Rants and Rambles

The sheer delight of waking up to snow and the parallel terror of realizing you haven't turned your heat on before going to bed Having been snowed (ha!) under so many assignments and applications, I haven't published on this blog for quite a while. Thankfully, the last of the two weeks of winter break gave me a long-yearned rest from all the work piling up. And here I am, sitting in an overly-heated room with the rhythmic tapping of the rain ahead lulling me into sleep, furiously typing the last blog of 2022.  The last day of school in the year signed off with one of the most memorable school days I've had: Breakfast with Santa, a school-wide breakfast that has been an integral tradition of my school. We gathered around tables stretching the vast expanse of the main hallway festooned with decorations, from Santa inflatables to reindeer string lights illuminating the school beyond the lead-cast dawn. Surrounded by the festive tunes of the school jazz band, I ducked into a fu...

  Originally published in ink  Volume V (2022), Vancouver Public Library Cheers to 3 years of contributing to  ink As a high school student living with parents in an old suburb of Vancouver, there aren’t many options for having fun at night, except convincing myself to either get enough sleep or finishing my homework.   At 9:30 pm, I should either be preparing for tomorrow’s notes or bundled up in a warm blanket with a TV show on hand. But one Friday night, I didn’t do either of those things. I had already finished my History assignment at school, and there was really nothing else to do. A thought popped into my head: “Oh dear, I would die for some bánh mì loaded with ham and topped with chock-full of veggies and pickles.” My pocket money didn’t allow for an extravaganza meal at a dimly lit Vietnamese restaurant on the east side of the city, so I begged my dad to drive me to the nearest… Subway. After some mouth-drying persuasions, here I was, buckled at the front...

A small delight on a red-eye flight from Tokyo to Vancouver - whoever knows that a paper cup of ice cream can teach you life lessons? There are many reasons that people can't sleep on a flight: One, the mere reason that we are floating in the middle of nowhere inside a gigantic metallic vestibule thrusting everywhere clinging onto nothing. Two, the overloading of the senses: the whizzes and hums from the engines the flickering on and off of the halo reading light from that insomniac passenger the intermittent cracking of the pilot's voice over the intercom the air prickling under your skin the arid bitter clump in your throat the potpourri of stale bread, clothes, and perfume all churning into a thick blanket suffocating you to the very core. Three, you toss and turn in your juice-stained hoodie, hoping to have a nanosecond of rest but all was in vain and you think how draining it is  to be packed more than in a sardine can, up ten thousand feet  while down the gentle ground, ...

  So long, summer "Row, row, row your boat/ Gently down the stream..." The words from the cheery tune I would always chant as a kid now echo back in my mind, now that I am an ocean away from those carefree days. As I wander around the boardwalk undulating the rocky shores of Lulu Island, a few kilometers away from my home, the vast stretch of the sea glimmering in a fall twilight seems to stretch further than ever. The last rays of sunlight from the peach-tinted skies radiate faintly behind the snow-capped mountains, painting the tranquil riverbank in a vivid palette of azure and gold. The carefree days of summer have receded, trailing behind booth photographs, strawberry jam, and chlorine-streaked curls as a reminder of the fondest of memories an ocean away.  Then, fall came, as lightly as the russet maple falling on the moss-covered roof. While typing these words, I could hear the soothing rhythm of the raindrops falling on the maple-shaded roof and the wind rustling throug...

 Originally published in  Pluvia Literary Magazine , Issue IV (October 2022) In the strawberry field, no one is worried. The sky is crisp azure, as if nothing could stop it from being so. The stretching beds embrace the horizons with their sweet kisses of tender strawberries Their after-kiss fragrance lingers in the air, filled the chickadee’s jubilant songs to harken the advent of summer.   In the strawberry field, no one is worried. Little kids run around barefoot, their plump fingers clutched with a bucketful of crimson sweetness while their parents, tucked in crisp denim and flowing floral dresses, gaze adoringly at their exuberant enfants. The flashes from cameras overshine the sun, glittering the sparks of asphalt on the country road.   In the strawberry field, no one is worried. Alas, I wish I could be so! Summer has come, yet my thoughts do not have wings to soar out of the reality entrenched deep into my soul, about wh...

A wild sunflower in the afternoon Grows under the crisp blue skies Two colors, azure and gold Dazzlingly intertwine. Afar, bronze oak leaves crumble  Scattering sun-streaked blades of grass That flutter as the wind rustles Through the laden apple tree. I pack my bag and head Towards the blackberry vines Near the railroad watershed  Where the cobalt ducks wallow. A duck waddles on the mud Passing the shady reeds Raspily asks me if I should Continue on my path. To which I replied by A ripe plump blackberry  With a wide beaming smile, "How far is the end?" --- En la tarde, un girasol Crece debajo de los cielos azules Los dos colores, azul y oro Se entrelazan espectacularmente. Allá, las hojas de roble se desmoronan Despersando el pasto  Que se agitan mientras el viento cruje Por el manzano cargado. Empaco mi maleta  Hacia las vides de mora Cerca la vía férrea donde Holgazanean los patos cobaltos .  Un pato camina en el barro Pasando los juncos sombreados Me pr...

Mid-afternoon street in Saigon August comes as prickly as it could, in the form of torrential pre-typhoon downpours. As a relief from the dog days in July, the first hints of monsoon season have already lingered around Saigon. Many the afternoons lately, I have been turning on the lights above my desk to better see the words amid the darkening clouds outside and the naughty mosquitoes lingering near the bookshelf, while the strong breezes dangle the fragile petunias baskets on the balcony. Saigon downpours are noted for their spontaneity: one second, you are perspiring profusely under the blinding sun and the other second, your ears are filled in the rumbles of thunder beyond the resin trees. If you happen to ride on a moped, then be prepared to find an eave as a shelter to put on your poncho along with many other riders huddling close by. The sight of colorful ponchos flapping by the sidewalk always reminds me of an aquatic carnival, where processions of motorcycles, trucks, and ricks...