Eight billion people on Earth, silent murderers
Non-profits, preachers and church, crooks and burglars
Hollywood corporate in school, teachin’ philosophies
You either gon’ be dead or in jail, killer psychology
Silent murderer, what’s your body count? Who your sponsorship?
Objectified so many bitches, I killed their confidence
The media’s the new religion, you killed the consciousness
Your jealousy is way too pretentious, you killed accomplishments
Niggas killed freedom of speech, everyone sensitive
If your opinion fuck ’round and leak, might as well send your will
The industry has killed the creators, I’ll be the first to say
To each exec’, “I’m saving your children”—We can’t negotiate
I caught a couple of bodies myself, slid my community
My last Christmas toy drive in Compton handed out eulogies
Not because the rags in the park had red gradient
But because the high blood pressure flooded the caterin’
So what’s the difference ’tween your life when hiding motives?
More fatalities and reality bring you closure
The noble person that goes to work and pray like they ’posed to?
Slaughter people too, your murder’s just a bit slower.

Kendrick Lamar (Excerpt from “Worldwide Steppers”)

This afternoon, I attended the AAPI faculty group meeting via Zoom. When we broke into small groups, we discussed support and stress relief. On the latter, I shared that I took my kids to the skateparks. I rollerbladed to help ease all the tensions. We also hit the slopes skiing and snowboarding. A Chinese-American faculty member shared that she watched K-Dramas when she had time to herself. A Korean-American staff member shared that she had been too busy with work and kids; therefore, she hadn’t time to herself.

With support, we talked about the vibrant Asian communities in Virginia including Vietnamese, Korean, and Chinese. I shared about the support I got from my co-workers. One of them also concurred about the support she received from her colleagues. The example she gave was when she went to the funeral of her son’s best friend who killed himself, her colleagues showed her their support. Her son and his best friend were in college together. I didn’t know what made that young man take his own life, but my heart sank. I just can’t even begin to imagine how the kid’s parents would cope with their loss.

The tragic story has kept me thinking about my own kids, especially the older ones. I love them way too much and I care about them too deeply. I want to make sure that they won’t screw up their lives. Instead of helping them, I am turning into a control freak. They hate me and they say I am ruining their lives. They may be right. I don’t know what I am doing. Like everything I have cared so deeply for, I ended up ruining it. Maybe I should just care less and give them the freedom to live their own lives. If they don’t want to hang out with me, I won’t force them. If they want to spend time on their digital devices, I’ll let them. I need to learn to let go.

Since my mother’s passing, I am still carrying on the pain. I thought of her often. Glimpses of her playing on my mind made me weep. My life has not been the same after she departed. My emotions had all screwed up. The more I cared about something; the more I became erratic. I ended up making poor choices. I messed up all my relationships, especially the ones I cared too much about. Instead of caring too much, I am learning to care less. For the most part, it is working out well.

I avoid getting too comfortable around people. Even with my relatives, I remind myself to just shut up and walk away. I used to be passionate about my work. Now I just remove myself from discussions and let people be the experts in my field. My older kids are growing and they want to live their lives. I am not going to get into their way. My drinking friends, after getting wasted, see you next time.

I am not being careless. I just need to care less. When I cared too deeply, I felt like I was on the verge of breaking down. I couldn’t control the monster in me. Caring less means letting go of things I cannot control. I can’t control my mother’s death. I can’t control my kids. I can’t control my work. I can’t control my own life. I never wanted to be in control. I am not a dictator. I just want the best for the people I love. If my kids turn out bad, they will suffer, not me. If they turn out good, that’s great for them and that’s what I want. I don’t want them to be miserable because they have a controlling father. They are grown now and it is time to let them go. It’s time to refocus my attention on the younger ones.

Một album acoustic mộc mạc chỉ giọng hát của Minh Thu và tiếng đàn guitar. Giọng hát của Minh Thu đầy chất khói và cô hát “Quê nhà” của nhạc sĩ Trần Tiến rất thấm. Cô trình bài các ca khúc khác cũng tốt nhưng chỉ đơn giản với tiếng đàn mộc nên bị buồn tẻ.

The first time I fucked a white bitch
I was sixteen at the Palisades
Fumblin’ my grades, I traveled with the team
The apache life, Centennial was like
When Mrs. Baker screamed at Doughboy
Mixed that with Purple Rain
They interchanged the scenes
Happy just to be out the hood
With all the wealthy kids
Credit cards and family plans
She drove her daddy’s Benz
I found out that he was a sheriff
That was a win-win
Because he had locked up Uncle Perry
She paid her daddy’s sins
Next time I fucked a white bitch
Was out in Copenhagen
​good kid, m.A.A.d city tour
I flourished on them stages
Whitney asked did I have a problem
I said, “I might be racist”
Ancestors watchin’ me fuck was like retaliation

Kendrick Lamar (Excerpt from “Worldwide Steppers”)

Chất giọng của Xuân Hảo trầm ấm nhưng cách hát của anh vẫn hơi bị cứng. Chẳng hạn như khi anh trình bài “Mộng dưới hoa” (nhạc của Phạm Đình Chương và thơ của Đinh Hùng) và “Tôi đi giữa hoàng hôn” (Văn Phụng), anh hát hơi bị ngượng nghịu một tí. Riêng “Cô hàng nước” (Vũ Minh) thì cái flow của anh rất đẹp. Đạo Nguyễn dùng dàn nhạc để phối khí bài này rất tuyệt—nhất là khi tiếng sax vu vơ theo sao giọng ca trầm của nam ca sĩ. “Cô hàng nước” là ca khúc nổi bật nhất trong album này.

A beautiful and heartfelt collection filled with human touch. John Lee Clark is a DeafBlind poet who writes in English Braille (EBAE). He even translated works from American Sign Language. His poems are enjoyable to read. One of my favorites is the biographical “A DeafBlind Poet”:

A DeafBlind poet doesn’t like to read sitting up. A DeafBlind poet likes to read Braille magazines on the john. A DeafBlind poet is in the habit of composing nineteenth-century letters and pressing Alt+S. A DeafBlind poet is a terrible student. A DeafBlind poet does a lot of groundbreaking research. A DeafBlind poet is always in demand. A DeafBlind poet has yet to be gainfully employed. A DeafBlind poet shares all his trade secrets with his children. A DeafBlind poet will not stop if police order him to. A DeafBlind poet used to like dogs but now prefers cats. A DeafBlind poet listens to his wife. A DeafBlind poet knits beautiful soft things for his dear friends. A DeafBlind poet doesn’t believe in “contributing to society.”

I used to think I could do anything
with enough effort—throw a rope
at the night and lasso in the moon,
or jump from a tree
and beat my arms into wings
like an owl, its feathers nothing
more than decoration, nothing my naked
arms couldn’t match. I was an imaginative
child. An imbecile in some circles.
It is not nice to call someone names.
I was the name-caller. I said Little White
Sickle to the moon. I said Big Head Bird
to the owl. I said Mom, and I said Dad.
I thought if I shouted these names loud
enough, then someone would respond.
These days I have seen my best
efforts fail. All the love I’ve poured
into a person. Or them into me.
How I’ve failed to open myself
properly to receive their names.
Love. Love bird. I have been called
so many names. I have so many
identities I never meant to adopt.
In the dark, the owls hoot at each other
and I shout back: me, me, me.

Kien Lam

Từ chất giọng khàn đến cách nhả chữ, Minh Tâm hát rất giống cô Khánh Ly. Chẳng hạn như chữ “ngỡ” trong ca khúc của cố nhạc sĩ Hoàng Thi Thơ, Minh Tâm phát âm y chang như cô Khánh Ly. Chỉ khác là không rè bằng vì thiếu thuốc lá và trải nghiệm. Nghe Minh Tâm trình bày những ca khúc của Trịnh Công Sơn (“Hạ trắng” và “Ướt mi”) khiến tôi muốn nghe lại những bài thu âm trước năm 1975 của cô Khánh Ly. Album không có điểm đặc biệt hay riêng biệt của Minh Tâm.

Bags of ice drip from the back of a small bike
in Vietnam. The exhaust pipe rumbles. The man
sweats. My tongue melts. We are lucky we are not tiny
starving polar bears slipping off the last refuge
of ice into the black asphalt. The open
ocean. Or I should say we are lucky
the coming flood is incremental.
We are lucky to share this moment—
him delivering the bags of ice
before they melt, and me having returned
to my parents’ birthplace, which is to me
an almost-home in that I am almost
melting. An old woman sells a child
a snack. Her mother hands her some cash.
The old woman doesn’t melt. The bike
doesn’t melt. We are lucky to be held
together by bodies which are so difficult
to melt. We are similar in our almost-melting,
just as the sounds of the café I am sitting in
almost melt into me the way a song’s name sits
on the tip of your tongue when you can’t
remember it. I will never fully know
the sounds because I am lucky to have left
the melting: my mother lucky
to have a family that didn’t need to sell
dried pieces of squid on the street,
which is a thing I almost-understand—
the old woman squatting in the street.
In Vietnam I am the piece of ice
that stays on the bike. I am the child
chewing on the dried squid. I am lucky
it is dead and cannot escape into the wet
air, where the Vietnamese people swim
and their voices distort just slightly—I can
almost understand them. I can almost
piece my tongue back together.
I can almost stop the melting.

Kien Lam

On Saturday, I took Đán and Xuân to Whitetail. I wanted to learn the hop turns on the blue slopes, but they were harder than they look. I could do the toe turns, but I had a bit of a hard time getting the board around on the heel turns. Because of the rain and warm weather, Whitetail closed its double-black diamond. I encouraged Xuân to switch to snowboard. With Đán’s help, the three of us snowboarded down the long green trail. It was a fun day hanging out with my two boys. We left around 1:00 pm so we could attend the Scout party.

Because Đạo had scouting on Saturday, he didn’t go with us. Today he and I went together to Liberty. I started off skiing because I didn’t want him to wait too long for me on snowboard. We hit the double-black slope three times. It felt a bit strange at first to be skiing again. I wanted to ski moguls, but that terrain was closed. The rain and warm weather had washed away all the moguls. After lunch I switched to snowboarding. I also switched my 156-cm Capita to 143-cm Burton. The shorter board made turns easier, but it was less stable. I caught the edge a few times. Still the major issue for me was uncomfortability. I did two runs on the blues and couldn’t snowboard anymore. We headed home at 1:00 pm.

I think the Flow’s step-in bindings were the culprit. I ordered a Rome Snowboards United-G1, which was on sale for $103, to see if this will solve the issue. I am also so attempting to buy the Rossignol Circuit, which is currently on sale for $156.95. I’ll wait for the bindings first before I invest into a board.

After two days of skiing and snowboarding, I am exhausted. Getting old is catching up to me. Snowboarding alone is putting a toll on my body.