Tag: California

Summer Sadness

Some kids revisited their Summer 1942. Coming of age.

Others, say in Vietnam, are ready for bigger stage.

A Linkedin connect started her SQUAR in emerging Myanma, just core viable product, to be perfected as time goes along.

Summer separation and sadness. Summer also brings reunion and reassessment.

It’s Q3 for business people.

Abenomics or any-omics, as long as Japan gets out its deflationary state. Egyptian want their first-year President out.

They have gotten used to protest and counter-protest.

Summer blockbusters range from the Great Gatsby to  Now You See Me (Now You Don’t). Abracadabra!

Or as our own Alan Phan, “say a prayer”, like a virgin.

I remember when California elected Arnold. The commentary back then was, “it doesn’t matter which monkey is in charge”.

The budget was way out of balance then.

Now, Gov Brown has imposed strictest order on the fiscal affairs of the State, used to be called, Golden State.

Surprisingly, Arnold was quoted in one of the beer consumption studies, which shows Vietnam at the top of the list.

Praying and drinking. Drown out our sadness and sorrow. Sharing our moments.

And never give up hope that our best days are yet behind us.

Summer Sadness. It brings understanding and perspective

In Norwegian Wood, our Toru Watanabe looked back at his last year in college, and suddenly, understood the deep pain college girl friends feel (two suicides, male and female to be fair).

We all had our 1942’s and 69’s.

Of eating dorm food and from vending machine.

Of all-nighter and crammed for finals.

Then, what’s next?

Be an entrepreneur or employed?

Looking forward or backward?

There will always be next summer.

But this summer is a hot one. An inconvenient truth.

Of torrential rain and perpetual austerity.

Of not much hope for an improved GDP anywhere.

Tourism is up as the temperature heats up.

Can’t find a decent paperback to pack along.

Be sure to wade the water and if things come along, as they always do, live your 1942 so you have something to think back in old age.

Best way to live life is to pretend to look back to the present from the vantage of the future, then live it to no regret.

No regret, no sorrow. No sorrow, no sadness. Summer or not. One’s happiness cannot be conveniently measured by a thermometer. But if there were such thing as Global Warming measurable from the outside, it should also affect what’s inside. Now, that’s something we can do something about. And it’s the most inconvenient truth about ourselves we often refuse to admit.

We can handle the truth

We here are people who fled Vietnam in various waves (pre-1975, 1975, and post-1975) and have settled in Little Saigon, Orange County, CA.

I have seen the strip transformed, from a few stores to be what it is today: patch work of mini plazas interlacing with mobile home parks, often times, reflections of the boom and bust times.

First was a State Farm rep office, with a pharmacy. Then a Mall. Then all that followed e.g. foot massage parlors (Chinese money) condo complex and French bakeries. Businesses traditionally catered to mainstream tastes e.g. 7/11, Burger King, Ralphs supermarkets were all closed. In their places are Pho (at a discount, like cigarettes), iced coffee, tea (Tastea) and trade-up Vietnamese restaurants.

It was conceived to be a hub for second migration (the first was engineered by the US Government, to prevent Little Havana type of cluster).

Little do we know (the same blind spot that the US Army underestimated the strength of the collective enemy), climate and community acted as push and pull forces for second migration.

We still can’t handle the truth (that policy makers don’t see beyond the immediate).

Now market forces are taking over after the housing boom and burst. High-margin businesses survive side by side with some flavors of urban America: the Vietnamese homeless (stateless to begin with).

On the other hand, we got talk show hosts, weekly pundits and Vietnamese Film Festival featuring up to 69 entries.

We can handle the truth. (I attended a showing last night at UC Irvine. The producer personifies self-reinvention: Silicon Valley engineer, Loan Officer, and now ethnic film producer that might eventually go main stream).

There is a torch-passing process although one cannot see the definite hand-off. The legacy and language, the tug of war between the generations and the acculturation rate (new comers would use Little Saigon as jump point, the same way ChinaTown has served this role for centuries).

Money doesn’t flow one way. It has started to flow the other way (up to 3.5 million Vietnamese tourists from Vietnam are now allowed to travel Westward, a one-to-one match up (and catching up) with those who have resettled.

More monks, more students and concerned parents visiting US campuses, more business and marriage brokerage eager to close deals.

By the end of this month, those who first came in their 30’s will have reached their 70’s. I walked by the Senior citizen center, once bustling with activities e.g. chess match, English classes, Tai chi. Now, the membership are dwindling, funds dried out.

We can still handle the truth.

If I were community planner, I would pay attention to the unmet needs of the touchscreen generation. How do we yank them away from the I-pad screens? What lesson in Vietnamese language and culture would attract them, and what value could we offer?

Meanwhile, tourism to America has reached its low point. Can Little Saigon be a small magnet on the way to Las Vegas and Disney Land.

What other business proposition we can offer to attract reverse money flow? How do we keep those brain power who are now educated on tourist/student visa? I guess it all boils down to quality of life. California has been hard at work to push for air quality.

Now the same zeal is needed to support and upgrade its ethnic base. After all, it’s the end of the West before Hawaii. And it needs to live up to that reputation, once known as California Dreaming. I am sure the Vietnamese homeless guys are doing just that in front of the Food To Go.

We can handle the truth., Mr Stockman.

http://thechairmansblog.gallup.com/2013/04/americans-cant-handle-truth.html

Human spirit as Motivator

Papillon is a real-life recount of  an undefeated spirit. Viktor Frankl talks about “they can take my body but not the spirit that is in me”.

In war, down the trenches, with bullets zipping by, what causes a man to stay put?

No greater love than a man who lays down his life for a friend. Comradeship.

Mike Murphy, a SEAL, a Penn Stater, went out in the clear for better wireless signals, knowingly sacrificed his life to save his troop.

Human spirits.

Higher purpose.

Maslow perhaps touched on this by naming it “self-actualization“.

In War and Peace, we read about the Russian army defended Motherland after Napoleon had burned down Moscow.

Wounded bodies, but not spirits.

United Flight 93 passengers decided in split seconds to go down in style.

In 300, the movie, their leader retorts that (when aides brought up bad news that the enemies’ arrows would rain down and cover the sky) “good, we will fight in the shade then”.

Human spirits.

Each man’s history tends to condense in those few decisive turns.

Shun not the confluence of events.

In crisis, show confidence and judgement. When it’s 50-50 split, throw in the human spirit. The tie-breaker.

The quant could never factor this quality on their spread sheets.

They aren’t trained to identify much less put a dollar value on it.

But since time began, we know it exists. One more (aerobic) step, one more cold call (Colonel Sanders), one more pregnancy unaborted.

The Vietnamese eat from a common rice pot. There is always one extra bowl and a pair of chopsticks just in case.

I was at RockStorm last night (stadium concert). The other numbers were OK.

But when Noi Vong Tay Lon (Let’s join hands) was up, I heard a loud chorus “the wild is calling us to rejoin disparaged shores”. Old wine in new skins. The spirit of unity expressed in new genre (rock was first associated with individuality and independence).

In Hotel California, we hear that “we haven’t had that spirit since 1969”.

Human spirit.

Tell me it did not exist, too intangible, hard to pin down.

I will tell you history is made of exactly that, whether or not historians could pin it down. That which is unseen is stronger than that which is seen.

Monsoon and Moonfest

Overhearing some people talking about rain in Dalat, Vietnam‘s mountainous area, I thought back to a time and a place where innocence was shred like old skin. You see, growing up in Vietnam even in the midst of the war, was still something to be cherished. You might have neighbor’s funeral with flag draped over coffin, but you could also have free reign during Moon Festival. Lanterns and lighting, of all kinds.

Monsoon rain during the day and dry crisp air at night, formed a clear line of sight to chi Hang (Moon Lady). I imagined seeing the Moon man hanging on to the magic tree (per fairy tale). Later on, when Neil Armstrong  (who has just died) stepped foot on it, as Curiosity Rover now roaming Mars, science was waging war on our hand-me-down heritage. Fable or fact? Fiction or non-fiction?

If you were to grow up during my time, you couldn’t have helped questioning everything: kids on the opposite side of the world were doing the same thing, asking if the “outsourced” war thousands miles away were worth the sacrifice. Meanwhile, computer geeks just coded their nights away in A/C- humming labs. If we can zoom the camera out , we will see dry and hot day in California and Seattle (where Bill Gates was taking a bus for computer timeshare) and the post-rainy Moon Festival night when I was skipping with lantern in hand. Got to have those cakes and candles.

Sweet tooth and sweet innocence. A whole festival dedicated to our young age group. Who said in Asia, only older people are respected. We (kids) ruled!

Then that innocence was shattered as reports about the unwinnable war got out with CBS dailies. Cronkite walked the ground of the US embassy and delivered a one-two punch in bullet-proof vest and helmet: it’s a stalemate.

Johnson knew then he wouldn’t have a  chance to convince the public the other way, after all, “that’s the way it is”.

Truth and fiction, fairy tale vs glass-encased moon rock.

In full view, we knew something was going on, but “what it is, ain’t exactly clear”.

So I grew up hurriedly, burned my  Moon Fest candles quickly and swallowed that sweet cake in one bite.

Fast forward to this day, again, hot in California, and rainy in Dalat, I smile to myself: it sure has been a wonderful childhood amidst of war. The intense fighting only made coming of age all the more precious.

Blood was shed to protect our playground.

I now realize why I keep coming back for more . I wish for other kids to feel what I felt: an appreciation for life, albeit amidst danger. Despite having threats from all sides, one could still do some self-validating, self-legitimizing and story-telling (to generation next). Now, that’s pre-computer-age coding and culture making. That’s buying time in a society on the verge of collapse. Now, we see children with I-pads in hands, but disrespectful and unappreciative. The age of Entitlement is overtaking the age of Enlightenment. And no one seems to “cry, my beloved country”. The Monsoon suddenly brought back sweet memories of  MoonFest. Monsoon continues still, year after year, but not my MoonFest,  which exists only in faint but never faded memory.

Long Winding Road

To your door……

I woke up to a Friday. Not any Friday. But a birthday Friday.

Long and winding road. Like a graph, your life can be “manipulated” to make it a more positive-trending (not Bell-shaped).

Depends on how you look at it. People have said that President Obama looks older than when he first took up office. Oh well, who wouldn’t  after three and half long years.

I share concerns with friends these days. Always with long shots, and high hopes, from Electric Vehicles to Electronic Medical Records. Stuff that earlier generations had never heard of.

(except for the EV part).

The same with Mars and upcoming discoveries in Science. How they will shape and reshape the human race.

Yet one thing stays unchanged: human nature itself. We still react under certain principles, Pavlovian, for instance.

Ring the bell, the dog salivates. Facing danger, fright or flight.

Oh well. Long and winding road.

Friends said no matter how far and how much traveling they had done, when they came home, they just wanted mama’s cooking. Acquired taste. Subliminal and unconditional trusting. Talk not to strangers (yet I keep connecting with the multitude of you out there via Social).

Talking about networking. Since it’s my birthday. Can you send me a referral. Some doctors who need to install EMR?

Or a telecom engineer department that need their software tested offshore. Long shots? Yes. Long winding Road? Yes.

We , social animal, do need each other and do reciprocate.

I am here today thanks to the help of many friends and families.

I in turn have helped friends and again, some families.

That’s how the circle of Life operates. How pay-forward  works. And how the virtuous cycle is. There is no need to recast that graph. Just be and become better. Each life is different and each person unique. Born on a different day and dies at a  different  hour. While living, let’s make it a pleasant journey. The tilted clock on the wall reminds me that there was an Earthquake a few days ago. Even time is not standing still. Nor is the clock that shows time. How can you assume too much that it (Life) is going to be a straight line? To me, it’s more like a long and winding road.

The undercurrent

Got jolted last night. 4.1 shock. And this morning, some more aftershocks.

It reminds me we share a vulnerable surface: ozone layer all around and a sea of lava underneath.

While we receive pictures of Mars surface, we are reminded of Earth surface as well.

It takes some getting used to, living in California.

But it’s here where talents come, from Silicon Valley to San Fernando Valley, from Redwood to Hollywood.

This is as “West” as you could go. Even waiting tables out here is like “acting”, or pre-acting (waiting to be casted).

Everyone wears shades. Expensive-looking ones. You got games. Got to have that “player” look.

Billboards on Sunset are huge, in-your-face.

and you are forever in need of a better T-shirt.

If you happen to put on Tennis shoes, make sure you don’t look like that little-old-lady.

Gotta have that Air Jordan feel, whether you play basketball or not.

Girls wear pajama pants. But it’s a statement, not garment.

It says “I don’t give a damn”.

I don’t need to put on a suit, to look like a male to get by.

In fact, nobody, at least in the summer, puts on a suit in Southern California.

Let’s not forget about Summer Concerts in the park. Wonder where those bands were coming from.

But they are here, getting paid to play.

Music is in the air. The Earth gets shaken every now and then. And people continue to move out West.

Running away from God knows what. A wet winter? A bad relationship? A need to reinvent oneself?

Even waiting tables out here is not just a job. It’s a part, a role. You are on-stage, waiting for the next “gig”.

Got your head-shot? Underneath it all, you can take off the facade that is required back East, but then, you will have to put on another, just to play the part (an extra). It comes with the territory:  nice weather mix  in with earthquakes.

Hello Darkness

my ole friend, I come to talk with you again.

We all know the tune. That which resonates and recalls of years past.

The familiarity against the unknown.

Familiar darkness, receding into that comfort zone, the cocoon.

Farthest corner would be that mother’s womb: where it all began.

Rocking motion, complete safety and insulation.

That’s what etched in our earliest memories: maternal voice and the rocking movement.

Even those earlier tastes.

Some prefered eating chilis.

Others thought highly of themselves, too highly. The chosen and the others.

All got that same start, from the dark chamber. Hello Darkness my ole friend.

When vacationing, people choose the beach, to experience the ocean.

To swim, to rock back and forth, to float and feel pampered. Feel enveloped and gloved.

A brand in California put it aptly: Body Glove (for swimwear).

Even people who live in the Mountain like to wear something from California. Reminds them of sandy beach, of eternal youth and innocence.

Yet after sunset, the beach says Hello Darkness.

Water everywhere, in and outside of us.

When too much, it’s called flood. When too fast, it’s called tsunami.

In New Orleans, Bali and Fukushima.

How can we not be flexible.

Maybe Bruce Lee was onto something: Be like water, shaped according to its container.

Flexibility and fluidity.

To survive the times, one needs to tap into this hidden corner, where darkness and water lie. Like it was when we first began and believed. P.S. As of this edit, Sound of Silence was to be preserved as one of the most important American pieces.

They keep coming

In a few days, they might put on Neil Diamond‘s America.

Voter registration. Organ donor. Vehicle registration.

They bring some cash (let’s hope so) and a load of dream.

Many had left personal chapters of their lives before boarding that plane.

Just like the Irish and Polish a century and a half ago.

Except that the ports of entry may now be in Miami, Los Angeles and San Francisco.

The new Ellis Islands.

First stop often are ethnic enclaves which help ease their transition and acculturation (euphemism for losing out that which had made them them in the first place).

Gone are the scarves, the beards and the cone hats.

Instead, we have everyone wearing some sort of emblems: American Eagles, Newport Beach, Disney and sports teams.

I used to proudly wear PENN STATE grey and blue.

I still am proud.

But having been here too long, I started to realize I had overcompensated to becoming an American. It is a melting pot which frisked me of my ethnicity.

Once in CA, I realized everyone had come from somewhere else.

It’s LA. Dream factory (Hollywood) and Disneyland.

Not just people who reinvent themselves. The city itself has done that (you will not find the setting like you saw in the movies).  You are lucky to buy a map and take a tour where the stars might live (if they don’t check in a secret hotel to hook up).

Stuff of dream, of mirage (farther out, it’s more true in Las Vegas, but then, what happened there stayed there).

Yet they keep coming. Keep driving the vehicles. Keep smiling for the camera (except for the traffic control one).

And best of all, like one of the two Google founders, parents raised them to be good in math, which indirectly give us “Search”.

I feel lucky.

America feels lucky. And should be thankful (two-way street).

OK, now you can fade in Neil Diamond’s America. It’s Fourth of July.

If you hear a lot of fireworks, you know the economy is back in full swing.

One more reason to celebrate, besides Independence from the Brits and wherever else they – we – were from. But keep a toe back there, because

it’s good to know where one was from, and appreciate that unique root. May your descendants give us all the “googles” in this land of opps, starting at the DMV line. License will be in the mail in three  weeks.

V for valley

Silicon Valley that is.

Palo Alto. The hype, the anticipation and burst.

Dream and dread.

It’s here for the taking. You game?

Pine trees and even banana trees.

Years ago, one would see Vietnamese technicians and Indian engineers.

Now, the work is mostly outsourced and off shored.

The design and creative work are still here. But it takes fewer people (Google, for its revenue, would have required nth time current headcount had it been a 20-th century company).

Still, there is something about V.

Peace sign. Victor. And even venture funding.

As long as you don’t lose that entrepreneurial spirit.

Can-do attitude.

Work is now anywhere and anytime.

Are you gamed?

You can do it here or you can do it elsewhere.

But something about the Valley.

Its ethos, egos and yes, eco-conciousness.

A bunch of old classmates are attending a funeral today.

Cremation.

Dust comes to dust.

But the spirit lives on.

In the valley and on the hill.

That spirit that says, Yes we can.

The shoreline is not the limit. Neither is the sky.

Take it to the next level, next shore line and skyline.

Start here in the valley then move up the mountain top.

If you don’t stand in opportunity’s way. If you don’t sabotage yourself.

No one can stop a man or woman whose mind is made up.

instant noodles, orange and sandwich

38 years ago I ate those three items not in one day, not in one vessel, and not in one country.

Instant noodles out in International Waters under firing rockets, oranges aboard a USS vessel and finally, a sandwich in Subic Bay, Philippines.

After that hellish trip, plane foods, hotel foods, cafeteria foods all taste better.

Now, I just want a bowl of oatmeal with raisins.

Any day and everyday.

Foods were supposed to nourish and nurture us.

It binds us and bonds us together (Thanksgiving dinner).

Yet for years, in my family, plates got tossed in fits.

Made food fighting on campus looks like child play.

My experience with foods hence has been associated with negative context: chaos and loneliness (I once saw an asleep lady in my mom’s nursing home, with a glass of milk that had almost spilled out).

By the way, the instant noodles on my way out of Saigon was consumed without hot water and was split among the nine of us.

The orange aboard the USS was eaten with peel.

And the sandwich was handed out by a nun in Subic Bay. I should have kept the wrapping for souvenir.

Just a ham sandwich, but it tasted as close to heaven.

And the coke that went with it, to this day, still fizzles and fires a rush up my nose.

The sound of one coke popping (courtesy of  “the sound of one hand clapping”).

Together, those three items: noodles, orange and sandwich are vended on any California campus.

But back then, I had to risk my life, changed the trajectory of fate in three countries (Vietnam, US sovereignty and the Philippines).

What others call hell, I call home.

Chu Tu, our famous writer, was blown apart at a nearby boat, perhaps right after I had my noodle part.

So five cheers to writers who create the eternal out of the ordinary.

In his case, the temporal (his death) has served up as memory for the eternal.

Instant noodles, instant death, yet enduring legacy.

In my mind, his name and his writing (Yeu, Song etc.. Love, Live ..) are still alive.

To this day, my brother still mentioned the heavenly taste of that Pentagon-supplied sandwich.

There is a Vietnamese saying “mot mieng khi doi bang mot goi khi no” (a bite in need is a meal indeed).

Supply and demand. Scarcity and abundance.

Then I found myself lately avoiding those instant noodles, and opt for a hot bowl of Pho. Forced choice architecture has changed for me.

OK, maybe oatmeal and raisins to ride out this Recession. I hope I don’t have to resort to ramen for daily staples. I saw the photo of a girl who subsists solely on ramen. It’s not a pretty sight. I don’t want to let my life-and-death journey be in vain. Could have stayed home for that to begin with. Instant noodles, orange and sandwich. Stay hungry, stay curious. And no OFF button, says Jobs.