learning style and arrives at various points in the path (or stages of grief). Educators know not all students respond well to audio/visual stimuli. Some are leaning more toward kinetic or tactile (esp. autistic ones). Not youtube but youtouch. We are un-classifiable and un-boxable, with different dot-connecting and tech adoption rate. Backward nations still implement rote-learning, not internalizing (like our driving second-nature, stop at stop signs, no matter what).

Each possesses a percentage of those 19,599 genes that set us apart. Spindle cells shared with apes and whales. The gift of gag.

Find that sweet spot. Share it: our source code. Our fingerprints and footprints. Our originality and creativity. I like what Tina Turner says each time she performs “Proud Mary”, it’s different: she evolves on stage with audience feedback loop.

Or else, fans would not want to buy concert tickets. And what’s the point of dressing up differently, if we all ordered from algorithm-driven Amazon-prime (with current logistical problems, Santa might not arrive in time for Christmas). Imagine a Halloween with cookie-cutter “aliens” trick-or-treating.

Lesson 1: be (not the Paul Anka’s Papa type of “each day he lives through me” crap – own yourself)

Lesson 2: die each day (prerequisite to be born anew)

Lesson 3: rinse and repeat

Unlike the Beatles’ Yesterday (I am half a man I used to be), we’re not living a half-life effect of chemistry. Our bodies process less than our calories intake (twice the size I used to have). We exploit less than what we were initially given (brain cells and DNA genes) i.e.regressing, from dumb to dumber (as the internet and our understanding of the universe expand more and more). Life has to be more than just the maintenance of it.

Albert Schweitzer once lamented the worst thing in life is wasted talent ; unused or under-exploited.

Given the existential challenges of covid and climate change, our collective self needs to rise to the occasion (e.g. vaccines for children).

United (in diversity) we can face any storm. But first, realising who we are (uniquely) that brings values to the table. The gay and the straight, the darker skin and the lighter skin, the tall and the short. We need the brain power for network effect and to scale. We don’t need a repeat of failure (uniformity mistaken for unity) i.e. keep repeating the same theme, the same team, all the while hoping for a different result. Group think, with echo chamber; albeit sounds comforting (Kumbaya) at first i.e. harmony, strength in numbers, hunting in pack etc.. but when “shit hit the fan”, the whole group, party or administration crumbled or dissolved. The Kennedy’s team was purported to be the Best and Brightest. So was Bush’s. Then we got Vietnam and Iraq. Next mistake won’t be as easy to get over.

For once, go for self-validation not self-recrimination or self-sabotage. Then, perhaps, Earth can get on its business of self-correcting and self-healing (fixing climate change by inducing covid, just to push a point). Given the self-righting feature of the universe, our existence and contribution seem trivial and minutia, scale wise (just because the Church said the Earth was flat …). Now we know (ask Shatner, our primary source).

Realizing our short-coming is the first step to self-improvement: Church back to its Confessional Booth, and Scientists back to the drawing board: observation-hypothesis-test-conclusion-re-evaluation. Then and only then should we direct our attention slightly toward others (situation awareness), learning from their “Medieval” mistakes and/or cheering them on on their “scientific” findings. But, don’t interfere or intervene.

Empathy trumps judgment (Jesus himself concentrates on drawing s/t on the ground while Taliban-like crowd just wanted to “stone the bitch” back to Stone Age). Without context and nuance, it’s hard to make a case from initial observation. We dismiss others in a blink of an eye (e.g. homeless folks, non-Catholics, White evangelicals etc..). The less we want to invest in understanding others, the more divided our society becomes.

I once grew up in a family with four adults who, in shifts, told me what to do, what foreign language to spend money on (French was a waste, in hindsight, post Dien Bien Phu era). I was spent….my energy depleted from rebelling and resenting. When I first arrived in the US, well-meaning people even wanted to re-name me – inadvertently invading my space!(as we have all found out, those who speak a foreign language ended up winning the war over the US who speaks the Queen’s English).

American live by privacy, individuality and personal data e.g. social security, credit card, bank account and zip code. Vietnamese sense of self is a collective one: extended clan and village, pushing canons uphill (Dien Bien Phu) or living in underground tunnel (Cu Chi). One’s identity is tied to clan, caste or strategic coupling (college-educated). Harmony is key, and that leads to groupthink. Those Luddites who objected to the 1974 IBM grading machine perhaps saw their nepotism and favouritism enterprise went to the ground, hence, trumped up the misinformation that triggered my “wake”.

The more “naturalised” a refugee becomes, the more he/she own his/her mistakes, more accountable albeit at various speed of self-discovery, self-awareness/improvement and tolerance (for risks/ambivalence). The all-knowing (though we see as “through the mirror darkly”) respects our self-realization (and free will) that some parts are alterable and some not. For our un-alterable part, we need patience, humility and self-compassion. Life is a long journey of getting to know me (self-hacking). Still I prefer doing it comfortably in my own chair, in my own time and term.

Last lesson: BE. Let the sum of my heartbeats to their own drum. Let it be. Children of a lesser parent. So what.