I love to spend time with my mom, but not like this. I can take care of her, but COVID makes it much more challenging. Every time I entered her room, I put on two masks, a face shield, gloves, and a trash bag over my clothes. I asked her to put on her mask as well. Because she had been too weak to even move her body, everything takes longer than 15 minutes, which is how long medical experts said I could spend with her. Unfortunately, I could not follow that guideline.

Getting up and down was too difficult and too risky. When she got stuck in her chair and could not get up, I called 911. She is now in much better care by medical professionals. Because she has COVID, no visitors allowed. I talked to her over the phone and she is doing better. They are checking on her and giving her all the meds she needs. She even told me to check my sister in if her condition gets worse. My sister’s heartbeat increases every time she gets up to walk. She seems to be gasping for air. I recommended her checking in as well. I am keeping an eye on her if she gets worse, I am going to check her in.

I am now in quarantine. I am reading Barack Obama’s latest memoir and getting as much sleep as I can. I am also trying to get out of the house for a walk when no one is around. The skatepark near my sister’s house was completely empty. I did some rollerblading. I don’t think I will be able to use it on the weekend as others will be around.

I won’t be able to be with my wife and kids for a while—probably not this Christmas and New Year. My wife now has to work and look after four boys. I feel so guilty. Thankfully, my mother-in-law is helping us out.

I woke up to dead silence. I missed hearing the sound of my kids running around, arguing, and trying to figure out what to eat for breakfast. The only sound I heard was my mom’s breathing through a baby monitor. She seemed to sleep well last night after I changed her wet diaper.

She called me up and asked me to put a sweater on for her because she felt cold. I could barely get her to sit up. I spent way longer than 15 minutes with her. I prepared bánh mì thịt nướng with half Starbucks Frappuccino and half milk for her to drink. I closed her door and let her eat breakfast. I told her to yell if she needed me. I can hear her through the baby monitor.

She tried to reach for her phone and somehow managed to recline herself into her chair. She couldn’t get up to go to the bathroom. She sat there and was unable to move. I could not help her to stand up to her walker. She breathed heavily. I called 911.

My sister and then my mom tested positive for COVID. They live together with my sister’s son. So far my nephew has not shown any symptoms. He is still waiting to be tested. My sister is very sick and can barely take care of herself.

My mom got hit hard. In addition to COVID, she has trouble walking. In the past few days, she fell off her bed several times trying to get up. I have no choice, but to help take care of her. Although I am putting myself at risk, I can’t abandon her when she needs me the most.

I consulted with my internist and a doctor friend. I understand all the precautions. I have geared up with masks, face shields, hand sanitizers, and a whole nine yards. I am still not sure if I will dodge this bullet. More than that, I am not sure if my mom will get through. I am extremely concerned about her.

All this time, I have been able to avoid COVID. I always take the precautions seriously. I wear a mask everywhere I go. I have never been social; therefore, social distance works for me. I never thought I would come this close to it, but here we are.

Reven Leilani’s Luster is a bizarre yet breathtaking debut novel. Edie, a young Black struggling artist, had an affair with Eric, an older white man who had an open marriage. When Edie showed up at his house, his wife Rebecca not only didn’t get jealous, but she also took her in. The story revolves around racism, psychology, a bit of typography, and a whole lot of sadomasochistic sex. Leilani’s writing is also wild. Here’s her sentence:

Slowly, he eases me down onto his grand, slightly left-leaning cock, and for a moment I do rethink my atheism, for a moment I consider the possibility of God as a chaotic, amorphous evil who made autoimmune disease but gave us miraculous genitals to cope, and so I fuck him desperately with the force of this epiphany and Eric is talkative and filthy but there is some derangement about his face, this pink contortion that introduces the whites of his eyes in a way that makes me afraid he might say something we cannot recover from just yet, so I cover his mouth and say shut up, shut the fuck up, which is more aggressive than I would normally be at this point but it gets the job done and in general if you need a pick-me-up I welcome you to make a white man your bitch though I feel panicked all of a sudden to have not used a condom and I’m looking around the room and there is a bathroom attached, and in the bathroom are what look to be extra towels and that makes me so emotional that he and in one instant a concerned host rises out of his violent sexual mania, slowing the proceedings into the dangerous territory of eye contact and lips and tongue where mistakes get made and you forget that everything eventually dies, so it is not my fault that during this juncture I call him daddy and it is definitely not my fault that this gets him off so swiftly that he says he loves me and we are collapsing back in satiation and horror, not speaking until he gets me a car home and says take care of yourself like, please go, and as the car is pulling away he is standing there on the porch in a floral silk robe that is clearly his wife’s, looking like he has not so much had an orgasm as experienced an arduous exorcism, and a cat is sitting at his feet, utterly bemused by the white clapboard and verdant lawn, which makes me hate this cat as the city rises around me in a bouquet of dust, industrial soot, and overripe squash, insisting upon its own enormity like some big-dick postmodernist fiction and still beautiful despite its knowledge of itself, even as the last merciless days of July leave large swaths of the city wilted and blank.

Cám ơn sự đống góp cả cuộc đời của anh cho nghệ thuật và âm nhạc Việt Nam. Anh đã đem lại tiếng cười cho những tâm hồn Việt sống trên đất hải ngoại suốt mấy mươi năm qua. Cầu mong cho anh được an nghỉ trong bình yên.

I broke down and cried last night. I couldn’t hold back my tears. I am scared and hopeless. I don’t know what to do. Should I put my life in danger? I just can’t sit back and watch. I need to do something. Praying is not going to work.

My heart broke. My soul numbed. My head hurt. The clock is ticking. Every waking minute, I cannot think of anything else but the tragic outcome. I can’t believe this is happening. One carelessness yields terrifying consequences. The ones closest to you could kill you.

It’s too late for regret. All I can do now is counting down the days and hoping for the best. Preparing for the worst is more realistic. It’s going to take a miracle to make it through 2020.

Có những tình khúc nên giữ đúng ca từ của tác giả cho dù người hát là nam hay nữ. Như “Tình bơ vơ,” nhạc sĩ Lam Phương viết theo tâm sự và trải nghiệm của ông. Đáng tiếc khi Giang Hồng Ngọc hát bài này trong album Mùa thu chết, cô đã đổi “anh” và “em” như “Anh khóc cho đời viễn xứ / Về làm chi rồi anh lặng lẽ ra đi.” Chỉ qua sự thay đổi nhỏ nhoi này, cô đặt mình vào câu chuyện thay vì dùng tiếng hát của mình để kể lại câu chuyện của tác giả.

Bài này được hoà âm nhẹ nhàng với tiếng đàn dương cầm êm dịu và tiếng sax xót xa. Giọng Giang Hồng Ngọc truyền cảm và ấm áp nhưng cô đánh mất đi cái tâm trạng lận đận của một người đàn ông: “Anh khóc cho duyên hững hờ / Em chết trong mộng ngày thơ.” Người nhạc sĩ buồn cho số phận trớ trêu của mình chứ không khóc.

Những bài khác trong album gồm có “Mùa thu chết,” “Thu ca,” “Thu sầu,” “Đời đá vàng,” và liên khúc Ngô Thụy Miên được hoà âm theo phong cách thính phòng. Không đặc sắc nhưng đủ chất lượng.

I started rollerblading during the lockdown as an alternative to ice skating. I was fearful at first, but now I enjoy it as much as ice skating. The two are different, but they complement each other. Whereas ice skating is about techniques, rollerblading is all about the thrills.

Skating down the ramps at skateparks has been exciting. I try to increase incrementally from lower to higher slopes. I am taking my time to make sure I am not breaking any bones. I am not as fearless as my nine-year-old son whose skills surpassed me. I am not competing with him, but I am inspired by him. He pushes me to overcome my fears.

These days, I try to put in at least an hour a day whenever the weather permits. The only problem is that when the weather is nice, the skateparks are also crowded. Some wear masks and some don’t. As a result, I find alternative places to rollerblade and bike trails are ideal. One of the advantages of rollerblading on a bike trail is that our family members who do not skate can join us.

For a while, I had no motivation to stay active. I ate more and drank more, but hardly moved. I felt tired, lazy, and depressed. I just wanted to read. Walking didn’t seem to do much. I got tired of jogging. I got bored of running on the treadmill. I was not into biking that much. Rollerblading and ice skating excite me and improve my health. I feel better even when work stresses me out. I also sleep better at night. I doubt that I have lost any weight, but I feel lighter. I don’t even drink much anymore—partly due to my gout—and I am not craving for it. I hope these recreational sports can keep me active. These are the only workouts I liked so far.

1. Agatha Arch Is Afraid of Everything, by Kristin Bair, is heartbreaking yet hilarious.
2. The Art of Floating, by Kristin Bair O’Keeffe, is poignant, witty and unconventional.
3. Dress Your Family in Corduroy and Denim, by David Sedaris, takes us into the eccentric stories of his family.
4. Dust Child, by Nguyễn Phan Quế Mai who is a gifted writer with an ear for language and a heart for humanity. In her stories, she puts the suffering of her characters over the conflicts from all sides.
5. The Mountains Sing, by Nguyễn Phan Quế Mai, is one of the most level-headed historical accounts of the Việt Nam Wars I have read in recent years.
6. On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous, by Ocean Vương, is a beautiful, painful, and lustful read. Even as a straight man, I find the gay sex scenes to be damn erotic.
7. The Sympathizer, by Việt Thanh Nguyễn, is a well-written novel and a well-deserved winner of the Pulitzer Prize.
8. Thirsty, by Kristin Bair O’Keeffe, is a dramatic novel that taps into human emotion, brutalization, and compassion.
9. Who Do You Love, by Jean Thompson, featured fifteen skillfully-crafted fictions ranging from shocking to reminiscing to disturbing to shattering to enlightening experiences.

This Wednesday I will complete my ice skating lessons for Adult 2 level. The class started out with 12 students. In the past few weeks, only me and two ladies were left. Our coach has been great. She gave more individual attention with only the three of us. She kept reminding me to look up. I looked down quite a bit and it is a hard habit to break.

In retrospect, what have I learned? I spent the last eight weeks mastering forward one-foot glides. My right foot was better than my left. Now I can glide across the length of the rink on either foot. I found skating on one foot to be crucial. It helped me balance better and more confidence. My favorite technique was forward slalom. It looks nice and is easy to do. I am still struggling with backward skating. Fortunately, for this level I only had to do backward swizzles. I need to pick up and practice more backward skating. I also learned 180 two-foot turns in place.

I am very satisfied with my ice skating lessons. It only took half an hour a week and another half an hour for practice. I needed more time to practice; therefore, I have been going to public sessions almost everyday with the kids for an hour and fifteen minutes.

Hitting the ice arena after a long, stressful day of work helped me relax and get me off my office chair. It also gave me some bonding time with my kids. Xuân, my five-year-old, has been enjoying ice skating. I tried to give him a bit of lessons, but I let him find his own rhythm for the most part. Đạo, my twelve-year-old, is very careful; therefore, he picked up techniques slowly. He is still working on his hockey stop, but he is a bit frustrated because he doesn’t think he is making any progress. Đán, my nine-year-old, is the best skater out of all of us. He excels because of his fearlessness. I demonstrated whatever I had learned in class and he would master it. For example, he now can complete a 180-turn and continue to skate backward. I still can only turn in place. I wanted him to take ice hockey lessons, but he refused. I also wanted him to wear his helmet and protective gears, but he only wears his helmet and not protective gears. Last week, he banged his knee against the wall. If he had his knee pads on, he wouldn’t be hurt so bad.

I invested in a pair of Bauer Supreme S29. Because I fit in a junior size, it cost $130 instead of $260 for senior size. It has been a painful experience to break in. When it was brand new, I could barely stake for three minutes. Despite the expert advice, which I had to lace up as tight as possible, I loosened up my lace a bit. Now I can skate for ten minutes. As I get more comfortable, I will tighten it up bit by bit.

I am looking forward to my next Adult 3 ice skating lessons. I signed up with Fairfax Ice Arena to be closer to home. The current one is with Medstar Capitals Iceplex, which is closer to my work. My plan was to go to ice skating lessons after work, but the pandemic has changed that. Now I work from home. The curriculums for the two locations are different, but I tried to match up as best as I could. I hope this one will be as good as the current one. I also want to compare which place provides better lessons.