” It’s always darkest before the dawn”

Everyone on social media and at work is encouraging each other to “Reflect on 2021”. I don’t know if I’m ready for that yet. I don’t know if I processed 2021 (or even 2020) enough to reflect on it without breaking down and panic cry over a tub of ice cream quite yet.

In 2021 we thought the pandemic was over. And the vaccine did help. For a while. We gleefully declared we’re “Open for summer”, and then “Open for good” and snarkily making fun of people “needing to get over it” on Twitter. Turned out the real pandemic is the ones with humanity no longer trusting each other, no longer believing in the greater good, and no longer trusting evidence or science.

In 2021 we faced “Stop Asian Hate” straight on. And while Canadians and my friends gleefully declare racism is not here, I wish I could have an honest, open conversation about the microaggression, the subtle discrimination I still feel at the grocery store, at work, or even within different Asian communities and queer communities. You see, when you are a successful director of a tech company, people often think you should shut up and not bite the hands that feed you, or your friends will tell you “Can’t change the fact that I’m white and privileged”. 

In 2021, I faced the loss of “what could have been”. We decided not to adopt because “Jason, you want to move to Ontario. We can’t adopt in Alberta”, so I felt like it was my fault we had to make that change. And of course, now I am not moving anymore, so I’ve lost that too. As I continue to chat with my new boss (and his firm belief the future is remote/hybrid 100%), I couldn’t help but feel like there are these hundreds of doors that are open before us, and my feet are grounded solidly in a house, a mortgage, and three feet of the Calgary snow (and subtle microaggressions – refer to point 2).

In 2021, I had 2 job changes. While I am incredibly grateful for the opportunities and the success they bring, learning new things and going through 2 probations in a year is incredibly taxing (on an already anxious mind), on the backdrop of a pandemic. Companies that turned me down this time last year are reaching out again, trying to recruit me (because the Great Resignation happens, and because I now have the title that matches their AI searches). It’s cynical, I know. But I do think I have a lot to offer in my professional life and to the people that I work with, and the 2021 workplace is just a strange landscape to be in.

In 2021, most importantly, in my comfy “work from home” desk, I feel isolated. I feel pretty much alone and taken for granted in my little happy corner of the world. I feel the burden of the world, at times as ridiculously light as air, at times as ridiculously heavy as a chest pain, and most of the time just this unexplainable anxiety about things starting to crumble and my perfect little suburban life is corroding who I am as a person. 

So yeah, I am not sure I am ready to reflect on 2021 quite yet. I am not sure I’m in the place where I can even sit and reflect on things. Maybe the dawn will come. Maybe after the Winter Soltice, as the days get longer and the Chinook bring some warmth and I can be outside in the sun, all these darkness will slowly fade into my breath of the winter air during meditation.

Meanwhile, I’ll just sit and breathe.

(I didn’t want this to be all gloom and doom so I put it as Part 1 – to offer some hope. Let’s see if there is part 2. Maybe in the next 2 weeks)

(I wrote this note in 2017. It’s still relevant, and still as loving, today.) 

“I am not as my father”

 was the first thing I thought,

 when I drove down the icy roads,

 in Grande Prairie, a city so foreign. 

 I was lost.

 I felt alone.

 I am not as my father,

 for I know he was never lost.

 Not figuratively, at least; because, he was strong.

He was stoic. Quiet. Mundane. As a child, I have thought.

 He moved through the post-war shadows, and the days of loss;

 living each day with the trauma in my mother’s hope.

 He moved quietly North and South, in a cross country train where things are divided

 I wonder if he ever felt lost.

“I am not as my father”, I have thought

 When I hold the child of a friend, and he gave me a hug.

 I was tender. I was soft.

 I allowed myself vulnerability. I allowed myself love.

 I allowed myself the vocabulary my father had never had.

 Love. Joy. Sadness. 

 Authenticity. Equality. Freedom of love.

 I allowed myself a sense of normalcy, a ray of hope

 that one day I could be a father

 that my son would be proud to say

 “I am as my father”

I am not as my father,

 and I felt ashamed with that.

 I didn’t have the grit, the strength, the audacity,

 and even his sense of directions.

 I didn’t have the strength to put everyone first, and then myself last.

 I couldn’t live with life, quietly in the shadows, following everyone’s step,

 because I want what’s best

 not for me, but for my family, and the people I love.

But I know I am as my father,

 in the way he loves.

 He wouldn’t call it that.

 But I know he does love. 

 Love so fiercely that he doesn’t give up hope. 

 Love so fiercely that he took of a second job, 

 to send two young ambitious sons to foreign lands, 

 so that they know love, joy and sadness.

 Love so fiercely that even when he never knew of, read, or felt this note

 He would have been proud of me,

 for writing it.

I am not as my father,

 but I’m okay with that.

 For I know, in my heart,

 He will be proud of me,

 for not being as he is,

 but for having his bravery,

 to be

As I am.

This is probably the first time in the past 18 months that I felt things are (almost) back to “normal”. 

I traveled again, even just for a short amount of time, to see dear friends and friends I have not seen in a long time. I created arts again, photography, painting, and some random writings. I meditated again, went to the gym regularly. I read regularly again. I learned new things again, both technology and not.

I never realized the toll the pandemic and working throughout the pandemic has taken on my health and my mental health up until the point I had this week off. I thrive under pressure and in challenges, for sure. But when the pressure remained constant for 18 months, it weighs on you. I have been very fortunate to work for great companies and work with great co-workers who have not impose additional stress onto the already “fragile” state. Nevertheless, the pressure to “not complain because you are so lucky” is in itself a challenge of the pandemic.

I’m starting a new job this week. It’s a type of Innovative Lab (So, a well funded, well structured, with vision, and with devs “Basement Lab”) right here in Alberta. So far things have been pretty organized and the people I’ve met have been awesome. Obviously, with any new beginning, there is a level of anxierty built in. Uncertainty and challenges fuel growth, and I’m excited to see what this will bring.

So, life goes on. Life is not normal, yet, normal has never been a constant. I’m just trying to sit again with all this discomfort, and continue to grow.

The universe wants me to know I made the right choices. 

As I touched down at Vancouver airport, the first notification on my phone showed a heavy rainfall warning. It’s called “The Pineapple Express”, said the locals, but generally, November is the rainiest month of the year. My friend said, gleefully, “You put on a raincoat and rainboot and umbrella and you get over it”. “Sometimes, the rain can be calming and comforting”. And I said “Congratulations on finding your place. I’d rather take the snow”. 

It is important for one to find a place that suits them. To each their own. Otto Fong (a Singapore LGBTQ teacher who was fired for being gay), wrote: “I don’t want to be a bonsai tree… Do you know what a bonsai tree is? A bonsai tree is an imitation of a real tree. It is kept in a small pot with limited nutrients, trimmed constantly to fit someone else’s whim. It looks like a real tree, except it can’t do many things a real tree can…. [It’s] useless and painful.” I have moved to many places in my lifetime. And I have moved to Canada with the hope for an authentic reality and a life of extraordinary. I found it in Canada. I didn’t feel like that anymore in Calgary. I do love Calgary. I do deeply love the mountains and the rivers, and even the snowfall. I do love the big open sky and the big open spaces and the big open parks with trees and birds and deers. It’s the people living in it that keep making me feel like I didn’t belong.  

Not that I’ve ever contemplated living in Vancouver. 2021 was a landmark year as I struggled to find a role that suited me and my experience in Calgary. And I contemplated moving to GTA for an opportunity that was much better for me. As I lie on the IKEA couch of my friend, my back aching and my neck asking “What the actual f is going on?”, I know that I have gotten older. I am proud to have moved from Vietnam to Singapore on a one-way ticket and 2 suitcases. I have arrived in Philadelphia in January with 2 suitcases and a box from my uncle. I arrived in snowy Canada with 2 suitcases and some help from my uncle and my ex. I did it, and I can do it again. I don’t know if I can do it alone anymore.

Loneliness is a persistent pandemic. In a big city like this, there are many many more people in diverse communities. There are many more people in the LGBTQ community. Yet, as the number of people that are so beautiful on the outside, that has six-pack abs and dance routines on their Instagram, that has followers virtually, there is this deep-rooted isolation and sadness. I caught up with a friend after 6 years and I sensed that in him. He was looking for friends and connections in a city that is about working your life off (to afford the rent) and the rain and the beautiful exteriors keeping people away from each other. People constantly cancel appointments because they know more exciting and better things might come along, and they ended up alone on their couches at night scrolling through Instagram. I couldn’t help but wonder, when the Covid pandemic is over, and then the North America society arrives at distributed workforce and fully virtual “Metaverses”, what is there for our lives in terms of connection? Do we trade off our humanity for mobility? 

I thought about it a lot in my last 4 weeks. As I resign from the company that embraced me through the pandemic, that embraced me through change and that saw my experience and potential beyond a job title or the Oil and Gas industry that I used to work in, leaving all the people I worked with and even hired behind, I couldn’t help but wonder, is this the right move? I know it is. Growth and comfort do not co-exist. And I know myself. This type of anxiety and fear is what drives me forward. 

Yet, as I spent my time in Ottawa, and as I contemplated the thought of living there and working remotely for my next job, I could see myself there. I could see myself being challenged and growing for a few years before moving back. I could see myself adopting and loving a new place with new people and new culture and new hiking trails. But I can’t see myself in a minimalistic apartment with IKEA furniture anymore. I see my life with somebody. I want to always spend my life with that somebody. And I somehow begin to question if he ever wants to give up his comfort for growth, or even more unfairly, if he ever will give up his comfort for my growth.

“Marriage is work,” my friend said “and it seems [his partner] is not willing to put in the work anymore”

It can be comforting to be around old friends who agree with you politically, philosophically, and even just the random ridiculousness of life. It made me realize how incredibly lonely I was (and they were) during the pandemic. It made me realize how much I needed someone who listens and who feels the same way. But it also made me realize how incredibly lonely it must be for him when I keep moving forward in the pandemic, exploring places and foreign worlds, while he wants to be comforted, to stay put, and to be agreed with that the people he works with are good people. 

I hate the rain. It makes me moody. It reminds me of the childhood I had in Vietnam, of the closeted years I endured in Singapore. Most of all, I guess, the rain forced me to sit with myself and reflect and write all these deep thoughts about my life, and about my personal struggle. I am relentless and uncompromising on what I want out of my life. I am relentless and uncompromising in my authenticity and my growth.

But what if my deep desire for growth and change is now conflicting with my unrelenting love for the person who prefers deep roots and the familiar Calgarian conservative mindset?

Life is like rain. It is unpredictable. It comes at you unannounced and you can’t change it. You just put on the raincoat and an umbrella and you walk out in the rain. 

Maybe my next growth is not with moving to a place, but with the discomfort that you sometimes give up personal ridiculous moving-across-the-country #pureadventures for others whom you love who might want a different vision. 

“Oh, the stupid things people do for love” – a co-worker

I realized this morning on my last day in Ottawa that I have never actively wanted to move towards something or arrive somewhere with thoughtfulness, preparation, and with prior research for scouting.

I moved to Singapore when I was 18 because I wanted a better education and a life outside of Vietnam. I had no idea what Singapore was like as a country. I had no idea what NUS was like as a university. And I got on a plane with a one-way ticket and I did that anyway.

I moved to Philadelphia for NOC program because I wanted a different way of thinking than in NUS. I was depressed and under a lot of pressure in the crushing weight of Singapore and the feeling of isolation and loss in Singapore. I had no idea what Philadelphia was like. I had no idea what Upenn was like. And I got on a plane with a bunch of strangers that would be friends and I went for it anyway.

I moved to California so I could meet someone and that I could be authentically me. I had no idea what living in the US would be like and how challenging it would be. The relationship didn’t work. 

I moved to Canada because I was tired of the US, of Vietnam, of places where I had to hide, of the isolation and of the lies and the shame and the challenges I had as a young gay immigrant. I didn’t know what Canada would be like. I only knew in Canada, I had the opportunity to be free. And I tried. 9 years later. I am here.

I think I am the same way with my job. I don’t go towards new jobs, I quit old jobs. I work until I burn out and then I seek a new experience until my next burnout. I have never really learned deeply about what the next one will entail. Perhaps until this change.

This time, I didn’t intend to leave. I gave it a try and I asked in-depth questions. I weighed the pros and cons and I actively chose the new job. I move forward to something that I want (from something quite great, actually), instead of just running away screaming from what I didn’t want.

And I’m starting to feel the same about Calgary, and Ottawa. I don’t want to leave Calgary because I’m tired of the people, the politics, and the policy of Calgary. I don’t want to just move to Ottawa without intent. I want to be in a place, with thoughtful preparation and with intention, and with a clear vision of what a life would be.

And in every vision of what a life would be, I see a person in that view. In every vision of happiness, there is a flawed, but sincere, serious, but compassionate, analytical, but sentimental, responsible, but spontaneous, person. We are still young(ish – I know Gen Z-ers have said 35 is the new boomer). I don’t know how our future and our life will turn out to be, and it is very anxiety-inducing if you read the news. But I know in every vision of a future we will have together, as long as we have each other, we are home. 

Mảnh đất giữ chân một người, khi nơi đó nằm xuống một người thân, hay đang sống một người mình thương yêu – Đất Khách, Lý Lan.

Picture this. A 36-year-old standing in the middle of a busy Ottawa junction – smiling ears to ears. He remembered this feeling of 15 years ago when he was first here. A student from Penn. On a shoestring budget. No smartphone. No GPS. Just a sense of endless wonder and a fearless wish for #pureadventures. 

 The only constant in life is change.

So, as you can imagine, when the change comes unintended, and it comes with the burden of the unchanging, for a restless heart, it’s… confusing. 

I made up my mind about moving out East for a job, after 6 months of struggling to find an opportunity that would suit my background here in Alberta. I adapted and mentally prepared for that move. I started a new job in January. I built a great team (90% productivity in a sprint delivery). I released software and we shipped products into new marketplaces (Scandinavians, US, etc.). 

And then I took a job in Alberta. 

To the team and the management team, it was confusing. Sure I worked 50-60-hour weeks at times but I was very cheery about it (Because I was trained in Singapore for the arts of the overworked). Sure there were tense interactions with customers, but I used to work in Oil and Gas. I constantly whined about Alberta. And I guess it is confusing for me too. I’m leaving a place where I built the team myself, to a much bigger organization, taking a smaller role in the org chart, building unreleased products. 

And then I look up at my value statements. Specifically. 

1. “It’s all about the people”

I know me moving out East has caused a lot of anxiety for my close circles. My partner, of course, but also my brother, my friends, and the network I have built here in Calgary. I have moved my whole life and I have never understood why people are so reluctant to move. Now I do. I have never found true belonging in my life and so leaving was always so easy. Now I find belonging.

2. “Comfort and Growth do not co-exist”

Maybe this confusion, this discomfort, it’s a sign of growth. Yes, I’m launching headfirst into a new organization, reporting to a boss that is yet to be hired, heading a team I didn’t hire. All that is stress-inducing. But I strive on stress-inducing challenges. Releasing a new product can be a catastrophic failure, but it will look very sexy on life’s legacy. I’m all for #pureadventures.

So here we are. 2 job changes in the pandemic. I’m still a little anxious, a little confused, and a lot heartbroken to be leaving the 15 people I hired, trained, and coached behind. But knowing them, they will achieve great things.

I do take comfort in the fact that people have been exceptionally nice to me, showing concerns, sharing good memories, telling me I’ve done a great job. After all, that’s all a leader can ask for in the modern workplace, validation from the people he leads and the impact he imparts that stays with them beyond his tenure. 

So Alerbta, here I come (back) again. Don’t break my heart again this time.