I like to revisit grammar books once in a while to remind myself of the rules and the idiosyncrasies in the English language. Unfortunately, I didn’t enjoy the fifth edition of Rebecca Elliot’s Painless Grammar as much as the first time I read it. The content is still helpful. I just got bored of reading about grammar. Let’s get back to more exciting fiction books.

My son Đạo has been reading my blog. He reads not only just my latest posts but also the archives. He has read as far back as 2014 on family-related posts in English. He has 11 years worth of materials to go.

I have been blogging for 18 years and I have finally found an audience. That’s an accomplishment that I have never set out to do. Even today, I write for myself. I have been writing like no one is reading. I don’t think about any particular audience when I write. Not setting an expectation liberated me to write whatever was on my mind. The drawback is that I had gotten myself in trouble on several occasions. I didn’t know how far I had gone until it backfired. I rather take that risk than censoring myself. If I cannot be free to write on my personal blog, I might as well just shut it down. For almost two decades of blogging, I only fucked up a dozen times. That’s pretty good.

My only goal for this blog has always been to practice my writing. I started writing in English first because I was terrible at it. I could not keep my grammar straight. English has so many rules and some of them are so idiosyncratic. Even today, I still have to look up lay versus lie to make sure I use the correct one. I have made tons of grammatical errors, but I kept on writing like no one is watching. I don’t give a shit about the grammar police, but I always welcome edits from anyone who cared enough to send them my way.

While concentrating on English, my Vietnamese was slipping. I only began to write in Vietnamese when I figured out how to add diacritical marks. Unlike English, Vietnamese is a bit easier to write for me. Other than keeping my spelling straight, I don’t have to worry about grammatical errors. I realized that Vietnamese has no grammar rules. There’s no such thing as singular versus plural. There’s no rule on past, present, future, and perfect tenses. I could not find a Vietnamese grammar book. I don’t think it existed. (If anyone has such a book or knows one, please let me know.) I can build up my sentences any way I wanted to and it would not be grammatically wrong. They might not make any sense, but they are not wrong. As long as I spell correctly and have a logical flow, I can write in Vietnamese. Because there’s no rules in Vietnamese, it is a challenge to become really good at it. One of my favorite Vietnamese songwriters is Trịnh Công Sơn whose lyricism remains fascinating to study. He bent and substituted words in unexpected places and still managed to make his lyrics flow naturally. You would miss his wordplay unless you pay close attention to it. I still read his lyrics and discover something new every time.

For my blog, the topics varied from deeply personal to mundane documentation. I don’t know if anything I had written resonates with anyone. I didn’t know who reads my site, but I do now. Of course I welcome him into my world. This blog is a place for me to collect my thoughts, my daily activities, and my personal interests. It just isn’t private.

For their second progress report, Đạo’s and Đán’s grades slipped drastically and I take full responsibility for the failure on my part. I had to leave town for the entire month of December of last year. Even when I came back home, I didn’t check on them. I took their words when they told me they have done their assignments and trusted that they took their education seriously, especially Đạo.

Unfortunately, they rushed through their assignments without giving any effort. When they were supposed to write a few sentences, they wrote a few words. Đán even ignored assignments his teachers reminded him of the due dates. They wanted to play video games more than to do their assignments. I was disappointed at their lack of accountability and responsibility. Their report cards were a reality check for me.

We talked about their lack of progress and Đạo was angry at himself. His grades were low, but we both know he can improve if he puts efforts into his assignments and participates in class discussions. He and I are now back to our cave in the basement. I have to keep an eye on him while doing my work.

I don’t worry about Đạo as much as Đán who has always been struggling with school in all subjects. He doesn’t know what he is doing because he doesn’t pay attention in class. I had to sit with him and help him catch up on his assignments. He still has trouble learning math, especially with multiplication and division. For Spanish, he uses Google Translate for everything. He is falling behind. I am hoping that working one on one with him will help him improve. He constantly needed to be reminded to stay focused. He could not sit still in a classroom setting. He would do better in an active environment. I can see how freely he felt on the ice skating rink. Even when he had group lessons, he did well. I am trying to get him to join ice hockey in the future if he continues with skating lessons. As for his school, we’ll see what happens after this year.

When my life-long mentor asked me to take her back to my middle- and high-school journey, I was curious to know if my Vietnamese-American friends had faced the same challenges I had. Then I read Phúc Trần’s memoir and found many similarities in our experiences.

We settled in Pennsylvania. He was in Carlisle and I was in Lancaster. We faced bullying in school. We fought kids who called us “gook” and other racist remarks on the school playgrounds. We both turned to music to fit in. He got into punk rock and I got into hip-hop. Of course, we fantasized about American girls. I went as far as kissing her and he went as far as eating her out.

Although we were both raised by immigrant parents, I didn’t face the beatings from my father like he did from his. My dad was not around, whereas his father played a big role in his life. Phúc writes:

My father had started using a metal rod that he brought home from the tire factory. He couldn’t hit me as hard with his hand anymore (the manual spankings had stopped hurting me), and even a wooden spoon did not inflict enough pain: hence, the metal rod, dark gray and about the length of a yardstick, pitted with bits of ruddy corrosion. The rod was a piece of machinery that had been thrown away, and my father, eyeing it in the scrap heap, immediately saw its domestic potential. The rod was more efficient because it hurt more. And as a result, it required less effort while achieving maximum results. American efficiency, meet Vietnamese ingenuity. With the metal rod, two or three cracks across our buttocks or the back of our thighs sufficed. Message received, loud and clear.

In that particular incident, however, I was beaten with the rod across the rear end and legs with a dozen or so blows. I remember crying into the floral velour pattern of our brown couch and hearing my father counting off the blows. (He counted upward from one, so I never knew when he would stop.) Một. Hai. Ba. Bốn. Năm. Sáu. Bảy. Tám. Chín. Mười. Ten. I lost count after mười.

The scene is disturbing to read, but is nothing out of the ordinary for a Vietnamese father to discipline his son. Another major difference between us was that Phúc was a voracious reader as a kid whereas I hated books back then. His reading has served him well. This memoir is articulate, engaging, funny, and real. I loved every page, and more for all the Vietnamese words are written with diacritics.

On January 28, Antoine Watson, a nineteen-year-old African American, violently pushed Vicha Ratanapakdee, an eighty-four-year-old Asian American, to the ground. The disturbing incident, which took place in San Francisco’s Anza Vista neighborhood, was caught on video. The victim was killed.

On January 31, Yahya Muslim, a twenty-eight-year-old African American, violently shoved a nine-one-year-old Asian American to the ground. The disturbing incident, which took place in Chinatown, Oakland, California, was caught on video. The victim suffered lacerations, abrasions, and a contusion to the left thumb.

These horrific hate crimes need to be brought to justice. How did we come to this point? When I was a kid, I had been taught to help the elderly. I was told to help them cross the street or to get them to where they needed to go. It never occurred to me to push or shove the elders to the ground, especially if they hadn’t done anything to me.

These types of attacks are the motivation that drive Asian Americans to support the demagogue. I support Black Lives Matter, but I can’t defend these hateful actions against my own community. I condemn these hate crimes.

When I still worked in the office, I would see Ms. Consuelo Granados almost everyday at noon. She either waited for me to microwave my food or vice versa. We made small conversations. Through Ms. Granados’s limited English, I have learned about her family from her children to grandchildren. When she knew there was leftover food in the building, she would notify me. Sometimes, she would give me a homemade tortilla.

I have tremendous respect for Ms. Granados. She shows up everyday and keeps the place clean. Although we work in the same building, I didn’t realize that she is not a George Mason employee until she told me. Mason contracted her company, which pays her $10.50 an hour, to work in our building.

Today, I have learned that Ms. Granados had COVID-19. Her husband, pregnant daughter, and son-in-law were also infected. Her company did not provide its workers with masks. When she had severe symptoms, she was granted two weeks of paid leave. She returned to work after five months with a $670 hospital bill that went to collector. Then her grandson was born prematurely and hospitalized for 13 days.

When the school sent out the news, my heart broke for my friend and coworker. I am glad that the law school community had pulled together a relief fund through GoFundMe to help her out during this difficult time.

After checking out Mapping Corruption, an interactive exhibit I had developed for The American Prospect, an art director at Mural Arts Philadelphia had reached out to me last year to see if I would be interested in developing an artistic, informational project related to COVID-19. Of course, I jumped on board. The day we scheduled for a kick-off meeting, my mom went on the ventilator. I had to drop the project.

A few weeks ago, I sent them an email to give them the reason I had to drop the ball on them and hoped that they had found a developer to take on the project. They were in the process of interviewing several candidates, but decided to work with me. I was ecstatic that they would give me another shot. I hope I won’t let them down.

We kicked off the meeting last week and I loved their illustrations. The information will also be useful. I am glad that they will publish these materials as an interactive, informational website. I can’t wait to share it once we launch. Of course, I will make the announcement once it goes live. Anything related to COVID-19 is personal to me. I will dedicate this project to my beloved mother.

Last Friday, we rolled out yet another redesign for Scalia Law School website. This is our third redesign in the past couple of months. Our new dean did not like the previous turquoise color as an overall theme; therefore, we added a gray background to our top head just so we can use white and a bit of gold on our logo.

We made the homepage banners bigger and their new purpose is to attract prospective students. We went a bit crazy with the banners in the previous design. We kept getting requests for new banners for stories that didn’t even warrant to be on our homepage.

We switched from Myriad Pro to Minion 3, both designed by Robert Slimbach, for our headers. Minion 3 Display provides a more contrast to Pelago, also designed by Slimbach.

We brought back the action buttons: visit, request information, and apply. We highlighted our programs: Flex JD, JD, LLM, JM. We expanded our spotlights to showcase our diverse community. We made news and events less dominating.

Basically, we had gone back to where we were before we hired a consultant to change up our homepage. The consultant and our director of communications wanted banners and news on our homepage to take our visitors directly to somewhere else instead of drawing them into our site. These links often take visitors to news outlets that hit the paywalls. As a result, our readers couldn’t read the content. I am glad we’re making the news less prominent on our homepage.

The work hasn’t been done. We still have some tweakings to do. The site has grown so much since I took the reins almost a decade ago. The design had stood the time. I still maintain the main CSS, but we sprinkled inline styles here and there over the years. It is still manageable. I just need to go through and see if they are visually compatible with the new theme. Our next step is to bring more colors to the pages. We’ve gone from too-much colors to neutral gray to back to colors again. I am not complaining as long as I get pay to do.

My dearest Đạo,

When you and your brothers were downstairs having breakfast, your mom was still tired; therefore, she was still in bed. I came in to check on her. I lay down next to her and we had a mundane conversation about ice skating. You came in with a smile on your face and asked what we were doing. I told you that we were just talking and you went back downstairs.

Later in the evening, as we were ready to go to bed, you asked me again, “Seriously, what were you and mom doing this morning?” I replied, “We were just talking. What do you think we were doing?” As if you had waited for me to ask you that question, you immediate responded, “You guys were having sex.” I was a bit surprised and curious, so I asked you, “What do you know about having sex?” You replied, “Something really gross.”

My twelve-year-old son who doesn’t even care what clothes to wear is being aware of sex. I am glad you’re curious, but I am not sure where get the notion that sex is gross. We will work on that as well. Although I am comfortable talking about sex, I am struggling with it myself. Maybe we can learn from each other. So if you have any questions, do not hesitate to ask. I am here to listen and I can provide you what I know from my own experience.

To me, the physical connection is as important as the mental connection. Sex without the real connection is not sex—it’s porn. If you have sex with someone you truly love, you will enjoy it much more. You no longer feel the fears, the shames, the guilts, and the sins. You don’t have to sneak around. You don’t have to be concerned about unwanted pregnancy. You don’t have to worry about sexual transmitted diseases. You don’t need to check out other people. Like Method Man said, “No need to shop around, you got the good stuff at home.” To get to that point, you will need to wait until you are mature enough and ready to make the commitment to who you truly love.

Having said all of that, not everyone feels the same way about sex. It is hard when you and your partner aren’t on the same page on sex. It could be done, but you really have to work it out. How do you know if you and your partner are on the same level or not? Before you decide to make the next big step together, test it out. Give it a try or several tries and you need to be completely honest with each other. Do you enjoy it or not? Set your expectations if you want it or not. If you don’t do this from the beginning, you will be regretting it or miserable on the rest of your journey together. You might even end up in a divorce.

That’s far down the road. For now, if you have any question about sex, I am here for you.

Love,

Dad

I exploded on one of my cousins on Facebook. She’s one of those idiot Trump supporters who kept posting dumb shits on her timeline. I usually ignored her posts, but yesterday I simply could not. Since she could not think on her own, she “borrowed” this “powerful message” from someone else:

I never thought I’d see a day when so many people were so afraid of dying that they willingly quit living.

I just couldn’t stand this stupidity and ignorance. My mom/her aunt died of COVID-19. Her own brother feared for his life when he got really sick from COVID-19 and she mocked people for being afraid of dying. I responded:

Sure, go out, live your life, and get sick. That is some dumb, ignorant shit.

My original comment was “get COVID-19” instead of “get sick,” but Facebook blocked it. It detected I was posting misinformation and encouraging people to get COVID.

A white man goes by the name Willie Hinz responded to my comment:

You are the living proof of the statement above. And by looking at your face. You are the one that have shitty ass looking face.

WTF? Is this a beauty pageant? I found a dude commenting on another dude appearance to be hilarious and frankly stupid so I played along. I replied to him:

Thank you for taking your time to click on my face, look at my face, and then attack my appearance. From a fellow to a fellow, I am flattered that you go after my look. I wonder why my cousin has become so ignorant. Just look at the people she’s palling around with.

He replied:

Once again you confirm what You Are! She is my cousin too!

What? My cousin has a white cousin? This is something new to me. I responded with sarcasm:

It’s all good, my man. Sorry, I didn’t know you were her cousin as well. I guess she abandoned her blood cousin for a white cousin. You sure are a better-looking cousin than I am.

My cousin chimed in to defend her fake-ass cousin, which I didn’t really care for. She accused me of trying to play colors. She even quoted Martin Luther King, Jr.:

I look to a day when people will not be judged by the color of their skin, but by the content of their character.

How ironic is that most of her posts were about hating on Black Lives Matter and she uses Martin Luther King, Jr.’s word to defend her white friend. She bragged that her friend is an immigrant who made a success for himself. I am glad that her friend is successful. Everyone can be successful in America if they are willing to work hard. She definitely needs to go back to study the history of the United States. This is a nation of immigrants. Even white people immigrated here.

I switched back to her ignorant post to point out that she “doesn’t give a fuck about any else but her-goddamn-self,” knowing her aunt died from COVID and her brother feared for his life from COVID. She asked me to “completely remove yourself from this post” because I was using “offensive language.” I complied. I cannot fix stupid. I wish her well. Go on, live her life, enjoy herself, and don’t get COVID. I unfriended her.

Last year when the general election was tearing apart families, I tried my hardest to ignore Trump supporters and COVID deniers, especially from family members, friends, and the Vietnamese community. I didn’t want to get into fights with family members and friends over these issues. After my mom died of COVID, however, I don’t give a fuck anymore even if they are family members. I don’t need those kinds of relationships in my life.