There’s a war out there (some old pervert pedophile set the world on fire to distract from his affairs) Gas price is at an all-time high (while the provincial government does its best to take away people’s human rights as they sell our future, and our land – not even ours – to the extremist right) Books are banned (by the same free-speech absolutists) Healthcare is rationed (by the same people who want freedom to not vaccinate) Everything is about the next tax break (and which immigrants – hint: the white ones – get to stay and get to live)
Despite all that
I like the way when I wake up in the morning, and I turn to my left, my husband moved a little closer to me assuming the little spoon position and we cuddled as I watched the sun rises outside my window. No words. He’s not even fully awake.
I like the way my dog curls up to me on the couch and looks up at me with her puppy dog eyes as I tell her things about world affairs and humans’ ridiculousness “I don’t understsand a thing you are saying daddy I’m just a dog Now give me treats” (and I sneak her some treats while my husband silently judges) “You’re gonna make that dog, fat, you know” (as he deep dive into his bag of Munchies)
I like the way the spring sun touches my face (and don’t tell anyone this, but) I also like the way, the spring snow touches my face (cold, crisp, but refreshing and alive)
Oh, what a privilege it is to temporarily forget about the world outside to retreat into your bubble to play sports as your gender to go to places with your vehicle to wake up safe in your bed, cuddled with the one you love to have food that makes you fat to walk outside on a spring day and not worry about the world outside
They say Joy is an act of resistance but what if Joy is a privilege afforded to us by our safe place, our clean water, our clean air, and our safe food
What if Joy is the next commodity to be taken away (by the rich for the rich and their friends)
I’d rather go touch grass (a bit more a bit longer) before that becomes a reality
We just came back from 2 weeks in Japan. It’s been a long-awaited trip. We wanted to celebrate my brother’s 30th birthday (he has always wanted to go to Japan) and my hubby’s 40th. We packed a lot of activities and places into the few days we were there, and we had a blast. The weather was phenomenal, which is always such a gamble for spring. And while it’s an off-peak season, and a week before the sakura were predicted to bloom, we got tons of early sakura anyway. So I would say it’s a pretty successful trip (much better than my 40th trip in California, I’d say)
Of course, people know Japan for the amazing sights. It has a really great mix of well-preserved nature and bustling cities everywhere. We even got to Mt. Fuji in the sun. It was a bit of a detour and logistics to get there, but it’s so worth it. We also saw the Bamboo forest in Osaka, the temples in the rain in Mount Fuji, the pagoda on top of a mountain in Kyoto, and many amazing parks all around.
Balancing that with the night landscape and the sprawling cities of lights and tall buildings, be it Tokyo, Osaka, or Kyoto. Figuring out the train system was both interesting and fulfilling. We got to most of the places we want to go without much delay or getting lost.
Of course, being a Zen Buddhist with a cultural nerd hubby, we visited a lot of shrines, temples, and castles. I never stop being amazed by the Japanese people’s culture and ethos in life. “The middle path”, as I explain it. They follow rules to a fault, yet pay extra attention to minor improvements like bus seating, lines, and systems. They tend to be reserved and careful, but warmed up quickly and tried really hard to help when we had a question.
If there’s anything that gives me pause and makes me a bit sad, it’s how tourists and visitors have turned this place into a bit of a madhouse and made a lot of religious sites a spectacle or a commercial place. Charms are made for the cuteness effect for purchase. Buddhist prayers for wealth and financial gains are common (which is not the goal, really). I get it, and I understand it, yet it still made me sad. I found myself not praying for much. All my prayers, as cliché as it is, are for Peace and safety for all being (given all the things that are happening outside right now). I guess I am pretty lucky not to rely on wishes and 100 yen exchange with the gods and Buddha for material things that I want.
Of course, no visit to Japan (or any of my travels, really) can be complete without amazing food. Thanks to my brother’s research, we ended up in a couple of really good places. Food prices were extremely reasonable. The restaurants took forever to serve food, but their food is always meticulously crafted and tastes amazing. We had a diverse diet from seafood to wagyu, from charcoal grill to deep fried, from elaborate set meals to simple beef bowls. It was fantastic!
Bonus, of course, is that we got sakura. We got a few blooming trees here and there throughout the visit, and then boom, the night before we came back to Tokyo, city officials declared that it is officially sakura season, and we started seeing them everywhere in Tokyo. We spent a lot of time in public parks, national gardens, and being those cringe tourists who haven’t seen sakura in Japan.
Of course, being us, we spent a lot of time doing Pokémon-related things. We went to 6 Pokémon centers (2 of them Mega centers) and 2 smaller Pokémon stores. We went to the Pokémon theme park that was just opened in February. We spent about $800 in Pokemon merch. No matter how old we get, we are always children at heart, and that’s what I love about us. Just 2 childless adults spending adult money on all the children’s things.
It being the last leg of the trip, and we had a bit of free time, we decided to check out the local gay scene for a bit. Of course, I am instantly transported to the same space I was in 20 years ago in Japan. Racism and hierarchy are the default in the gay community. Establishments can (and will) turn down people who “do not fit their preference or standard clientele” (Read: “No fat. No femme. No (Southeast) Asians.) Except now I have unlocked a new achievement. “No one over 40” is another criterion. It made me sad. It reminded me of a time in my life where we were so in danger, and we were so desperate for community and connection in our lives, and the gay community is the most toxic and discriminatory against our own kind, because of our skin and our heritage. The call comes from inside the house.
I had a bit of an argument with my husband. I think he always understands racism at the abstract concept level. He understands what happened to me. But he doesn’t understand how I feel. And I don’t think he will ever understand the experience of being rejected and being ignored, no matter what you do, and how hard it is to see him just show up and be the center of attention in Asia, just because he is white. Of course, neither of us can change the color of our skin or who we are. I don’t want to be made to feel like a crazy one, and having to keep explaining racism to white people. I don’t want him to be made to feel like he can’t enjoy the attention. I don’t know how to change that. I could not sleep that night. I had a lot of doubts about our future, even my plan to eventually move back and live in Asia. We will both get older. I will keep getting ignored and being transparent. He will keep getting more attention from ever-younger, hotter Asians. We can’t change the society that we are in. We can’t change who we are and what we look like. Where does that leave us?
We are back in Canada. Over dinner yesterday, we reflected on the trip. We agreed that we really enjoyed Japan. We might even love being there. Love is a strong word. We really enjoyed being there, I guess. We also agreed we couldn’t live there, not long-term. People romanticize Japan like an ideal world that is out of this world, only existing in anime and movies. It is indeed special, but not perfect. The people there have real struggles, just like us humans. They have fear and jealousy, and some turned into xenophobia, and others shut down. We even saw an anti racism protest by a sakura tree. The real Japan, deeper than the amazing sights, cities, food, and people, is just as messy and as demanding as anywhere. It is just like Canada in 2010 for me. Canada was an ideal place that only exists in my uncle’s stories, in beautiful imagery, and in an unshakeable faith that I could find a home, and I could be married and with a family there.
Beware of dreams coming true, because they do.
And when they do, and when you are privileged enough to travel and be transported back to a site that you were 20 years ago as a poor, broke, closeted foreigner, you realize how far you have gone and how much of an amazing man you have become. I remembered the first time my Visa was rejected by Japan (I didn’t have enough money in my bank account), I told myself, “Japan will still always be there. You will outgrow it, and when you come back, you will get to experience it the way it was meant to be.”
I told my husband throughout the trip, whenever we had to change our plans or whenever something inconvenient happened, a Zen saying, “Everything is already perfect, as it is.”
The trip was great, not because Japan was perfect, not because our life is perfect, but because everything happened by chance before (my life), during (our booking and the weather), and after (our reflection and experience) are already perfect, as they are.
Where I came from 1000 years of border war; 100 years of colonization; 30 years (American-backed) Vietnam War; The West speaks about us as if we were a concept, as if the poverty, the uncertainty, the lack of opportunity, is self-inflicted.
Where I came from, Men love women. They get married. They bear children. They care for their elders. Kids are told to keep their heads down, to listen well, to recite Uncle Ho’s poetry.
Where I came from, I slept on floors. I shifted buckets of rainwater that flooded the house back onto the streets. My father worked two blue-collar jobs My mother pinched every one twentieth of a dollar (because that’s how much our currency was worth) Because they saw my ambition. Because they wanted more for me. Because I wanted more for me.
When I was in Singapore, Singapore kids (university students, really) (The would-be managers, leaders, and elites of the nation) Sat in the middle of a circle. And they said “These foreign talents. They came here, and they took our spots in university. They took our scholarships. They took our jobs. And they didn’t even go to the army.” Because I looked like them, and I spoke like them, and I understood their Mandarin. They forgot that I am one of those “foreign”. They forgot that the Banglas built their infrastructure, that the Filipinos served their food, that the foreign Indians, the foreign Malays, and the foreign Southeast Asians paid their taxes and built their companies. They even forgot that not all Indians and Malays are foreign.
When I was in America, I went to one of the most prestigious Ivy Leagues in America. I slept on floors, ate ramen, shared a kitchen, and took the bus, so we could get our start-up started. Yet, I told white people on the bus I worked at a laundromat so they’d leave me alone Black grandma at the bus stop told me, “I wish my grandson were more like your people.” Asian men are a punch line, a joke, an asexual backdrop, and an abusive husband on TV We didn’t need reminding that we didn’t belong there. We knew.
When I was gay in America, My (white) boyfriend’s friends called me the foreign wife (with me in the room, as if I didn’t speak English, or that I didn’t understand microaggressions) My Asian friends fought over their scraps of whites And because my boyfriend was white, I am not allowed to talk about racism in the gay community, about white privilege, or about internalized homophobia in the Asian community. “You’re a hypocrite,” they said, “if you have problems with this so much,” “Why not just go back to where you came from?”
When I was in gay Canada, ten years ago, I genuinely thought I had found a home Sure, we aren’t perfect. We needed to care more about our neighbors. We needed to reconcile with our past. We needed to fix the paths to a better future for our youth. But we had it pretty good. We have peace. We have stability. We have freedom. We have rights. We have healthcare. We have a social safety net. We prevent childhood poverty.
And then, this week, the Premier of Alberta came out and said “Immigrants are ruining this place.” “There are too many of them. They are coming too fast.” “They flooded our emergency rooms.” (as if the same government didn’t dismantle healthcare, cut funding, and engage in multiple corruption scandals) “They are taking your job.” (as if the same government didn’t put out ads to encourage more Canadians elsewhere to come for economic opportunities) “They are making your children’s classroom overcrowded.” (as if the same government didn’t cut funding, force teachers to end their strikes, and enforce the same horrible conditions) “We need to make these immigrants pay.” (and then we will make you pay more. So that you have better healthcare. So that your kids get a better school) “We need a new caste system.” “When I said we wanted more immigrants, I meant only the white ones, the conservative ones, the wealthy ones, the trademen in oil ones.” “When I said we needed more immigrants, I meant only the ones who worked the oil fields, who carried out dangerous jobs, who nannied our children, who nursed our elders. Don’t they dare send their kids to school or get sick, because that is reserved for the wealthy.”
And then they said, “If you have problems with this so much,” “Why not just go back to where you came from?”
And there it is.
Where I came from, I slept on floors. My father worked two blue-collar jobs. My mother pinched every one twentieth of a dollar. Neighbors take care of each other Doctors work in overcrowded emergency rooms Teachers teach in overcrowded classrooms (And they might even start to be ok with the gay thing)
At least where I came from Our humanity is not reduced to an abstract concept, of something to be first inline for sacrifice when a government fucked up and the people will keep voting for that, too because, “tax cut”.
Maybe I go back to where I came from back to the earth, the rain, the heat, the mother, the father, the neighbors
Maybe I’m just romanticizing it because I’ve been away too long. And there’s truly no place that one can call home When one is a perpetual nomad a gay brown immigrated Vietnamese.
“In 1967, John Lennon wrote a song called, “All You Need Is Love.” He also beat both of his wives, abandoned one of his children, verbally abused his gay Jewish manager with homophobic and anti-semitic slurs, and once had a camera crew film him lying naked in his bed for an entire day.” – Mark Manson
(I struggled to write this because it has 2 very weird, disjointed parts. But I chose to write that sad stuff first before the happy stuff, cos we all would rather have the delusion of maybe always a happy ending?)
I guess this is what a “midlife crisis” must be like. It’s not a sudden rush of blowing up your life, or getting a fling half your age, or getting a Ferrari (maybe it’s a straight men thing?) It’s this lingering, nagging, hangover-like feeling of maybe your best years are behind you, maybe you missed a major boat or two. Maybe it’s more intense for gay men (and maybe gay men of color) because so much of our worth is tied to our youth, our desirability, and our validation from others. My ex once said, “You are an old soul, and you are great, and you are so wise and kind and accomplished. We just don’t have chemistry. You’re not quite as cute as I thought”. I know it’s fucked, but when you are 24, you internalize a lot of that stuff. And when you thought you were over it, it came back and hit you in the face.
It’s almost Tet (Lunar New Year). And, for the first time in a really long time, I miss home. I don’t know why. Maybe because in 2024 we had the opportunity to celebrate Tet in Vietnam, and I remembered how amazing that was. Maybe because this year we were in Thailand for the new year, and people keep telling us this fire horse year only comes once every 60 years. Maybe it’s the nostalgia starting to hit at an older age. Maybe all of this intense racism and anti-immigrant sentiment in North America, specifically Alberta, has finally gotten to me. “You know what, racists, maybe I will go back to where I came from. At least our food has real flavors. Enjoy your oil-sand bland burgers.”
I once again feel small and isolated. I feel this coldness and loneliness in California and Philadelphia. I feel this “otherness” and “less than”. It’s ironic that I left Vietnam and Asia to find a place of belonging. And Canada is still very much that. There are places and people I love here. It’s just this intense racism and dog whistling from all these separation talks and the extremely homophobic government that reminds me more and more each day of Communist Vietnam. Something as small and as joyful as the Bad Bunny half-time show (I didn’t watch the football, just Youtube the music on YouTube) gave me a brief moment of joy. And then, all the racist attacks and the “Christian” sentiment that people would rather worship a pedophile and a washed-up, talentless, hateful man, some of it from the Alberta government staff, remind me that I am not welcome here.
I’ve been watching the company that I missed last year. They’ve been doing well, expanding, and winning awards. I could have been their CTO. There are very few times in my life when I used the term “could have”. I always dove in headfirst. I always take tremendous risks. Not because I was brave, but because I was afraid of what-ifs and could-have-beens. So this one hurts. I guess it hurts a little bit more that I didn’t know or have any of these “I miss home” and “I miss my friends” nostalgia nagging at me. And now I’ve missed that boat.
All that doom and gloom talks aside, I actually had a good birthday week. We had a big family dinner on Tuesday. I celebrated my brother’s birthday on Wednesday. I had a nice, beautiful meal with the hubby on Thursday. Haircut and Tet grocery shopping on Friday. We played board games and had (even more) sushi on Saturday with friends. I went swimming on Sunday with a friend. It’s the small stuff. These are little bright spots and sparkles of joy in the midst of this ongoing malaise of isolation. I treasure it. I promise myself I will focus on the small circles of my life (family, friends, volunteering) and turn my brain off from the outside world doom. It’s tough, but I’m trying.
I am reminded that there’s a concept in Vietnamese culture and language called “Đẹp lão”. It literally means old and beautiful. Not but, and; because we (maybe the Japanese too?) see the beauty and the wisdom in aging and in lived experience. (Although usually it is reserved for people 60+) I will try to embrace that. (Gay men and their usual shallowness aside) I feel as fit as I ever been, and as confident as I’ve ever been. Out of curiosity, I Googled my ex a few days ago (We haven’t been in touch for a few years, the moment I stopped trying to stay in touch with him). He looks older, more haggard, and is still talking about his trauma with his mom and dad as part of his psychology business and practice. That was one of the could-have-beens that I am glad I was out of. I have grown and moved so much in the last 12 years. He is still stuck in that same place he was back then.
Time is a funny concept. Wisdom only comes in hindsight. All we have is the here and now. And maybe it’s the most important thing for me to remember. That I am still here. That I am loved.
Maybe love is not enough. Maybe love is not all you need. But it’s a damn good place to start.
I remembered vividly the day I turned 21 (20 years ago). Perhaps because, in Singapore, that’s what people define as “adulthood” – men finish the army – and I had 5 Singaporean roommates at a time. Perhaps, because we were in New York City, first time for me, and Asians (and Vietnamese in general) have always romanticized America and NYC. It was cold and wet, we had been walking outside for hours, and I only had a salad. Most of my roommates just got to know me by then, so there was no fanfare or anything about my birthday. I remember that vividly. Perhaps, maybe, for the first time in a very long time, I was hopeful. Not happy. Hopeful.
That young man is still here somewhere, inside of me, I think: full of hope, full of naïveté, and full of internal struggle. A monk once told Trevor Noah, “If you are having a bad day, just remember the version that you are today is the version the past you would have dreamed to become.” That young man has dreamed of being with a beautiful, bearded, tall man. That young man has dreamed of a safe place called home and a family. That young man has dreamed of a career to be proud of, to be a leader, and to achieve success.
So here we are, today. “Am I happy?”
I should be happy. I should.
Twenty years ago was also the first time I saw Wicked (I know, a gay who loves Musicals, how fucking original!), but there’s a song that resonates deeply with me years later.
“Happy is what happens when your dreams come true! I couldn’t be happier. Simply couldn’t be happier Well, not “simply”, because getting your dreams, it’s strange, but it seems a little, well, complicated.”
Turned out the beautiful, bearded, tall man can’t solve all your problems. He doesn’t want to hear about racism in the gay community on a regular basis. Turned out your beautiful, safe home can be at risk of being invaded by the world’s ugliest Orangutan. Turned out an illustrious career built by hard work and dedication is nothing compared to a bunch of overinflated grifters and internet “thought leaders”. Turned out (some) friends may decide to stay or to go depending on your utility function of the day.
So yes, I am proud, grateful, and loving the life I have. “Am I happy?” is a bit more complicated than that.
There was one thing that the same young man had/has. An answer. Not the answer, but an answer. A good answer at that. In my darkest time in Singapore, in the darkest day of my depression and before coming out, that 20-year-old kid found Buddhism, meditation, and learning to sit with all this darkness and uneasiness, and be with himself. A monk once asked: “What makes people so unhappy?” After I gave him a long-winded answer about philosophy, socioeconomic inequality, and all that, he said, “Craving.” We crave for more, for better, for the things we don’t have / never had. Now that is not to say we stop fighting for loving kindness for all beings (That Buddhist philosophy about “do no harm” vs “do nothing” is for another discussion). I have been avoiding that answer. Not because it is not a good answer. It is because it is a hard answer. It’s tough. It’s hard to sit with yourself in the silence. It’s hard to sit with the silence. It’s hard to face inequality and anxiety and fear and darkness just by yourself. It’s hard not “trying to find” happiness. But it is an answer. It’s not the only answer, but it’s a good one to try. I was afraid to go back there. I think I was afraid to go back there in 2019, throughout the pandemic, when I turned 40, and even now. Because when I sit with myself and meditate and gain insights to what is this lump that is stuck in my chest, the answer could just be “Abandon all hope” and “Leave”. It might be a good answer, but it is a damn hard one to face.
(This is 1 week out before my birthday. People who know me know I am weird about my birthday. To catch you up, new people in my life. I have this pre-birthday-panic every year because my inner Asian mom keeps telling me, “What have I done with my life besides getting older?” Then on my birthday, I will feel super sad and abandoned; then I shut down (and if people shower me with food and love, I will doubt their intention,s and I will piss them off by telling them “You are only doing this because of my pre-birthday freakout.”) Then I got sort of melancholy and normal again, like someone who just accept and finish grieving a death. This repeats annually.)
Happy New Year? In the current context of what is happening (geopolitically) in Alberta, in the US, and in the world, it is hard to say “Happy”. It is a new year. I came back from a vacation in Thailand and immediately got sick. Then we launched a major project, and I had to do performance reviews for 71 staff and 12 managers, so it’s been pretty much just go-go-go since then. It is a strange time and a strange feeling. Some friends call this the pandemic hangover. Some call it the grieving effect of normalcy and the world order as we know it. 2025 was, to sum it up in a word, strange. I turned 40, which is a weird milestone (more on that later). I am grateful to be safe, to have shelter, to have family and friends, to have work, so I should not complain about anything. Yet my anxiety and restlessness are at an all-time high, and I have such a low baseline capacity that something seemingly minor and benign can bother me for days on end.
My first year of being 40 was, well, strange. It’s mixed reviews or mixed bag experiences, pretty much like life itself. I got to spend my birthday week with family, friends (amazing!) while being rained on the entire time in California (not great). I got to see Kelly twice (bonus!). For the first year, I didn’t send someone close to me a birthday message, and they didn’t even remember to reach out (their birthday is 2 days before mine, so if I wish them happy birthday, they will remember to say it back). Marcus spent a week of Stampede with us (amazing!) A close friend of ours started dating (someone younger), and we sort of never saw them again. My job is going really well (got a small raise!), but it is becoming increasingly challenging because of the new marketplace and the slow-changing mindset of people. We went to Thailand for a good friend’s wedding. While we had such a great time with friends, and having sunshine with a nice warm weather for a change in January is so great, being in a queer space in Asia always brings back terrible feelings for me.
Something did happen in Thailand. We went to a couple of big parties and other spaces. It brought me back to the early days of my coming out in California. (For context, I was 24. My ex was 42 and white.) Of course, in these places, you will see older white men acting like they own the place. You will see young, muscular Asian men either pair up with each other or pair up with a much older white man. I was used to being a wallflower. I am still that young man, I think, easily overwhelmed by these spaces. It doesn’t help that my husband is white, and while we are similar in age, he is desired and sought after by all these younger, hotter Asian men. I’m kinda just there, abandoned. It’s not a great feeling. And it was the feeling I had to process for 5 years of my life, in my 20s. My older boyfriend just needed to show up, and he was beloved. He would complain about his neck, his knees, his physical condition, his mental health, and his trauma whenever we were together. But in these spaces, he was dancing, being fabulous, and being the center of everything. At one point, I felt like an emotional support pet. I was there because I had utility, not because I was desired.
To be honest, I am ok (actually, I am happy and very proud) that I am in my 40s. I feel confident, powerful, and accomplished. I feel loved, cared for, and grateful. I had wished for this ever since I was a teenager. The only thing, I think, that being in my 40s has been so bad for me was in the gay community. I was ok being 40. I’m not ok being 40 and brown and gay. I am struggling with feeling invisible and ignored. It actually hurts my feelings when a friend starts dating a younger man and stops hanging out with us (which is totally fine; it just came across as people prefer younger hangouts). I get paranoid and annoyed when (Asian) men in their twenties are surrounding my husband and ignoring me. Strangely, men are only interested in dating and romantic pursuits, not in friendship.
So, it’s a mixed bag going into 41. I am grateful and thankful for the lives we are leading. I really hope, for myself, this is just another year of settling into (old) middle age. I hope to learn to be a Buddhist and to be outside of this suffering of desire and suffering of desiring to be desired.
That, and finally accepting the things that I can’t change in the inequality of the world: race, gender, sexual orientation, socioeconomic statuses, and all else that entails with being an older brown gay immigrant.
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.
“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?
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?
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)
Pace Fine Arts 