Thank goodness

It’s been a busy and interesting weekend. Our company organized a holiday party (I know, a bit early, but they managed to reserve a premium lounge during a hockey game, which I think was a good idea, and it proved to be a really big draw among staff). A friend whom I was supposed to stay with had the flu (or COVID, he thought), so I ended up getting a last-minute Hotel. Usually, when I’m in town for work, I’ll be there Monday to Wednesday, so this is my first later-of-the-week trip (I was there Thursday to Saturday), which means people were more relaxed, and I got to spend the weekend in Edmonton.

I organized a pizza lunch on Friday, and about 40 of the engineers in my org showed up. We just mostly socialized and recapped the year (so far, I know it’s still 5 weeks till year-end). People seemed to enjoy themselves, and a few shared their professional and personal achievements (I provided a “pass” opportunity for folks by letting them call “pizza”). Nothing hurts introverted engineers more than public speaking. I was speaking a bit as well. People were giving a lot of positive feedback (well, unless they just try to kiss up to the big boss. 😂) I guess introverted leaders organized better public events because they leave the team with quiet space to breathe, and they know when to push people out of their comfort zone and when to respect boundaries.

I had a couple of strategic discussions and build sessions with my VP of products and his portfolio managers as well. It was productive and forward-looking (we’ve been very busy with daily operations, so this was a nice change of pace). It’s funny because I’ve only been here 16 months, but I have a tremendous working relationship with these people. I have their collaboration, but most important of all, their respect as well. “We are able to plan for the forward-thinking projects that we can today, largely thanks to the work that you do and your support. I feel your two predecessors don’t see the business and the values of engineering the way you do,” a portfolio manager said 

In the evening, I had dinner with (only) my direct reports (managers and team leads), and it was a great opportunity as well to get to know them. People are so different from people outside of the office, so it was nice. Getting able to share life experiences and career coaching (with some of these people who are older than me) was a surreal experience. People and growth are at the center of what I do in my work, and I’m proud to be practicing my values daily

During the holiday party on Saturday, staff were coming up to me and asking questions, be it industry, career advice, DEI initiative, data science, or even just my experience. I was telling people about my time at Blackline and how I used to travel all around and building amazing tech (and going to hockey games and sales events like these). And one of my HR managers asked, “That sounds amazing! So why did you leave?” So I told her, ” I felt like I’ve hit a plateau at that point and I want to go further. I want to be a CTO of a tech scale-up”. And she was like “holy shit Jason, you’re almost there”. It gave me pause, because as focused as I am and as hard as I’ve been working towards my goals, I haven’t really had people externalize my progress before. I know there’s still a path ahead and I will have a lot of work to do, but for a brief moment, I felt tremendous pride in what I have achieved this year and so far in my life.

On Saturday, I went to the farmer’s market and West Edmonton Mall with a friend (just frolicking). At least two women stopped us and complimented my outfit. 😂 One of them said, “You guys are Glory. You look so glorious and unburdened and free”. Ok, for context, below is what I wore, and my friend has long red hair like the girl in Brave, and he was wearing a full floral sweatshirt and pants like he just came back from Sunday yoga in California. We were sharing an open box of poke while walking and chatting. I can’t remember a time in my life when someone described me as unburdened and glorious and carefree. But I also can’t remember a time when I used to be a scared, closeted young man who would be terrified to be even seen near someone dressed like my friend does. Authenticity is a funny thing. It’s empowering and it’s addicting. It’s grounding and it’s elevating. It’s such a strange thing to be recognized for by strangers, yet it’s an amazing thing to recognize it in myself. 

So it’s been a bit of an introspective weekend. I’ve come a long way in my life, in my love, in my career. And coincidentally, even when I’m not actively seeking validation for it, people are recognizing that. And for that, I’m grateful. 

Thank goodness.

What if – If only

“Are you fulfilled? Do you feel fulfilled in life?”

Usually, that is the type of question that would have sent me to a downward spiral and curled me up in a corner on the floor. That’s a tough question. That’s a big, grand question about how many of our big, grand ambitions and desires get fulfilled

I will never be “Top 40 under 40” in any categories in any cities or countries. I will never be a biological father of a child. I am not a CTO of a tech company. I haven’t started my lifelong schorphange dream. I am very far from my beach house in Vietnam.

Whenever I feel unfulfilled, I will start with “What if”. What if I just work harder? What if I try this? What if I move to a different city and not this conservative hellhole? What if? What if?

And then “it gets”What if” becomes “If only”. If only I were white. If only I were straight. If only I had the connections, the mentors, and more support. If only I were given an opportunity. If only I were better looking. If only my parents were wealthy. If only. If only.

I’m not going to revert to the “Money doesn’t buy you happiness” cliche. Only poor people and people who don’t know how to spend their money say that 😀

What I would say, though, is: some days, I am more fulfilled than others. Some days, I feel incredibly lucky. Some days, I feel incredibly hopeful. Some days, the “What if” and the “If only” take the back seat, and the feeling “I am where I was supposed to be” takes over for a minute. It is a complicated feeling.

I could not help but wonder, is the “fulfillment” talk coming from the Ego of the self? I feel unfulfilled because I think I deserve better. I feel unfulfilled because I think my boss doesn’t appreciate us enough. I feel unfulfilled because that stranger on the internet has a better body, better face shape, and better photographs taken of them. I feel unfulfilled because that young brown man dating some old white dude twice his age reminds me of my failed relationships and emotional abuses of the past. I feel unfulfilled because I had to earn all my career steps while others seem to have it easy. A lot of “I” here.

I’ve come a long way from where I was, a kid from a lower-middle-class family with a blue-collar working dad and a teacher mom in Vietnam. NUS gave me a scholarship, so I left Vietnam as a teenager. Elise and Roy took a chance on me, and I came to UPenn. Guenther supported my Master’s application, so I came to Canada. Sean accepted me as the global project manager for a scale-up company. I met Dan. We bought a house and got married just before the pandemic, and while the rate was still affordable. I got the Canadian passport just before all these geopolitical uncertainties happened and the immigration sentiment upheaval. This may be a series of fortunate events. This could also be a series of “What if” and “If only” that I have not seen. Somewhere, out there, a young man is looking at my life and asking all the similar “What if” and “If only”.

So I don’t know if I am fulfilled. Life is certainly not perfect. My anxiety is enough for me to completely remove all social media apps on my phone (I still kinda periodically just check on family and friends updates and some LinkedIn content on my desktop, like an old man, but I blocked all others’ updates)

However, when I am not completely overwhelmed with work, life, politics, and *gesturing at everything around me*, I am generally fulfilled with my life.

If only I were a better Buddhist. What if everything is already perfect, and I am already here, just as I am, just as they are?

(Random) thoughts

I find it is just rude that summer 2025 ended on a Monday (September 22nd). What’s worse? I was on a work trip to Edmonton. And it was +25C in Calgary. So instead of chilling out in my Speedo at home after work, I am in a shopping mall eating mall food thinking about work. Just great!

And then, of course, it was internet-rumored that the Rapture was gonna happen on Tuesday, September 23rd. At first, I was kinda low-key really hoping that it would really happen, so that all the annoying, judgy evangelical Christians would be raptured and the rest of us can enjoy some peace and quiet, and maybe redistribute their housing into affordable housing, you know. Then, I realized my hubby is Christian, and what if he gets raptured? Who will take care of our dogs? What if our bus drivers get raptured, and I am like literally 300km away from home? I mean, I guess I can rent a car and drive. But what if the car rental people also get raptured? There are dealerships nearby, what if I can just take a car? But then it will be chaos, and then how can I drive home? I hate that drive.

And then the rapture didn’t happen. And now we are still stuck with the annoying people who believe in the rapture. What if the rapture did happen, but then an angel videographer tripped over the stop mechanism and stopped the rapture escalator?

Anyhow, here’s a fun arts piece by Anthony Hudd. Check out his arts

The trip was relatively successful. I have a lot of really good meetings, including with my CEO. He seemed pleased I was there. I guess, no matter how far technology has moved us, people still crave for handshake, trust, and sitting across the table from their boss.

On my way back, as the bus passed by rural Alberta, there was a huge billboard to promote separation called Done getting screwed (By far right Rebel Media). The sign goes “Our land. Our culture. Our rights.” The home page praises the Premier for creating a bill that enables separation in Alberta. I wonder how the Indigenous folks in Alberta feel? This is technically their land and their culture. How far back do white supremacists go? Far south enough to the US to bring their fascist sentiments here? Because they have a far-right separatist in the government?

I am back home. Of course, after a 3-day work trip (I never slept well in hotels) and potentially some germs on the bus ride, I am feeling a bit lethargic, sniffy, and very tired. Still, I have to go to work. Maybe there’s something to this whole rapture after all. Maybe I should try to get raptured. I wonder if people have to work in heaven.

It’s been an intense week. It will be Friday tomorrow. Some may say “Thank God it’s Friday”. Did God create Friday? Maybe God was busy checking email on Tuesday, and they snoozed the notifications on the Rapture. Rapture Friday, lord?

The coming out monologue

It is Pride week in Calgary (I know, just as most LGBTQ+ rights and human rights in Alberta and Calgary, Pride comes a lot later for us). As I look back and reflect on my life, something stood out to me. Something that I didn’t quite understand back then. I wanted to share this with you. Because if you are a member of the community (especially if you are a trans member of the community in this moment in time), I am sorry that it seems hard, almost impossible right now, but it does and will get better. For the straights, if you are around my age, I suspect that you are parents by now, I would like you to read this and consider this, and if your child ever comes out to you, look at this as another tiny story in the vast oceans of stories out there of how, when queer people are accepted and loved for who they are, they will flourish. Let them live. Let them flourish. Love them (and if you really, really can’t, just shut the fuck up and stay out of the way)

20 years ago, I took a community drawing class at night at UPenn (because I have loved the arts my whole life and have only been self-taught, I wanted to have some structured instruction). For my final project, this was what I drew. The piece is titled “The Invisible Man”. It’s a self-portrait of an invisible man. His portrait, as he sees himself, looks sad and crooked. He has a T-shirt and a ball cap on (I used to have an army crew cut haircut to save money).

I was, as someone would describe it, a happy-go-lucky child. I talked too much, too loudly, and I was curious about everything. I genuinely thought I was good at everything (I know. I was, as the kids call it, “cringe”). In communist Vietnam, I was constantly told to maybe turn it down a notch. In industrial Singapore, where everything is about that A+ in University, about that “best” category, it gets even worse. The compulsory Army service makes Singaporean men even more “macho”. “That’s gay” is a common insult. So for those next few years of my life, I went through life as an invisible man. I dressed myself the way that our Asian culture and society accepted. I had girlfriends (and even though I truly loved and cherished these women, I felt sad and inadequate for them). I was reserved at Penn. I was not telling my employer what I was really good at. Even to some of my really, really close friends, whenever I approach the subject, they would say, “Nah, you are not gay. You don’t look/act gay”. I don’t blame them, because in the media, on TV, everywhere you go, queers are just stereotypical effeminate, asexual, harmless jokes, and not real people with real-life struggles.

I know, it is hard to imagine it now.

Below is a picture taken in Malibu in January 2010. I still had a horrible haircut. My teeth were extremely crooked. But look at this smile. I would say this was one of those first few times in my adult life that I actually felt … lighter. It was one of the first few times in my adult life that I felt “cute”, and “alive”, and unburdened, like a future is possible and a future that doesn’t have to be a horrific image of lies and deceits. It wasn’t because I was on the beach of Malibu, or because I was working at a tech startup, or because I was starting to have a career that provided me with a brighter future for my family. This was a picture that was taken by my first boyfriend.

That was a tumultuous relationship. When you’re 24-25, navigating a queer relationship for the first time in your life, with someone in their 40s, who has been out for a long time, and navigating a very different stage of their life, it was not easy. We were incompatible in a lot of ways, forcing our incomprehensible cultural and aspirational differences to fit together by the sheer force of emotions. However, I am forever grateful for him. He was kind and patient, and he waited for me to come into myself. When we both realized and decided that the version of me was not what he wanted to be with in his life, we parted ways. But this smile remains. This feeling of weightlessness and of hope remained. I am telling you this story because, dear reader, I want you to know that all of my problems weren’t solved because I found a man (Men never solved any problems. Codependency on others never solved any problems.) In fact, I found a much better man for me AFTER I went to therapy, sought to untangle my trauma, and solved my problems.

I won’t bore you with my life story. I wrote a book about it. If you want to read more, let me know, I will gift you one.

Fast forward to now, I am forty. I am Canadian. I wear whatever the fuck loud color things I want. I travel the world. I am a VP of a tech company of 300 people. I am married to a man my age. I have better haircuts, and I had adult braces for my teeth. I’m not afraid to be darker-skinned due to my tan.

I still talk too much, too loudly, and I am still curious about everything. I still make people laugh. I know what specific things I am good at. I make meaningful, close-knit circles of friends and people I choose to share energy and time with. Some 25-year-olds have called me Zaddy.

Of course, this is a very simplified, very linear version of my story. Life is complex. It was and is still full of ups and downs. Sometimes, I get into this thought pattern of self-pity, “If I were straight”, “If I were born Canadian”, “If my parents were rich”, etc. While true, they are not helpful. I wanted to focus on the amazing things and the amazing people that have happened to me. As a takeaway for this piece, dear readers, I’d like to take you back to the beginning

When queer people are accepted and loved for who they are, they will flourish. Let them live. Let them flourish. Love them (and if you really, really can’t, just shut the fuck up and stay out of the way)

Six

On our fourth anniversary, I jokingly said, “We have now outlasted a car lease term.” People celebrate their wedding anniversary with material things. Paper. Diamond. Ivory. Wood. Gold. Silver. Unpopular opinion: I think we should celebrate wedding anniversaries with really mundane milestones. A car lease. A dishwasher’s official warranty. A mortgage amortization period. A dog’s life span. It’s morbid, but it’s real. And in a sense, romantic. (Like that few minutes in the opening of the animation “Up”)

People often romanticize marriage as if it were something meant to be perfect. “I married my best friend.” “You complete me.” “I found the one.” Maybe that’s the life of some perfect hetero couples with ideal skin and facial structure and family support structure, but that’s not us (not for queer people, certainly not for brown people. Also, ewww to fucking your best friend. Also, you don’t want to know the amount of frogs I have to sleep with to get to the one)

Our marriage is messy. It requires hard work. I fight loud. I am stubborn. I project manage every aspect of our lives. I want things done right away, and things done right the first time. I hid behind my twisted dark humor when I’m upset. I threaten to quit my job or move to a different country at least twice a month. Don’t get me started on his flaws.

Our life is messy. We changed jobs during the pandemic. We missed out on our chance to have children. We almost moved for work, and then we didn’t. We constantly adapted, pivoted, and, most difficultly, stayed in the restlessness together, as a team.

I guess it is true that I could not have asked for more. I didn’t even know all of this was even possible, growing up in a country where same sex marriage did not even exist or mentioned as a concept. Yet, here we are, measuring dishwasher replacement on a long weekend, getting full mud-paws from our dog on our white T-shirts, fighting loudly about how to fill in car warranty payment info, passive-agressively debated who cooked more and who did more dishes. In a sense, it’s romantic. That, as white women did say that one time, love is love is love is love. Queer love is just like any other love, just as mundane and petty and messy and flawed.

And maybe just as beautiful and joyful as well.

(Except we have better fashion, and instead of raising children, we spend money on dog treats)

Happy sixth anniversary. If we have a full-grown child (Asian), they would have finished their first medical (including residency) or law degree (including articling). Less if I discipline them and teach them Maths early.

The childless gays (with dog)

Those who are close to us know that once upon a time (pre-pandemic), we wanted to adopt and be parents. Yet, the universe had other plans. She looked at me and she said “Nah, gurl, you look better with a Speedo than with a trolley. How about an AussieDoodle instead? You have less opportunity to be a tiger mom and fuck that one up”. And the rest, as they say, is history.

My straight friends with kids sometimes ask if I am sad that I can never be a parent. And here’s the surprising thing about humans (especially queer people). We are resilient. We accept the things we can’t get, and we grieve, and we build a new future for ourselves. Don’t get me wrong, I still do enjoy hanging out with young humans. (I’m gonna be the best fucking guncles any kids that can come in contact with) I enjoy teaching, mentoring, and coaching. I just won’t have “my own” kids. So our happiness pretty much levels out, and we found tremendous joy in all the other things that we do as childless gays.

I am glad we didn’t have kids during the pandemic. I was glad we didn’t have kids during the past few years of geopolitical uncertainty and personal circumstances changes (jobs, career, housing). I am sure as hell glad that we don’t have kids in this current space-time continuum of political uncertainty on a burning planet.

We get to travel. We get to frolic for a weekend and catch Pokémon. We get to book separate trips with our best friends. (Yes, we travel solo, without each other, while the other is home with the dog. Dan’s co-worker was like, “You let your husband travel by himself?” Nah, I don’t “let” him. I encourage him. I want each of us to have a full, joyful life, together and independently.) We get to sleep in on the weekend and not worry about camping, hockey, daycare, etc. We can load the dog into the car and embark on a road trip for a week.

It might seem selfish (and it is) to say that out loud. But I think, now, more than ever, I want to focus on myself, my family, my community. I have found other things that spark joy. I enjoy my time with gaming, reading, learning, and writing. I focus on my work. I enjoy the company of my dog, my friends, and my family. I volunteer. I coach and mentor young people. I live life with a small footprint and aspire to a large impact.

And I think that’s ok. That’s joyful, actually. In the face of so much anxiety and uncertainty in the world, a little bit of queer joy is in itself a lot of resistance.

And as Mochi would say.

When I die, I want to reincarnate into a Canadian childless gay couple’s home as their only dog.

A grateful note

We spent the most part of our weekend gardening. Spring in Calgary is a “transformative” time, which means chaotic, unpredictable, and ever changing. I usually transplant my seedlings on the May long weekend, which frosted and hailed this year. As we got everything in the garden bed, and I sat in front of my hubby’s signature grilled steaks, his way of announcing the summer is here and I can expect better cooking from him, I couldn’t help but feeling grateful for the life we are leading. 

I’ll let you in a secret. Every year since moving to Canada, after a few months working with depression and therapy, I had three prayers every morning. Over time, not sure when, the three prayers have turned into three thanks

  • I’m grateful to be in a country (Canada) where I can be who I am, that people see me and appreciate me for the person that I am. 
  • I’m grateful to be with someone who sees me and loves me for who I am, not despite but because.
  • I’m grateful to work and volunteer in places where I can be who I am authentically and use my skills and experience, and I get recognized and rewarded for my contribution.

I know. Simple stuffs. But also big stuff. Also rather vague. I guess the through-line to “what makes me happy” in life is just simply “be who I am” and be ok with that. 

Some days I’m waffling between feeling incredibly grateful for how lucky I am and getting paralyzed with the anxiety that all these amazing things will be taken from me.

Reading “The migrant rain falls in reverse” by Vinh Nguyen feels achingly familiar and therapeutic. We had many parallels, and the stories he weaved of himself, a queer, brown, Vietnamese refugee who is too afraid to take up space and claim happiness because everything could disappear in a moment notice, resonated with me. I know that feeling well. I know how it feels to grow up in post war Vietnam, my grandfather went to re-education camp, two of my uncles boat people themselves, one of my uncles failed to escape and was imprisoned. I know what it was like to arrive in Calgary in the snowy day of winter. I know the feeling of “I don’t want to belong to somewhere. I want somewhere to belong to me”

Every time I garden, I often think of what my good friend in Singapore told me few years ago “Woah, you so uncle now ah?” I chuckled. Because it’s true. It’s even more true now than before. Crossing over to 40s seems like a big profound thing, but it’s also a weird mundane thing. I’m happy with it (I think). I’m uncomfortable in its space. But I’m reminded that growth and comfort do not coexist.

Here’s a real conversation with a gay friend 10-year younger than me 

“When you’re in your 40s like me,  you’ll need all the help you can get to be relevant in our community.”

“Calm down, you’ve been 40 for like a month. You’re not old, you’re a daddy now. Plus, you’re still hot and most of my friends want to be with a hot daddy”

How did this happen? This aging thing? This daddy thing? (Also I kept getting hit on by 30-year-olds on top of the usual old pervs) Maybe I’m entering my Pedro era (not the Clooney years. I prefer Pedro Pascal over Clooney any days. Latino. Hot. Kind. Trans-ally) He just celebrated his 50th birthday recently. If that’s any indication, it gives me hope for my next 10 years. Anyways enough about Pedro Pascal. I guess what I’m saying is I’m happy and excited about my 40s. My 30s were fucking awesome. And to a certain extent, my anxiety was driven from the fact that I’m afraid my 40s is just gonna be pale in comparison

As I’m writing this, I’m standing in a condo in the heart of downtown Toronto (I’m here for a conference). I wonder often about the “parallel life” and “what could have been” of I have taken a different path. I often wrote about the “straight married man in Asia” path. But there’s another path I often ponder about. When I graduated in Calgary I thought about moving to Toronto or Vancouver: bigger city, less conservative government, more tech and finance companies, more vibrant queer spaces and queer community. Then I met a boy and did the stupid things people do for love. 

Sometimes the stupidest things in people eye’s that you can do bring you happiness in a bizarre way that you can only get with hindsight. Moving across the globe with 3 suitcases in the middle of winter was stupid. Dating a not-out Conservative working for the government was stupid. Changing job in the middle of the pandemic was stupid. Encouraging your hubby to stay and work for a politician you dislike was stupid. Not moving and staying in Calgary, again, for love, was stupid. Quitting a stable job in finance without another one line up was stupid. Getting an 8-week-old puppy before Christmas and before a 3-week trip and a massive January layoff was stupid. I don’t know if I will have courage to do the same things if given the choice. But I can say with confidence, is the fact that all these “stupid” decisions have led me here today, to the three prayers of gratefulness in the morning.

If I have a chance to go back in time and meet the 18-year-old boy with a one way ticket to Singapore, or meet the 20-year-old young man on his way to Philadelphia in the middle of winter, or the 27-year-old with his life in 3 suit cases arriving in Calgary, I want to thank them all. I want to thank them for their courage, for their fear, and for their resilience and stupid persistence in the hope that better was possible and better was on the horizon. 

Better is here now. Here now is good. I’m grateful.

P.S: I promise you I won’t bore you with another post about me being 40 years old again. I might occasionally mention it if some hot 30-year-old hit on me again (a man gotta brag when he feels you, you know) but it won’t be this dull old-man positive self taught routine again.

Meditation upon a dream

I have wild and bizarre dreams often, but I very rarely have vivid dreams. Unlike most of my bizarre adventures, vivid dreams get stuck with me. Be it a conversation with my mother, with my ex, with my “other” self, or with my partner, etc., they linger. These dreams are often conversations, played out in the setting of an arts house movie with surreal, hazy lighting and pretentious dialogue. I ponder their meanings. I wonder what my underlying subconscious brain is telling me. Here’s the one I had last night.

(Dark stage. Dim hazy overall light)

Me to my partner: “Are you going to do the things that you told me you’d do last week?”
Him: “No”
Me: “Will you?”
Him: “When is the absolute deadline for it?”
Me: “April 15th”
Him: “I’ll do it before April 15th”
Me: “That’s not what you told me you’d do”
Him: “I don’t see why it’s such a big deal”

(Lights out. I am now all alone, standing in a spotlight. Other side of the stage, my brother flickers in the flashing lights of the TV, playing his PS5)

I ponder what it means for him (my brother) if I leave this place*.

*This place, at this point in time, feels like this physical space, but also this mental space. This place feels like the state of the world, the state of my relationships, the state of my being. Of being here.

I started to scream. My body is not moving. But I screamed. This rage-filled, anxiety-ridden, desperate scream to the void. I screamed and I screamed.

(Spotlight behind me. I wasn’t looking. A voice came on. My partner’s)

Him: “I had no idea it bothers you this much. Why does it bother you?”

I continued to scream.

I woke up. Not from screaming. I woke up in this weird, surreal way. It was calm and quiet. And I lay there and I could not fall back asleep. And I started to think about the world, and the things that bother me, and what that weird imagery means.

“Why does this bother you?” “Why is this such a big deal?” I asked myself.

In all fairness, and this is important, I have explained this to my partner and to people many times before. It’s not about the act or the deadline itself. It’s about trust. I don’t trust people often. I don’t often ask for help. But when I do and when a commitment is made, I hope, no, I expect, that it will be honored and it will get done. I get paid pretty well for being a Project Manager. I don’t get paid for all this emotional labor for management people and things in my life. So I know why the conversation in the dream bothered me.

But why is this such a big deal now? Maybe in the constant anxiety state of the world (you know, the rise fascism in the US and the threat of sovereignty in Canada), my anxiety made these weird leaps about “If I cannot rely on this person to do a simple thing they said they’d do right now, can I rely on them during a nuclear apocalypse?” I grew up listening to my mother’s story about the Vietnam War, when a day delay or a night delay, or even a few minutes delay, meant you were stuck behind, without your property, thrown into jail, etc. Can I really trust someone who can’t log on to a website and do a few clicks?

And then there’s the imagery about my brother, and this is important.

I wanted to leave. I could have worked harder to leave in December. Maybe I could have worked harder for that opportunity in Vietnam. But I hesitated. “Who is gonna care for my brother?” “How is Mochi going to adapt to the Vietnamese heat and the long flight?” “How is Dan gonna adapt to the Vietnamese environment?” I could have worked harder to leave *this place.

And maybe this is why in the dream, I screamed. I screamed because that’s what I really wanted to do. But I can never do it in the real world (because I will look like a lunatic). The spotlight is important. Because it means I will be seen, and I will be heard. Which I feel like I don’t.

So what now?

I don’t know. I tried to meditate and sit with this feeling in the morning.

My real partner: “This version of me in your dream is not real. He doesn’t exist.”

I know that. But a version of that person exists. And the version of me screaming into the void exists.

Just like how I am typing this into the void of the internet now.

O Canada – a tribute

Mochi was not feeling great yesterday so I sat with her on the couch in our living room. This is the view I was staring at for about an hour. It’s our living room, or as we call it, the Canadian room. The room is filled with original Canadian art (some from indigenous artists), Canadian books, and art about Canada (that I made). On the bookshelf, there’s a collection of books called “The World Needs More Canada.” There’s a book I wrote about Canada after 3 years of living in Canada. Above the couch, there are 4 panels of a painting of the Rockies Mountain in 4 seasons. It’s the room we spend the most time in as a family.

People who know me know I’m not the public display of patriotism kinda guy (I’m not a trucker). However, I wear my heart on my sleeves (literally), as demonstrated by the amount of pride T-shirt, the gaming stickers and merch, etc. During Tet, I wear my ao dai and I fill every inch of my house with red packets. During Christmas, you’d see the white woman in me with the decorations and the candles. I am loud about the things that I love. And I am public about the things that I am proud of. Being Canadian is one of those things that I love and I am proud of.

Growing up in communist Vietnam gave me a different perspective about the rollercoaster that we are experiencing right now. My grandfather went to jail after the war. They lost properties. My mother couldn’t pursue higher education. Needless to say, she has a complicated relationship with the government and her identity as Vietnamese. Yet, as China continues to casually threaten our sovereignty, and during the peak of the pandemic, she puts community first and she puts our “collective good” as Vietnamese first. I remember going to the supermarket with my mom, and we would look for “high-quality products made in Vietnam” labels, instead of Chinese ones, which we have a lot of since they are our neighbors. This is where we are, as Canadians. We are certainly not perfect (one of our imperfections is the fact that we focus too much on our imperfections). Our governments are certainly faaaaaar from perfect. But imperfect doesn’t mean meek, weak, or pushover. We might only have 10% of their size in population. We might lose in a fight, sure. But not standing up to bully and cower in cowardice is worse. Be it a global respiratory virus, or a Russian orange agent virus, we will need the united community to fight back.

I was telling Dan yesterday that “Elbow Up” is such a great war cry for us (Good job Mike Myer!). It’s short. It’s sharp. It comes with an action built in. It’s rooted in our shared popular culture and shared national identity. It links to recent events of the US-Canada hockey game. It’s an offense by defense move. But most of all, it’s unique and relateable.

In a quiet moment in my living room with my sick puppy, I thought to myself, somehow, in my life, I have always ended up in places and times of the underdog. Being Vietnamese. Being queer. Being an immigrant. Turns out, being a Canadian now is being an underdog, too. Maybe it’s a sign from the universe. Maybe it’s not me who needs to escape or who needs saving. Maybe I am put here, in these underdog places, so I can offer my gifts, my different perspectives, and my strengths, for the communities and the people who need some support standing up against bullies. It’s hard work, but it must be done.

So, elbow up, Canada. We got this.

A Canadian turned 40 in America

I turned 30 in Vegas (when I first started dating Dan). So I guess it’s fitting that I turned 40 in California (being married to him). It seems like a changing of the season, of a page being turned, or even an entire new book written. I said I loved him on the night of my birthday 10 years ago. I have said it almost every day since. Maybe, just maybe, we have a chance at many more 10 years together, traveling, fighting about directions, teasing about bad weather, and even worse museum obsession. Maybe, just maybe, we can be those old people in love. Gross.

It’s a strange feeling, to be inside America during this iteration of America. America has always been on the more conservative side of North America, but this iteration seems unsettling, chaotic, and outright hostile. On our flight to San Francisco, we watched the tariff being announced in Canada. On the eve of my birthday, we saw Canadians booed the US National anthem. Towards the end of the trip, we see our own Premier repeated false talking points about an imaginary Canada border drug issue just because the president of fake news said it and our “leader” is part of his cult. We drove into part of California that was impacted by the fire and mudslide. It rained the entire week we’re here, in “sunny California”. The ocean is angry. She’s unsettling. The sky is gloomy. It’s this feeling of thread and threat, of the chaotic beauty of steadfast unraveling.

It’s also a strange feeling to redo this trip. 15 years ago, a wide-eyed 25-year-old followed a similar path (in reverse from San Diego to San Francisco and then Yosemite and then a separate trip from la to Vegas and all the Canyon) in a Mazda Miata with a much older man. A lot of conflicting feelings resurfaced. I was so young, so insecure, and so desperately wanting to belong. Back then, the weather was warm and gorgeous. My older date was warm and gorgeous. Yet the sense of rejection and isolation was overwhelming. It’s a constant reminder that I wasn’t wanted, that I wasn’t enough, that my value was only as far as what I can offer to do for others. This time, my family was with me. Dan was with me. My in-laws were with me. Kelly was with me. It’s rainy and cold the whole way. But we had fun. I was made to feel special. I was loved. I even got free ice cream from a restaurant. As I always said, “In America, the weather is warm, but the people are cold. In Canada, the weather is cold, but the people are a lot warmer”. Belonging and home is not a place. It’s the people who love you and celebrate you and welcome you into their lives. And for that, I’m forever grateful.

As we were leaving San Diego, the sun came out. We even saw whales and dolphins. There were even shirtless men on the beach. In a country, and a world, where the climate is changing, the political stability is changing, and the people are constantly changing, it’s an important reminder that the sun will eventually come back. (It might swallow us whole, but I’m choosing to close on a positive note). Humans are resilient. Minorities are resilient. Queer people are resilient. Our communities are resilient. We will find joy. We will celebrate.

I will celebrate. 40. 50. 60. Maybe I can even make it to 70 like that old Vietnamese idiom always says. Until then, I’m glad the festivities are over, and I’ll be back home in with comfortable bed, with my neurotic puppy, and with our renewed sense of pride and privilege to be a Canadian.