speaking of viet food.
I keep finding myself on Youtube watching Vietnamese food cooking videos, because I miss Vietnamese food and now I finally get why our parents watched all those old cheesey videos of random markets and restaurants in Viet Nam all the time.
my brother is a waiter at a pho shop and today in a response to a anti-fat-shaming feminist article i sent him he goes, “Cool! I give the check to the female at the table every time I bring out the bill”
my siblings are hilarious. i can just imagine men reaching for the bill and he just ignores them and hands it to the women like “nahhh”
it is entirely too early for me to be all up on this here tumblr dot com posting mad reckless like my relatives don’t lurk here
family is everywhere whyyyyy *slams cyber door* get outttt i wanna hang with my friendss
Last night just before 9pm, they sent us a warning over the phone that ‘We will bomb the hospital, so you need to evacuate. We insisted that we cannot leave the hospital. Our patients are, all of them, paralyzed, they’re unconscious. They’re unable to move, so we need to stay in this hospital…
But just few minutes after the call, shells start falling down on the hospital — the fourth floor, third floor, second floor. Smoke, fire, dust all over.
— Basman Alashi, executive director of Al-Wafa Hospital, the only rehabilitation hospital in Gaza and the West Bank. (via thepeoplesrecord)
Really capitalism turns us all into opponents
My three person apartment makes more in one year than my eight person family has ever made in one year. This fact simultaneously haunts and surprises me. I tried explaining it to my parents and felt ashamed. Like I was boasting. Class mobility is a tricky beast.
I’m trying to go through on Facebook and unfollow all my old friends and people I don’t care about anymore, and it’s really hard because it seems like every time I unfollow one person another rando from 7th grade science pops up.
Trying to separate out the wall of old high school people that make me feel self conscious even though they don’t matter bc they aren’t my life anymore!!!
Yesterday a friend and I went to a free, open to the public, exhibit opening at one of the libraries at the university (that she attends and I work for). We came straight from our jobs and had backpacks on, but were dressed in our work clothes. When we came in a woman stopped us at the door, “I’m sorry, but there is an event going on upstairs so you have to stay on the first floor.” I was really surprised and asked, “Do you mean the reception for the summer event? I thought it was open for us to go to….?” She realized I knew about the opening and quickly corrected, “Oh yes you can go ahead.” OF COURSE the crowd was all white older folks. My friend and I were both upset for a while after getting into the event. We came for the food/drinks and were definitely not the only ones there for the free food. We ended up meeting an older white guy who lingered with us at the food table for a good chunk of the time.
After half an hour, two glasses of wine, and a lot of frustrating scoffing that I realized the reason that this woman tried to block us from going upstairs was because she thought my friend and I were Asian tourists. Which is funny because EVEN IF WE WERE, IT’S A FREE PUBLIC EVENT. It doesn’t matter that we are both affiliated with the university. OR that we were wearing work clothes, OR that we knew about the event beforehand, OR that we are Asian. NONE OF IT MATTERS BECAUSE IT IS FREE and OPEN TO THE PUBLIC.
This gets me ranting on on this whole notion of “free” and “open to the public” as a catchall for making things accessible to people. Museums. exhibits, conferences, talks, movie screenings do this ALL THE TIME. “What do you mean we aren’t being inclusive? It’s FREE AND OPEN TO THE PUBLIC”
I think you misunderstood.
If you don’t create a space that is safe for POC, then it is not a “free and open to the public”. If you don’t use a space that is accessible by public transit then it is not “free and open to the public”. If you only advertise in English in an area that has a large percentage of non-English speaking people, then you are not “free and open to the public”. If your venue is not accessible by wheelchair, then you are not “free and open to the public”. If you only advertise in the New Yorker, and the New York Times; if you don’t have an adequate sound system; if you do not stop people when you see them taking racist/misogynist selfies; if you only advertise on University-affiliated email lists; if you ACTIVELY STOP PEOPLE AT THE DOOR AND TELL THEM THAT THEY CANNOT COME… IT IS NOT “FREE AND OPEN TO THE PUBLIC”.
because guess what,
the public isn’t all white.
the public isn’t all men
the public isn’t all straight
the public isn’t all English speaking
the public isn’t all middle class
and if that is the MAJORITY of people at your “free and open to the public” event, then you are doing something wrong.
My 11 year old sister after I told her I was gay: Ahhhh.
Me: What? Are you surprised?
Sister: No, I mean like statistically speaking I figured I’d have to know SOMEONE who was gay.
My cousin moved into a new apartment in New York City last week. It’s her first time living out on her own, and her parents spent the day helping her move in. The room she is renting is owned by a middle aged white woman and my cousin was texting me right after her parents left and told me that she overheard the landlady saying to that she was afraid that my cousin’s parents were going to crazy, strict, and clingy, and over all the time and then she said “their English is horrendous! I couldn’t fucking understand a word they said!” and proceeded to laugh about it with a guest who was over. My cousin was telling me, “Ugh I can’t even escape. I just am so uncomfortable with fake nice people.”
Growing up I watched a lot of Vietnamese dubbed Chinese kungfu films, The Monkey King etc. Now that I’m older I’m realizing how fortunate that was in terms of me having a childhood full of seeing people who looked and spoke (technically) like me play every role. My parents sometimes get into a funk and ask me what they did wrong that I turned out not straight(the whole gay =/= bad is still an ongoing project), but a lot of what I see are things they did really really right.
when i was a kid I thought the dark in ‘tall dark and handsome’ meant dark skin and I was always confused when people would use the phrase to describe whitey mcwhiterson
Wait what? Fuck.
Me every other day: This heat/wind/snow/pollen is killing me. I hate summer/fall/winter/spring. It feels like I’m dyinggggg.
Lesson: I’m always slowly dying. We are all slowly dying.
Have a great day.
I made a new years resolution that this year I would start writing more. Originally, the plan was to physically write in a journal for the first six months of the year and then turn those ramblings into blog posts with more structure and processing throughout the second half of the year. Being that I am a bigger planner than do-er, I have obviously only written in my journal a handful of times. But perhaps this mid-point will serve as another chance to pull through. Every day will be a few thoughts. Perhaps none as fleshed out as I had originally planned, but let’s not deny them substance because of lack of revision.
Today all I have is a six-word story, and accompanying thoughts, that I came up with a few months ago in a workshop with DarkMatter:
Red ink tells me,
I wrote it on paper and it makes sense to me, but didn’t to everyone else in the room. The “stop” and strike-out were written in red ink and second and third commas were all x’ed out and the final period were also in red.
In elementary school at some point, I remember developing an unhealthy relationship to commas. I remember learning to read out loud and being told by my teacher that periods were full pauses, but commas were breathes. I found that fascinating and inserted commas everywhere in my writing. It only made sense to me that breathes would go in certain places that signified thoughts that weren’t completed, but just pauses. After all, I encountered them all of the time in my daily life:
My mom- Lisa no, Patrick, uh, Timmy. Go get me a blanket.
My grandma’s citizenship tapes- Abraham, Lincoln, was the,16th, president of the, United States of America.
My teachers- We are starting on page, 10.
Commas made sense, and they didn’t feel obtrusive (not the word I would’ve used at the time obviously) in the way that periods did.
As I was hedged into the “correct” forms of English I reeled in the commas and eventually learned how to replace the breathes with ellipses, m-dashes, and the other fun punctuation marks that help us arrive at “proper English”, but I don’t think I’ve fully been able to “master” these grammar lessons. I still have to look up the rules to semi-colons all the time, I got yelled at in an essay in college for placing my commas in the wrong spots when quoting, and I’ve been critiqued heavily on things like “passive voice” or something that I still don’t quite understand.
English is difficult. Coming from a family where my parents always lectured me and my siblings on how advantaged we were because of our English, I still never have felt in complete control of words or at least in the ways that I am “supposed to be” and honestly, a part of me resents having to compromise my breathes and so called “passive voice” because people have a hard time following. Sometimes I have seemingly ambiguous “theys” and sometimes I misplace/misuse/overuse punctuation marks. Sometimes the people who read my writings don’t seem to follow. But perhaps it’s just been because I was never writing for you to follow. It’s not for you. Sometimes.
And other times we are graded and I fucked it up and that’s how the world works Timmy. Well, fuck, that, shit.;;;;;