Tag: New Year

Content and Creativity.

Time spares no one. That continuum ticks on, breath by breath, counting down and counting you out.

Yet family bond endures. It has been that way for centuries: hunting and gathering, agrarian and industrial society.

The very moment we fear that the machine will take over, that’s when we got Social, from Twist to Tweet.

Web Page or Front Page, we still have demand for Content and Creativity.

Story telling. The narrative, personal or institutional. Once upon a time, there was….

We don’ t exist in a vacuum. Instead, weakest or strongest link, we are a part of that chain, of continuity and 4-D universe.

What comes around comes around.

Carrying all that mass around, we search and seek for meaning in the mundane. But we are here, still here, on this New Years Eve. Champagne and confetti. Or we might as well lay down and die….

What is there to celebrate? The fact that we owe our existence to a host of people: food provider, transportation provider, internet provider, medical examiner (not yet).

We connect and we reject. We choose then we return the merchandise. Choices piling on top of other choices.

Sometimes, no choice at all.

That’s when we feel the helplessness of depending on others, when we face our limits.

Go ahead and connect, to link, to post, and to Like.

It’s all virtual, but real nevertheless.

Until we move on to something else, to other platform and play place.

Part of growth, of dying. Of shredding old skin and put on the new. Reinvention the Gaga’s way.

Lips singing and lips kissing, same-sex or hetero-sex.

Finding new combination, exploring alternative mode of existence. But the time continuum ticks on, as it always has.

Santa has left along with 2013. Everything was. Simple past. From here on, we all face new possibilities and potential.

Content-rich or content-poor, all up to you. Suit yourself. Ever since the invention of the zero, we have realized the futility and irony of our being: can’t do with it, and can’t do without it (the zero).

So, what’s left? Back to the cave, and see our shadow? Project ourselves onto others? Disliking someone or disliking ourselves? Kiss and make up, or split? Dilemma by definition is not to be solved. It is to be shared with others who have a heightened sense of empathy. Then we are back to needing others, fellow inmates in this asylum called Earth.

I don’t want to time-travel. In fact, I’d rather stay freeze-framed in time. Being just a boy, looking out to the game called life, where adults hurting each other and pretending to laugh (alcohol induced).  Being just a memory keeper of both the good and the bad times. So I can start my story with “Once upon a time….” all the while making up more sizzling detail to hold your attention. That attention has been split between screen flashes and banner ads, children demand and societal demand. The burden is on us, to keep creating and reinventing ourselves, shaping our narrative and destiny in the process. A guy walks into a bar….a boy born into an aging family….a girl growing up without a Dad….what’s the punch line? Will there be a happy ending. We want in. To be part of the story-telling and narrative written. But first, there must be conflict. Not too far-fetched so the audience can relate, can empathize and connect. We need Content and a bit of creativity. We got enough platform that last for a life time. Post-industrial society has more convenience than any earlier times, but for some reason, we find ourselves wanting. Kids still want to shoot randomly and then themselves.

Man still threw his baby out then jump from the tower (with reason known only to himself). In the absence of terrorist, we have projected onto that mirror, and found ourselves the very horror we have become. Good luck with happy endings.

The ME who could’ve been

It’s Chinese New Year morning. Except there weren’t a lot of Vietnamese around.

They were here yesterday, and last week. But apparently, on this cold Sunday morning,

gym wasn’t their priority. Attention is devoted to festivals and festivities at the Temples, in the park and at the fair.

Like in-country counterparts, they would put on new clothes and carry li-xi envelopes ready to be dispensed, like an eager college freshman with stacks of condom supplies.

Here in Orange County, the festivities have only just begun. Bands were busy rehearsing, and bottles pre-ordered (up scale wine and dine).

I thought to myself, what a wonderful world.

Had I stayed my entire time in Vietnam, what the Me would have turned out?

– I wouldn’t show up at the gym on the first day of Tet either (none would be opened) and

would still fight the hang over from the New Year Eve’s celebration.

– I would drink strong cafe sua da (iced latte), perhaps from the only Starbucks in town.

– Sometimes people go the movies during Tet (since there aren’t a lot of entertainment venues that could accommodate an entire extended family). This year, Die Hard is opened on New Year’s Day in Vietnam.

Ten days before, they showed “My Nhan Ke” (femme fatale), complete with sword fighting and Crouching -Tiger Matrix-like effects.

– I would stay home early in the morning, for fear of being the first visitor to friends’ houses. Who would want to be blamed for the bad outcome of their entire year!.

Banh Chung (green-bean cakes) and pickled onion would be my brunch, since restaurant workers also stay home to celebrate their own Tet.

Then comes the dreaded part: the unwanted relatives.

They would want to reorder my life’s priorities by matchmaking attempts.

I would burn incenses for my deceased parents, offering fruits and flowers along with Banh Chung and confitures.

Tet in Vietnam or in the US is the same.

But the man I used to be (the Me in relation to others e.g. uncle, brother-in-law, etc…) has changed.

I work out, I read, I blog and frankly, I have become atomized and adapting to both virtual and western world.

My motto is to observe, filter and retain only necessary data (handling spam mail) for survival.

I want to connect the dots or else others would do it for me.

Instead of being the mini-we in We, I have become the Me on my own, with legs to stand on.

It’s like the spirits of the Dust Bowl. Rebuilding after the gathering storm, all on one’s own.

We are evolving into new creatures of the Web, where Who We Are is influenced by what we view, like and whom we share it with.

It won’t happen overnight, but it is evolving. The same way our taste for music and fashion by osmosis once shaped by our next up of kin (or closest friends).

Or else, how would we explain an entire generation falling in love with American Pie, Vincent, Say You Say me.

My friend mentioned Lionel Richie‘s line “easy as Sunday Morning”.

So it’s Sunday Morning. The Vietnamese who would otherwise show up at the gym, have taken it easy “like Sunday Morning”.

It’s new year. It’s a celebration. Time for feasting and eating. To broker marriages and business relations.

Even to forgive trespasses both from the religious (Sunday)  and cultural (Tet) stand point. Let us not fall into temptation. I am sure after these three days, (with gambling and drinking involved) many would find above prayer more meaningful if not personable. The Me who could’ve been should have taken it easy like Sunday morning.

Instead, I end up going to the gym all these three days and only take small bites of the bean cake. It’s brand simple, but a winning entry for our national contest for the throne. Back when the general consensus was that the Earth was square. And that it’s not good for a man to be alone on this very day. He has to be a mini-we in the context of a larger batch that hatched into a tribe called Lac Viet, ancestors of today’s Vietnamese. No wonder those “Individualized” stairmasters remain unoccupied on this New Year’s morning: everybody is reclaiming what’s they once were.

Clearing the deck

In about ten days, the world will see an exodus of millions. Chinese New Year.

Workers and students on The Last Train Home.

First day of the New Year (Snake) will be dedicated to ancestors e.g. visiting their graves or wherever the family altar happens to be.

From then on, neighbors visiting neighbors, catching up on latest gossips.

Saigon is about to be emptied out. Students have just finished their exams.

Workers party on with co-workers while try to save up for their home-bound trips.

Companies pay out bonuses. Not nearly enough. Hard times.

Money from the common pot, just changing hands.

Even Vietnamese American from overseas try to find an envy seat on those East-bound flights.

Back in 1975, some of them got experience, but at the opposite direction.

This herd-like movement is as predictable as the Muslim and Hindu pilgrims.

However, their sons and daughters have changed. More adapting to city landscape  and playground, with more mobile phones and supermarkets.

Even clubbing, an urban phenomenon, now a common practice in second and third-tier towns.

Parents put up one last-ditch effort to hold on. Who want to be an empty-nester!

Where have their children gone? Eyes glued to the screen, racing against the machine (virtual combatant).

This is not the first time parents learn to let go.

But it’s the first generation of parents who fail to understand the force of modernity whose grips are so strong on their fast-growing children.

We used to place blames on cultic figures (Jim Jones) or gang leaders (Hearst syndrome) who gather and garner followers.

Now, who can prosecute animation and urbanization.

A force of change here,  an adoption there. Before you know it, kids are strangers in their own homes.

They want to connect as they used to. But have lost the keys.

Alienation and estrangement. Celluloid and chip set. Instruments of change, but also instruments of divide.

I am glad people still go home each year. Keep them sane. When seeing yourself in the faces of others of common genes set, you can’t help questioning yourself.

No one comes out a winner. It’s not a race. Modernity and machine just keep going unstoppable. Up to us to regulate our internal filters and rate of adoption.

Last Train Home. There might be both blessings and curses awaiting at the last stop. Ironically, the symbol is that of a snake, which keeps you guessing, and sweating at the edge of your seat.

Secret sauce

I met a pianist last Sunday. When he told me he was 65, I almost flipped. He happened to be a Judo trainer as well. Wow! He looked 45.

Another friend of mine, Jazz musician and software expert, also looks young for his age. What’s the secret sauce? Shirley MacLaine doesn’t look 78.

You might say, oh well, actors and actresses take care of themselves.

How about us? Don’t we want to take care of ourselves?

We are actors of our life scripts. That’s the secret sauce.

Stand in front of the mirror, rehearse, rehearse, rehearse.

Breathe in , breathe out. Sing out loud, in and out of the showers.

Most New Year resolutions are health-related e.g. losing 10 lbs….

But the goal must be rooted in the subconscious and lived out habitually.

I am sure the pianist had logged in 10,000 hours of Judo practice (he broke many of his bones, just like Jackie Chan).

Still, he wore cross-training shoes, jeans and stretched short sleeves. I am sure he could hang out with his son (who was trying out for the US Olympic Judo team) and be mistaken as “one of the boys”.

Our life expectancy has increased to around 77 years. Like companies , we are “Built to Last”.

Take aways from most admired companies: agility, flexibility and discipline to follow through. Front-line employees are empowered and educated to make judgment calls.  But most importantly, leaders must be able to take a step back and do a pre-morterm analysis (the O ring in Challenger, the release valves in TMI nuclear reactor).

Problems are systemic, built up over time like dental plaque .  Meanwhile, people are creatures of habits i.e. taking the path of least resistance. Voila! Recipe for disaster. Everyone is just doing his or her job logging in 10,000 hours of minimum wages.

I noticed the pianist fingers on the key boards after he had told me who he was (Judo trainer).  I tried to see if he could still manage those graceful spreads. He did play a bit harder than most. Strength and swiftness, controlled yet flexible.

Our time is now. Use the opposite force to our advantage. We have tried to use our own one too many. Try it the other way. Be agile. Be flexible. Be open-minded. It might work. It’s the secret sauce I have seen in musicians and martial-arts experts. When you are multi-talented, it triggered something else, some place else in the brain. Use it.

Signs and signals

Jackie Chan delivered again in Chinese Zodiac. The 12 Animals.

The East learn to tell fortune from symbols. The West teach others to “read” people. Animals or People. We all want the advantage of foresight the next outcome.

People commit to New-Year resolutions: lose weight, take up lessons in this and that, get off a bad habit like smoking, shopping and swapping old wives’ tales.

Others use the turn of the calendar as a bookend to their failed relationship or business attempt (valley of death).

Good idea. It’s about time. Turn out the lights.

Something never meant to last forever.

Mismatched personalities, mismatched commitments.

The usual: people hurting people in a chain of downward spiral, of self-sabotage.

Those who last are those who never went in deep and are quick at damage control.

Pull out while you still can. Salvage and survive.

As long as you can read the signs and detect the signals.

People and events do send signals (favorable or unfavorable). Semiotics.

We need to know ourselves, when to hold, when to fold.

Enough hurt, enough loss, enough bad tastes in the mouth.

Unfortunately we can only “see” in looking backward.

That’s why people would rather invest in pre-mortem than post-mortem analysis.

That’s why people tell fortune by reading those zodiac, the Twelve.

With Jackie Chan, rumor has it that this was going to be his last picture (at least one which he did all the stunts himself).

For us, we still miss a sign here, a signal there.

Those who are skilled and savvy to detect them will reap a windfall. Others are still in denial even after the facts (that it’s over).

Welcome to the New Year, a bookend to all those missed signs and signals of year past.

Winner takes all

We will hear a lot of ABBA‘s Happy New Year this week. But “the Winner Takes It All” speaks directly to our zeo-sum society.

You lose, I win.

There are only limited “chips” on the table. Scarcity causes rising values. Hot air also rises. Like New Year’s champagne bubbles.

It’s time for a 2012 wrap up. To tabulate and look at the bottom line while drinking bottom-up. Swallow the strong drink and let go of the past.

Time flows only one way.

And the winner takes all. It’s the name of the game.

People and companies are urged to give and give to anyone, any cause, except to Uncle Sam.

Budget short fall.

Remember that one year when the IRS actually refunded the extra tax?

Fair game.

It’s only numbers. And it’s pure math.

As if numbers exist in thin air, unrelated to society and people (who are hurting).

There have been a lot of discussions in academic circle to “humanize” the business schools (courses on ethics, communication and inter-cultural communication) after what happened four years ago. Even Medical schools realise their future doctors need some human skills when interacting with patients in the real world.

In short, those who earn the most feel the least for their clients.

By now, even the least sensitive of them should realise that when people are hurting, they don’t make for good clients, if they still show up at all to use their services.

Politicians ironically are aware of their shrinking tax base, at least every four years.

That leaves the job (of drawing our attention to society’s weakest link) to priests and pastors, who, couldn’t tell one acronym from the other. The cultural divide. Work and Life, faith and science.

It’s another bookend, year-end. We have survived a couple of perfect storms that knocked down the house of cards. The winner did take all. That leaves us, losers.

Be not sore. Lick not those wounds, and give them not the satisfaction. Instead, look forward to a future where all are winners. It’s possible. As long as we take turn, or else, it’s another version of Utopia. Yesterday’s winners might very well be tomorrow’s losers (the Innovator’s Dilemma). That’s why VC‘s keep hunting for new and upcoming talent.

That’s why we expect the next big thing around the bend. Keep our blood pumping. “If we don’t, we might as well lay down and die”. Champagne anyone?

Reading People

I was approached by a guy wearing an FBI cap, asking me to buy lottery tickets.

It’s hot in Vietnam this time of the year. Almost everyone wears some sorts of caps with USA on them,  helmets with the Nike vectors or a hybrid version: helmets shaped like caps.

From top to toe, we send out signals and messages. Call it Non-Verbal language.

2/3 of our communication are not verbal (in Without You, there is a line “you always smile, but in your eyes, your sorrow shows, yes it shows”).

Yet few of us were schooled, trained or able to detect these hidden codes: I am cool. I don’t give a damn. I am somebody. I am everybody. I am nobody. Try me…..

Conversely, people receive unintended messages we did not know we  send.

I’ve got money. I don’ t respect you enough (clothing mismatched). I am carefree. I am careful. Don’t mess with me (tatoo and black T’s).

In the States, cars make statements. Here, it’s the scooters.

A guitar as backpack (musician) a rolled-up mat (yoga) a cone hat (urban migrant) a kid with balloon (mom has a night out and spends guilt money).

Every stripe and strand co-exist and negotiate limited space.

The upper crust has already left town to exclusive and elite resorts, leaving behind the “mass who live in quiet desperation” in the tourist district, where people lean against fake trees and work up a fake smile for photo ops.

If you stood and watched people, you are not sure between background and foreground, which one is more on display.

Wait until 4-G is here.

Then we will have completed our evolutionary cycle (self-expression with a cost).

When those sport cars came out, they were intended to say: I own this toy, reserved for me and my girlfriend (parents and entourage are not welcome).

So will it be with the I’s family of products (unless you share the listening device  with one significant other). The I-pod Shuffle was meant for one, jogger preferably.

Not the boombox that blasts out Christmas music for the whole neighborhood.

Yes, in our technological society, the clear message (which happens to be the medium, according to McLuhan) is that, I finally am. Arrived. Leave me alone. Leave your old world behind (communal and village-bound). I am OK, you are OK or not, it’s irrelevant. When the playing field is leveled (by us duck-sitting as advertising headcounts), they will upgrade to some other games which will require premium fees.

So we celebrate the upcoming New Year, with ” a will to try” so as not to be left out or behind.

My New Year resolution is to read people better, however subtle the intended messages might be. Often times, it’s mixed message. After all, the world is our non-verbal bookstore. Just  hope I don’t run into a real FBI agent, undercover as a lottery-ticket pusher.

mass innovation

We got into this mess (housing bubble and derivative fallacy) en mass.

Are we going to suffer in isolation? No way!

With crowdsourcing, virtual forum, email, cloud etc.. we got enough in our arsenal to reverse the course. Technology (the way) and the will. That’s all we need.

And a little bit of love (courtesy of the Beatles).

I know this sounds unrealistic and romantic.

But the same passion and energy people rushed into the bubble will help them backtrack. But not without help from friends.

It’s the equivalent of a jail pass. Bailing out.

Think of the GI bill, and how a generation of well-educated and well-paid workers built the American Century.

From fridge to bridge, they built with pride. It was the envy and marvel of the world.

I still remembered my brother’s stories. He got sent to Denver for one-year training.

This was back in the early 70’s. According to his description (and my imagination), America must have been 7th Heaven: lush green, snowy white, and blonde girls (who  partied their hearts out on New Year’s Eve).

I know my brother. The changes must have shown through, unequivocally.

Then it was my turn, landed in Pennsylvania: again, lush green, Indian country, vast space (Beaver Stadium now second largest in the US).

Last month, I got back to the US, but did not feel excited.

What’s happened here?

Aren’t we becoming less resourceful? No longer a land of opportunities?

In my neighborhood, when time was good, you see all sorts of signage: realtor, loan refinancing, people running for offices and people moving their offices.

Black, Hispanic , Asian and White were all at it, hustling and bustling.

Now, it was depressing even on July Fourth.

Mind you this is not Detroit in 2000 (congratulations on the city’s revival).

We got into this mess en mass. We need one another to get out of it.

Use technology and mass innovation. Crowd-source and open source.

Do whatever it takes. Be more than aggressive (Double the GI bills).

Comb through the evidence like a medical examiner for the cause and manner of death (of the vibrant economy) in a post-morterm. Then, prescribe. Stick to the action plan. One by one, we will get out.

All we need is love (Beatles). All we need is each other. All we need is time.

Living in horror shop

This Valentine Day, Vietnam dating scene will be scary!

That is, if they picked  “House in the Alley” for a date movie.

Dan rented a house in District 3, and during the course of trying to find the right film treatment, discovered something about the house in the alley which he had rented (French villa).

http://t.co/NOmCihEI

I shared a Chamber of Commerce dinner with Dan not too long ago. We discussed films such as Joyeux Noel (WWI cease-fire for soldiers to celebrate Christmas. Opposite sides crawled out of their fox holes to fraternize on this snowy holiday in peace and brotherhood. No animosity, just humanity).

Dan’s knowledge and passion for movies clearly showed even then.

Or else, why would a Venture Capitalist decided to “risk”” a chunk of change to produce something that is scarry to him, financially!

I wish him all the success.

Superstition is alive and well, everywhere, but more predominantly in Vietnam, still an agricultural society (the long-breasted ghost tale..)

Now, even ghosts move to the city, and occupy the alley.

I live in the Alley (see Moon Alley).  After three-months here, I can pass as native and not banana (yellow outside, white inside).

My survival instincts long dormant start to kick in when I feel danger or threat.

You gotta to be on your guard, but not to the point of “throwing the baby out with the bath water”.

Dan and his crew (even him got lonely and called me on New Year‘s day) just have to exercise their imagination and creativity.

But, the impact I suspect will be greater for Viet Kieu overseas, since it will carry an underlying theme of nostalgia (missing even the ghosts one had left behind).

I guess, the worst case scenario for Dan is to break even, with interests paid in Underworld dollars.

They burned a lot of those last week, I heard, even I-pads, for the dead to “live” (no punt intended) in digital and 3-D.

One can hardly be lonely, not when living in a Vietnam’s alley.

Shame and Stigma

Making small talks on New Year‘s morning, I mentioned various distant relatives, among whom a handsome ping-pong playing cousin of mine.

I remembered him as 60’s looking, hair, glasses and short shorts.

He was later married with kids before got  sent to re-education camp.

While he was away, his wife had an affair and made him feel ashamed upon his return and reintegration to larger society.

Those external stresses, at first glance, must have driven him to suicide.

My hostess cousin overheard my conversation, rushed out of the kitchen  and said ” cousin T was gay!”

“He had been pressured to maintaining a modeled family against his wish.”

Mystery unveiled for me after all these years.

The stigma (of being gay at a time and in a place where it was unacceptable) was followed by shame (even his “modeled” family couldn’t hold waters).

The agony of shame and stigma must have eaten up the man.

If memory served me right, I , up until yesterday, couldn’t conceive his family as “spinners” of story.

His father showed my mom where to find housing and apply for a teaching job.

My birth certificate (showing the address) still bears witness to their kindness to relatives fleeing Southward during the partition (North-South).

In all appearances, with his father also a teacher, which used to be ranked first (Si, Nong, Cong, Thuong – Mandarin, Farmer, Factory worker, Merchant), and rest of family high achievers until the last shoe dropped.

I felt for cousin T.

Perhaps taking his own life was the only way.

If he had lived in this time, or emigrated to a certain State in the US, or EU,

he could have carried on happily.

He ended life to stay true to his nature. (as of this edit, the US Supreme Court is into its 3rd day hearing about gay marriage).

When Francoise Sagan released her bombshell publication  “Bonjour Tristesse“, a lot of young people committed suicide in France. Existential loneliness.

Our own Nguyen Anh Chin also composed his “Buon oi, ta xin chao mi” (Bonjour Tristesse) after a time living in France.

Every society finds ways to explain outliers and outcasts.

We put much spotlight on how many lives Bill Gates has saved (good for him), but we have yet done inventory of what’s in our closet. Instead, we ignore what we can’t explain, or doesn’t fit into the mold: a handicapped child, a gay cousin, an interracial nephew or an unmarried niece.

Society is judged by how well it protects its weakest link, not to convenient put on labels such as “dysfunctional”, or worse, “reject”.

With 7 Billion , the chance of outliers and outcasts will only increase. Consequently, the burden is  on us to overcome fear, to be a good Samaritan. When you do to the least of these, you have done unto me.

Where is  the “Bill Gates” in each of us? The good Samaritan who stands up to shame and social stigma? (Condom Contest Prize $100,000 from Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation). The funny thing about Social Proof (they all do it) is it changes just as quickly if given the right catalyst and back wind (in 10 years, public opinion in the US about gay marriage has flip-flopped).  Be that force of change. He ain’t heavy, he is my brother.

R.I.P. cousin T.