Be Kind To Yourself

November 17, 2019

Some days I feel like I’m a queen, and other days I feel like a failure.

Don’t worry, I’m still working on the Disney Cruise blog review but it’s a lot of photos I have to sift through and a lot I have to write down and organize so I’m still working on it. I’ve been working my real job since I got back from my trip with only a few days off and I’ve been using those days to catch up on plebeian errands and regular life stuff. I’ll get it done soon.

I wanted to blog about something real quick because I came across two separate things this week that resonated with me a common message.

Especially this week because I was feeling super guilty about extending my break from clean eating beyond my vacation. I simply wanted to take some more time enjoying my favorite foods before going back to my regular gym and diet routine. But I always forget how terrible I’m going to feel during it because of how sensitive my body is to sugar and salt and how fast it bloats up from it but takes forever to recover once I get back on track to fix it. And then coupled with the fact that when I started running again, my first run was absolute shit - 10k in 1 hour and 15 minutes. Much slower than my usual 1 hour and 5-6 minutes. Granted I had been off for a bit and my nutrition wasn’t on point so I definitely felt the effects but it didn’t help my confidence. I had to reassure myself that my body just had to work up to it again and recondition itself back to my norm. Which I did. I forced myself this week to go hard in the gym and I ended up overcompensating, leaving myself feeling super sore but I did gain 2 new PRs during it! It was hard but I pushed through and survived so celebrate the little wins, right? I finally did 5k in 30 minutes and then finally broke 10k in an hour. Now if only I can complete the half in under 2 hours and 30 minutes in February. I’m setting this goal for myself for training but I’m also going nervous to not meet this goal. I always beat myself up when I don’t.

Which brings us to the main topic. Be kind to yourself. This is something I need to start practicing more often and learn to not be so hard on myself. It’s a common topic in this day and age for a lot of reasons but this week it resonates with me because of two things that happened.

The first thing is I discovered an old high school classmate of mine passed away. Unfortunately I didn’t keep in touch with him as much as I would have liked to over the years so I had to do a little digging to find out how he passed and unfortunately I think it happened by suicide. He was one of the nicest people I’ve ever met growing up (I know how cliche that sounds but it's true, he REALLY was one of the rare few honestly nice people you'll ever meet in your life), who never judged me for my style, ethnicity, who I was, nothing. He embraced my originality and quirks in high school and always made an effort to reach out and talk to me. He was also my friendly competition in my senior year, as we were neck and neck for the salutatorian rank, but he was gracious about it when I ultimately beat him. I feel guilty about not keeping in touch with him over the years since he did make efforts to keep in touch with me. He even came to visit me once when he was in town, when I was still at CVS, after finding out from his mom that I worked there. Last I saw him a few years ago, he was doing well, moving into his new condo, and working at a job he enjoyed in a different state from here, our hometown. From my social media digging, I did find that he left this world the same as I knew him; a great friend to all. He was caring, friendly and helpful to everyone he encountered in his life. He was just an all around great guy. I wish I knew what happened and what he was struggling with. But it’s another unfortunate lesson to learn that we don’t always know what is going on with other people’s demons. I can see him being hard on himself and stressing himself out with work or whatever issues he had going on. Although he seemed to be on the right track to success so I can’t really see what could have been the trigger issues, it all comes back to the whole be kind to yourself theme.

The second thing is two separate conversations I had today with two friends. Both friends run in different and separate social circles, so I found it funny they both had the same thing to say to me. One was via message and one was in person. Neither felt like it was in their place to say anything because they didn’t feel close enough to me to know me like that but that looking in from the outside, they felt I worked really hard and do so well but that I’m always focusing on what I’m lacking instead of focusing on the here and now. They told me I need to give myself more credit and to be nicer to myself and my efforts.

It does feel really good to hear that from someone just looking in from the outside because we’re so bias on ourselves that we don’t see what’s clearly in front of us. We always see the bad instead of focusing on the good. It’s like…when you have a perfectly good day but then one person says one thing bad to you and for some reason, you let that ruin the whole day. Why? Why do we do this? Just because you get one flat tire, do we throw away the whole car? Don’t let the demons in your head win. You owe it to yourself to see how far you can truly go when you don’t let them stand in your way and drag you down. Why are we always harder on ourselves? We wouldn’t be this way to our friends and loved ones.

I feel like my bad habits of being hard on myself stem from being brought up Asian, with high expectations and standards that end up with you feeling like you’re “never good enough.” I know my parents raised me with good intentions though, to keep me humble and to strive for excellence and they’re not wrong for doing so, but I also have to break out of that mindset and recognize that I am good enough. I can do it and I have to let myself be human sometimes. I don’t have to be “on” all the time and I should give myself time to relax, let loose, breathe once in a while.

Setbacks are normal. They are not a failure. They are a sign that you are on your way. Don’t give up. Make some alterations or adjustments, buckle up and keep going. Queens aren’t queens because they’re always on top. They are strong and humble enough to know and say “Hey I need to take a step back. I need more time. This is not to be rushed.”

When you can learn this and apply it to your life, you glow from the inside. You’ll attract the right kind of people, the kind that love, respect and appreciate your energy. You are magnetic.

I read this quote a while back:

“When a photographer can’t change a scene, he changes his angle and lens to capture the best of that scene. Similarly, when you can’t change a situation in your life, change your perspective to get the best out of that situation. Try to be a filter, not a sponge.”

I need to stop being afraid of what could go wrong, and to stop obsessing over my negatives. I need to start being excited of what could go right. And where I’m ultimately headed. And to appreciate what I have right now before time makes me appreciate what I had.

Long Live The Queen

October 31, 2019

When I was 16, I had a very different picture painted in my head of what I expected my life was going to look like at 30.

Back then, I was still teetering between being a doctor (what my parents wanted) and fashion design (what I wanted). I thought I was going to attend an Ivy League. I wanted to be married by 30, live in a big house with a balcony, white picket fence and swing in my yard.

Fast forward to the real world today and I am a doctor, but not that kind of doctor. My parents wanted me to be bác sĩ but I ended up being a doctor of pharmacy instead. They still can’t figure out the difference no matter how many times I explain to them I can’t diagnose. But they’re accepting of my profession regardless which is enough for me. I’m not a [total] failure in their eyes.

I ended up backing out of wanting to go to Ivy League because (a) I didn’t want to pay for it and (b) I didn’t want that pressure. It’s a good thing I didn’t because it would’ve been a waste of money in my early years.

I did end up married and I have my own house but it definitely looks different from what I envisioned. You learn to compromise when house hunting because budget and damnit, buying a house is damn hard. Owning is another battle all its own once you’re in.

But what is all of this digression getting at?

Your life won’t always turn out the way you originally wanted. Sometimes it turns out better. It doesn’t happen without a few struggles and falters and tumbles, of course.

My mom still wants me on a certain path though as she continually reminds me that my “eggs are dying.” She’s not the only one pressuring me either. It seems the whole world is watching sometimes and nagging me as to when I’ll have kids. But the question isn’t when, but rather for me, it’s if. I know I shouldn’t say that out loud and give my mom a heart attack but again, at this current stage in my life, I don’t see it in the cards. Check with me in the next 5-10 years. It's also probably because I am the oldest in my family and since I have no kids yet, my mom feels like I'm delaying the rest of my siblings from starting families. Talk about pressure.

It’s funny because my family is very different from my husband’s. Everyone on his side has started having children already, his siblings and his cousins. I see them all and despite their happiness and feelings of fulfillment, it doesn’t spark any of that for me. All I see are another pair of shackles similar to my mortgage and student loans. I just see a money sink holding me back from my full potential if money were not an object. Do I feel like I’m falling behind? Absolutely not. As much as my mother stares at all these people around me having children and building families while I am not, it doesn’t fester any envy inside me. It does the total opposite, lol.

I’m not ready because I’m still working on my empire.

The funny thing is there’s so much I still want to do. And so much I still have yet to figure out. I just turned 31 and I still have no idea what I really want out of life when it comes down to it. I don’t know where I’m going or what I really want my endgame to be. Ideally I want to not live in NY the rest of my life. But I’m also scared to take the risk and jump. Pharmacy is practical but it’s not something I really envision doing for the rest of my life. I just know that I can do it.

But I also know that I am capable of more. I just don’t know what that ‘more’ is, exactly. And the particular more that certain people want me to do, I actually don’t want to do, as ironic as that sounds.

Sometimes I wish I had jumped on the influencer train sooner to monetize what I was already doing before IG hoes made it a career. But that’s a different topic altogether. Truth is, if there was no Instagram or huge social media platform, I’d still be running around planning and doing all these photo shoots and capturing moments of my life. I was doing it before social media took off, regardless of who saw and liked my photos. I do this because I love it. I’ve never “done it for the gram,” I’ve always done it for the shot. Because this is my art and what makes me feel alive. Even if I was the only one who saw the photo, I still wanted to capture the moment. Which is what started this blog, ironically. For years before Instagram was a thing, I’ve been dabbling in photoshoots with nowhere to really display all the photos I took. It all sat on my hard drive. I share a few here and there on IG, but here on my blog I can post full galleries of the entire shoot instead of just 1-3 shots. I finally have a nice way of cataloging my work and sharing it with those who want to view more.

I don’t really know where I’m going with this blog post, honestly. I’m just reflecting on life stuff as I turn 31. There’s also still so much I have to learn and un-learn. I’m still growing and still figuring out ways to challenge myself. It’s hard because growth requires a level of uncomfortability and that takes patience and time. Of which I’m not always willing to partake in, because I don’t like being uncomfortable. I know the end result is worth it but the struggle part is what scares me. I will get there in my time. I’m in no rush.

Remember your journey is your own, and that just because you haven’t checked off a certain number of boxes by the time you turn X age, it does NOT mean you are “unsuccessful” by any means. Timelines are unrealistic and sometimes boring. You need to rewire your brain and unlearn all of the societal and parental pressures looming over you. Write your own story and do things in your own time and pace.

In the meantime, I’m not allowing my age to stop me from being extra and dressing up fancy on a regular day for no reason. I hate when people ask me where I’m going like I need a reason to look nice. I always want to ask back, well why are you so poorly underdressed? I always found the following lyric to be a great life mantra for me.

“I don’t want my best dressed day in a casket.”

Until then, long live the queen of điệu.

The Road To America

October 17, 2019

They say a picture is worth a thousand words. They tell the stories of a loved one’s happiness, their struggles, their sorrows, their memories. It captures what your soul feels in that second. One day I’m going to be old and wrinkly and I’ll have these memories to look back on and reminisce of my reckless and wildly naive adventures. This is why taking photos is so important even if it’s just silly day to day stuff in life.

I love photos because they’re a beautiful way of storytelling. Especially when it’s a story that you don’t know much about because the storytellers are not very talkative people. Growing up, my parents were very traditional and reserved. I don’t know much about my parents’ past lives because they’re not sharers. Ironic, right? Since I’m very much an open book. But what I do know to the best of my knowledge of my parents are bits and pieces pieced together from their friends, family members and those very rare moments my parents forget who they are and that I’m in the room and end up sharing little morsels of their past life.

The story that intrigues me the most though is the one of their struggles to immigrate to America. I want to share this because I follow @ofleatherandlace on IG and over the summer, she shared a story about her fiance who also happens to be Vietnamese. His parents went through a similar experience on their road to America and it resonated with me. I went home and dug up as many old photos of my parents past as I could find.

I don’t know the exact reason how or why my parents ended up in America, to be honest. They don’t talk about it much.

After the war, I think my father’s side had some issues with the government. I don’t know the specifics of it other than it had to do with my grandfather so my dad’s side of the family fled the country. His brothers and sisters came over to America first while my dad made the journey with my grandfather. In the middle of the night, he came to my mom and asked her to come with him. I guess this is where I inherit my spontaneity and recklessness from, since my mom basically left her entire family in the middle of the night without saying goodbye. I would learn years later that my grandfather didn’t like my mother much and didn’t really want her to come. He didn’t approve of her and saw her as extra weight and a liability in the risks they were already taking to escape the country’s repercussions after the war. He didn’t understand why my dad didn’t just break off the relationship, leave and start anew with someone else. I didn’t learn til I was much older that the reason my dad refused to leave my mother behind, was actually me.

It’s interesting because growing up, my father and I never saw eye to eye. Especially my teenage years. My father didn’t show emotion besides anger, sternness, disappointment, solemness. If I had to describe him growing up, I would paint a very cold impression. Fear ruled the house. I did not think my father loved or cared for me at all. But in small ways, I learned that my father did care. And that he was actually very proud of me. He would never say it out loud in front of me or to me, but I would learn through other people, his friends, his work colleagues, his work clients. Meanwhile all I thought growing up, was that I was a huge disappointment. I mean, how could I not think that? I was very rebellious and disobedient growing up. Even in college, I was pretty sure he hated me. I was dating a white boy and I dyed my hair blonde.

But in learning that my dad refused to leave my mom behind because he knew she was pregnant with me, I gained a new level of respect for him. It opened my eyes to the type of person he was; responsible, accountable, loyal and with much integrity. As ‘hard’ of a person my dad seemed, he is a good person and tries to do the right thing. I realized later on that it must have been hard for him trying to raise 5 children in America when all he knew was the old way back in Vietnam. Being first generation immigrants comes with a lot of challenges and I feel bad not being more understanding and patient with my parents.

After all, they did go through a lot. Even before they came over here. After fleeing Vietnam together, my parents were in Thailand for about 2 years in a refugee camp. My mom told me that they arrived with nothing and my father built a bamboo house with his own two hands for them in the camp. My mom gave birth to me in the camp and my dad labored during the day while my mom took care of me and my grandfather. Little by little, they built a life and eventually got their paperwork together and enough money saved to be able to immigrate to America and join the rest of my dad’s family. I honestly don’t know how they did it and how they even managed to have photos of their time in the camp. And looking back at theses photos, I realize my parents really do love me. I was their whole world, being that all the photos were of me and how everything they did was for me and to take care of me. And my father really does love and adore my mother, seeing everything he did and continues to do for her to make her happy. And looking at all the old photos he took of her back in Vietnam before I came along - I can feel his love and devotion through them by how beautifully he captured her. This is how he saw my mother and how he wanted the world to see her. It’s beautiful.

I wish I remembered more about my childhood. I feel like all memories before I was 3 are non-existent. As if the Men In Black came and wiped out everything from birth to age 3. I don’t remember my time in the camp, I don’t remember the flight over to America, I don’t remember my first steps on Long Island. My first childhood memory was my birthday party when I turned 3 and how excited I was receiving a Lisa Simpson plastic wallet with $5 inside. Oddly selective, right? But this is why photos are so important. The art of storytelling through photos. My father was a bodybuilder before me. My mother was young and beautiful and full of life. She’s very skilled at baking, sewing, and cooking. And not just regular homemaker skills. My mother can whip up a wedding cake if need be; there’s another photo album in her house somewhere of all the cakes she’s ever created and I wish I could find it to show you how amazingly talented she is. She’s also extremely talented at sewing and I don’t mean just hemming my pants and skirts and taking in my dresses. I try not to rely on her often because I feel like the projects I want done are burdensome but she’s created amazing costumes and outfits for me from scratch with no pattern. And cooking. Anyone who’s ever had my mom’s cooking, knows it’s the real deal compared to anything you’ve ever had at even the most authentic Viet restaurants.

I don’t think my parents get paid enough for what they do, honestly. My dad only possesses laboring skills but he’s amazing and detailed at what he does. My dad works in the extremest of conditions sometimes and it’s ridiculous how amazing his work ethic is even when he’s sick. I don’t know what I’d do without him sometimes, especially now that I’m a homeowner. Every time a homeowner hiccup comes up, I panic and cry. But then I text him and he comes over and miraculously fixes it and when I come home, it’s like he waved some magic wand over my house. When I bought my house, he took it upon himself to ask me to borrow my key for a day, and he came over and ripped all the old insulation out and installed new insulation in for me before I moved in. I didn’t even know he was doing it til after it was already done.

I do want to get to know my parents more before it is too late. But you can’t push someone into talking to you and telling their story. I’m my parent’s daughter and as much more of an open book I am, I realize I am still the same as them. I only open up when I want to. When people try and play 21 questions with me, I clam up. It turns me off into not wanting to reveal anything. You got to let people do it in their own time and their own comfortability. So what do I do? In the past years, I’ve been trying to spend more time with them. I go home to have dinner with them, either on my breaks from work I’ll drive to their house and eat with them or on my days off, I’ll go out to dinner with them. And on holidays, my siblings and I take my parents out to eat. We’ve been trying to spend more time with them showing them new things and new places.

Our relationship has definitely improved for the better since childhood. I can hear it in my dad’s voice and see it in his mannerisms with us. Sometimes we get caught off-guard when my dad cracks a joke because it’s so rare for him to be humorous with us but we can tell he’s opening up. Even when having to speak with us on serious issues, there’s a distinct level of respect he shows us as adults now. It’s a liberating feeling when you don’t fear your father anymore but understand where he’s coming from when he speaks. I have an appreciation for my father’s dynamic with our family now that wasn’t there when we were growing up. Surely but slowly, I know he’s opening up. One day, I’ll have the courage to ask him for his full story. One day.