Rants and Rambles

Originally published in Emerging Suns , a special themed anthology by Pluvia Journal One corner turn. A bump. The tantalizing scent of grilled ribs intertwines with musky petrichor.      “School is in 200 more meters, isn’t it?” I yelled to my father over the deafening cacophony of motorbike honks and thunder from afar.        “Correct!” he nodded.       I was sitting behind my father on our motorcycle on the way to school, covered under the flap of the poncho extended from my father’s back. My memories of elementary school were marked with mornings sitting half-asleep behind my father, moped among the endlessly winding alleys of Saigon. With a bánh mì on hand, I would observe the city’s pulses: pupils with freshly ironed white uniforms walking to school, sidewalk vendors chock-full of vegetables, and ramrod-tall electric lines in front of moss-covered houses. I grew to remember every detail of my road to school so much that on rainy day...

I had never seen rhododendrons this tall during a walk in the park. After all, there is something to learn every day.  "Keep the ice cream out of the door handle," my mom reminded sternly as I went inside our car after getting a vanilla cone at McDonald's. Much to my meticulous attempts to finish the ice cream, thick drips of vanilla still fell under the dazzling summer sun. As we drove home, I admired the first signs of summer in every corner of the city - the beds of canary and velvet-shaded tulips fluttering under lush oak trees shading the sidewalks, the wisteria vines cascading in front yards, the crisp scent coming from freshly-cut lawns. The days start growing longer, with the sun lingering long enough to wilt the petunia baskets hanging nearby and scatter the fading cherry blossom petals on the carpet of green grass. My study spot on the attic has slowly turned into a steam cooker, despite the constant breezes in the backyard. The heat persists until eight o'c...

  In a corner, quietly stands a cherry blossom tree With fuchsia blossoms slowly unfurling Above the waves of passengers huddling in line for the bus, never ready For a moment of repose. A flicker of the sea breeze Comes, undulating the cumulous pink clouds That stretch far away to the snow-capped mountains. Slowly I tread on the carpet of green grass, fearing that I may trample the delicate pink petals underneath On my way home. My sister and I call them specks of spring dust, so dazzling but fleeting, as they could withstand only a few days of rain. Then the colours blemish, the petals floating away below the leaden skies. With spring comes jubilation, but also a wisp of nostalgia. I heard of a movie long ago About two soulmates trying to reunite As they crisscross the globe, at the speed of cherry blossom petals: 5cm/s. When I first learned this, my science-cogged brain Could not fathom that the speed of cherry blossom petals Can be quantitate...

The city sleeps in its hazy blanket. Under the snow-capped mountains, The cherry blossoms flutter. Their fuchsia wings Descend onto the shoulders Of hectic passersby, boots inked with mud To catch the nearest bus. The windows reflect the matchbox houses That fling away with the spring breeze. Back seat, nestled among the bulk backpacks, I open my book. A flip Breaks the silence of the bus As it travels uphill and down to the misty ocean that undulates along the dog-eared pages, where the primly printed lines unfold the stories that have never been told before the spring days of Vancouver. Thumbnail image: Cherry blossoms in Richmond, taken on one of the rare sunny days.

Air Force Garden of Remembrance, Stanley Park Contrary to my expectations that springtime has arrived, the temperatures were starting to dip below freezing. Many mornings, I would walk to school under the brilliant sun, yet chilled to the bones with the breezes rustling over the cedars. The chilly winds slowly descend into fluffy flecks of snow, dusting the trees in the backyard with a magnificent pristine coat. Despite the wintry weather, signs of the upcoming spring have begun to unveil. Beneath the snowy cover, buds of cherry blossoms and camellia dangled slowly along with the rhythm of the wind, while the sun lingered on the crisp sky long after I got home from school. From the kitchen window, as I gazed at the fireball of a sun setting behind cedars, flocks of junco chattered on the snowy hills, where the piercing cries of seagulls echoed, breaking the tranquillity of a winter dusk. The end of January was marked by my second Lunar New Year, or Tết , away from Vietnam. We were over...

Author's note: This is a short story on climate change I wrote for a competition, but it didn't win so I think it'd be nice to share with you :)  Bracing myself for the violent take-off, I peek through the window to take one last look at the below. Saigon seems to be straight out from a slow-taped Polaroid documentary, the kind that makes the audience squirms in its seat because of the terrifyingly detailed landscapes. Below the smog, along the winding Saigon River, a concrete jungle sprawls like spores shooting after a tropic thunderstorm. Not only do I see amid the floating water hyacinths but also motley islands of trash and plastic – the product of more than 8 million Homo sapiens inhabiting every centimeter square of the city. The plane flips sideways a little bit to avoid the thunderous clouds that are starting to gather outside. Ironically, with all the teeming electricity potential outside, the screen on my phone collapses into a black vortex. I slip out the maga...

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...