Toni & Nina

Congressman John Lewis passed away on Friday (*). He was a leading force for justice and equality throughout his life. I don’t think I’m enough to talk about his heroism, but I want to honor his legacy of “good trouble” and write about the two women whom I think substantially embraced that spirit: Toni Morrison & Nina Simone.

(*) I’m also aware of Minister Cordy Tindell Vivian‘s demise on the same day but I’m ashamed that I didn’t know about him until the news. I will educate myself more.

^{Source: Damon Winter/The New York Times – Michael Ochs Archives/Getty}

The first time I listened to Nina Simone in a college course, my feeling was already concluded in one word. “Struck”. She wore a long black dress, her femininity contouring that of her preceding ladies of Jazz (namely, the mighty Holy Trinity – Ella Fitzgerald, Billie Holiday and Sarah Vaughan). But her voice, with an androgynous and unusually low timbre, are purely of her own, and none like any other before and after. The way her singing vibrates through, then cracks the space, felt like the first struck of lightning. Then, near the end of the song, she starts swirling her body as the drums drill out a no-nonsense beat. Her movement and manner, transgressive and refusing to be restricted by the dress, shudders the space and cracks it again, as if with high-voltage currents. That was the second struck, one to seal my ever-lasting gravitation to her.

Nina Simone (1933-2003) was born to a poor family in North Carolina. She started practicing the piano at 3 years old, and soon proved her virtuoso. At 12, during her first recital at a church, she saw her parents forced to move from the front row to the back of the hall to make way for white people. She refused to play until her parents were moved back to their front seats – and they were. Growing up in a former Confederate state, she must have experience racial discrimination long before that, but that incident was her turning point to get involved in the Civil Rights Movement. It taught her the power of resisting the power.

Nina was never silent, nor was she hesitant to express her rage. She wrote her most famous protest song, “Mississippi Goddam”, after black activist Medgar Evers was assassinated and 4 young black girls were killed in a bombing terrorism, both crimes committed by white supremacists. She emphatically spelled out her fear (“I think every day’s gonna be my last”), her hopelessness (“I’ve even stopped believing in prayer”), and her wrath (“Oh but this whole country is full of lies / You’re all gonna die and die like flies”) – tearing down Jim Crow institutions, loud and clear. Her black power is enunciated in every note, every breath, every pause, and every profanity. She went on to perform the song to a white-dominated audience in Carnegie Hall, then to 10,000 people at the end of the Selma to Montgomery marches (where Cong. Lewis was an organizer and leader).

Nina continued to record and perform many other protest songs that instantly became anthems for the Civil Rights Movement. She revived “I Wish I Knew How It Would Feel to Be Free” (and my other favorite version), and took it to another level, one that resonated with black Americans and their pursuit of identity.

I wish I knew how it would feel to be free.
I wish I could break all the chains holding me.
I wish I could say all the things that I should say.
Say ’em loud say ’em clear
for the whole wide world to hear.

People of different generations or stages of life would have their own way to relate to the song, but for me, the raw words of desire and the profoundness of the inquisition, most echo what Toni Morrison wrote in her magnificent novel Beloved (1987). “Freeing yourself was one thing; claiming ownership of that freed self was another.” Freedom, in Beloved, means more than just a legal status. Even though their emancipation were bought, or attempted at the risk of torture/death, the former slaves in the story never escape the burden of the past, engulfed with fear and pain. “Listening to the doves in Alfred, Georgia, and having neither the right nor the permission to enjoy it because in that place mist, doves, sunlight, copper dirt, moon – everything beloved to the men who had the guns. […] So you protected yourself and loved small. Picked the tiniest stars out of the sky to own; lay down with head twisted in order to see the loved one over the rim of the trench before you slept. Stole shy glances at her between the trees at chain-up. Grass blades, salamanders, spiders, woodpeckers, beetles, a kingdom of ants. Anything bigger wouldn’t do. A woman, a child, a brother – a big love like that would split you wide open in Alfred, Georgia. He knew exactly what she meant: to get to a place where you could love anything you chose – not to need permission for desire – well now, that was freedom.”

As I am teaching myself about racism and antiracism, I keep thinking about what freedom means to African-Americans, in the past centuries, in the past decades, in the past months, and in the past weeks. Freedom has come a long way since, yet still it seems ephemeral for them. Equality is printed on the dotted line, but oppression is imprinted in their every movement (such as jogging, sleeping, relaxing at home, holding a cellphone). The woes of black life – and their unwavering resilience, even to this day, are stranger than fiction, yet Toni & Nina managed to capture them through unflinching, articulate, and vivid depictions. It’s not their canonical stature as the echoing sounds of black Americans – but their intrepid and unapologetic artistry, along with their fierce-and-rapturous spirits – that always make me feel like the two women must have had a gravitating solidarity towards each other. As much as Nina was deemed the “High Priestess of Soul”, Toni was its deserving Holy preacher.

Toni Morrison (1931-2019) was a chief wordsmith, a literary architect. Her prose is so lyrical and sagacious, the incandescence and vernacularity in her characters’ speech often intensify like a big-band session, and her plot is enriched with spiritual concepts, critics have likened her writing to Jazz music. She did in fact write a novel titled Jazz, in which she employed the musical genre’s call-and-response format and enabled her characters to explore the same story with their own narrative. But her musicality transcends beyond one singular book; it always plays a central theme in her repertoire. In Songs of Solomon (1977), a novel constructed around racial and class tensions, music is the spiritual guidance for Milkman, a privileged and disassociated young man, on his self-discovery and reconnection with his roots, his family history. Singing is the healing power for Pilate, a woman born with a missing navel, to articulate her sense of self-worth, emotions, and affinity to the deceased. Whether she sounds like “little round pebbles that bumped up against each other” or trumpets “like an elephant who has just found his anger”, her “powerful contralto” echoes throughout the novel.

(On a side note, Toni described Pilate’s voice the way I wish I could describe Nina’s voice. Hoarse, raspy, overpowering, unpleasant sometimes, but still velvety and leaves ample space for raw vulnerability and emotions)

Similarly, Beloved’s Baby Suggs, the counterpart of Pilate, is the moral guide and spiritual healer to the people around her. In her famous reenactment of Sermon on the Mount in the clearing, she offers a spiritual caress to the masses, and urges them to love their bodies, especially their mouths, which have been so discounted by the whites.

“You got to love it, you! And no, they ain’t in love with your mouth. Yonder, out there, they will see it broken and break it again. What you say out of it they will not heed. What you scream from it they do not hear. What you put into it to nourish your body they will snatch away and give you leavins instead. No, they don’t love your mouth. You got to love it.”

Nina knew much about self-worth. Her blackness defined her; it is inescapable and intertwined in her artistry. In 1968, she recorded Ain’t Got No / I Got Life, and triumphantly reclaimed her black female body as her source of power and pride. Even when all the material possessions and fortune have left her, the way she enumerated her body parts (yes, her mouth included) – essentially meaning her freedom and life – turned a medley that was originally lifted from an eccentric hippie musical into a celebratory and cathartic moment of black consciousness.

^{Nina Simone’s fashion as a component of self-expression and radicalism}

But for a long time, the same blackness – her very dark skin, her wide nose, her full lips, her woolly hair – had debased her. So much that Hollywood cast the conventionally gorgeous Zoe Saldana to play her in her biopic, using dark make-up and a prosthetic nose to fabricate the resemblance. She was (made) fully aware of that. Four Women – a 1966 protest song, delves into the ever-deepening agonies inflicted on black women. The lyrics tell the stories of four women, each of whom embodies a African-American stereotype, and, in large, a damning consequence of slavery. Specifically, the first woman, Aunt Sarah, suffers from extreme violence by her owner, explicitly constant whippings on her back. That cruelty echoes the image of Beloved’s Sethe, who carries a scar in the shape of a chokecherry tree (which might not be too farfetched from the truth). But the lyrics also address how these women, confined by their skin tones, are oppressed by the Euro-centric, whitewashed standards of beauty and manners. That racialized perception of aesthetics is a pervasive undertone of racism and white supremacy, yet it is not discussed often enough. 

Until Toni’s debut, The Bluest Eyes (1970), where she declared physical beauty to be one of the “most destructive ideas in the history of human thought.” The protagonist, Pecola Breedlove, grew up resenting her appearance because she blames it for the trauma in her life. Her only escape is to dream – for the bluest eyes in the whole world. The kind of blue eyes that Shirley Temple had on the media. The kind of blue eyes on the face of the girl on the wrapper of her favorite candies. The kind of blue eyes that would presumably frees her from her shameful blackness and her perceived ugliness. Via an omniscient and elegiac narrative, Toni walked readers through Pecola’s illusion of the blue eyes, as she wavered through pain, contempt, humiliation and self-hatred, and eventually, descended into insanity. But Pecola wasn’t the only one to fall victim to internalized racism. Most women in the story idealized whiteness as the paragon, and as a result, exhibited an anti-Black self-perception. From Pecola’s mother – who escaped reality and sought fulfillment by submitting to a picture-perfect white family, to Geraldine, an educated light-skinned woman, who projected on herself and her family an embodiment of “white” values. Geraldine made concerted efforts to erase any trace of black stereotypes, and ended up hating those who with these “funkiness”, to the point that she fabricated another layer of intersectionality, “Colored people were neat and quiet; n****rs were dirty and loud.”

“Four Women” was banned on a few radio stations because of (unwarranted) allegations that it perpetuated stereotypes about black women. “The Bluest Eyes”, too, was panned in several classrooms nationwide, due to its lewd contents against women. But Toni & Nina possessed the genius, and more importantly, the moxie, to exert malaise, and to break taboos. They paved a way off the rules-bounded, white-dominant path, and beckoned African-Americans, especially black girls, to the forefront. They assured the existence of black girls and black women, and reinforced their humanity. Throughout her repertoire, Toni made sure to explore their interiority – not via a patriarchal view, but through values that were intrinsic for their life. Black sisterhood, for example

In an interview with The Paris Review, Toni claimed that in the 70s, platonic relationships between women were considered secondary to a (heterosexual) romantic relationship, and the idea of female friends “talking only about themselves to each other” seemed unwonted. Sula (1973) challenged that common notion/preference.

“The men who took her to one or another of those places had merged into one large personality: the same language of love, the same entertainments of love, the same cooling of love. Whenever she introduced her private thoughts into their rubbings or goings, they hooded their eyes. They taught her nothing but love tricks, shared nothing but worry, gave nothing but money. She had been looking all along for a friend, and it took her a while to discover that a lover was not a comrade and could never be–for a woman.”

Sula has been interpreted in numerous way, but for me, a woman who has been actively trying to read more women writing about women as their own agent (back in March, I compiled a Women’s History Month reading here), its theme on the paradox and binary between good and evil, right and wrong only serves as the gateway for its powerful depictions of Nel and Sula’s friendship. “Their meeting was fortunate, for it let them use each other to grow on. […] they found in each other’s eyes the intimacy they were looking for.” In a racist and sexist society that systematically diminishes their personhood, they rely on each other to seek liberation, freedom and self-actualization, even as they later drift apart because of patriarchal obstructions. By portraying the complexities and vicissitudes in their relationship, Toni makes me – us – aware of what women are capable of achieving when they stand in solidarity to fight the patriarchal subjugation. 

^{The Sisterhood Members, 1977. (front row from left) Nana Maynard, Ntozake Shange, Louise Meriwether (back row from left) Vertamae Smart-Grosvenor, Alice Walker, Audrey Edwards, Toni Morrison and June Jordan. Alice Walker papers. Source}

Nina showed what women are capable of achieving when they stand in solidarity to fight the patriarchal subjugation (*). Her activism was simmering in the early 1960s, but it didn’t reach the boiling point until she met Lorraine Hansberry. At only 29 years old, Lorraine was the first African-American female writer to have a play performed on Broadway, then later, the youngest to ever win the New York Drama Critics’ Circle. In her memoir, Nina credited Lorraine for her political education, “We never talked about men or clothes or other such inconsequential things when we got together. It was always Marx, Lenin and revolution — real girls’ talk. […] through her I started thinking about myself as a black person in a country run by white people and a woman in a world run by men.” Lorraine’s intellectuality and radicalism encouraged Nina to add a political dimension into her artistry, and together, they cultivated a vivacious black pride and black womanhood. After Lorraine passed away at the young age of 34, her writings were adapted into a play, titled “Young, Gifted and Black”, a phrase she previously used in a speech addressed to a group of black writing contest winners. The play went on to be the longest-running off-Broadway show that season. Seeing her face, her name, and her revolutionary spirits caught hold of Nina. She sat down at the piano, when the tune flowed out of her, while her bandleader scribbled some lyrics that “will make black children all over the world feel good about themselves, forever.” 

Young, gifted and black
We must begin to tell our young
There’s a world waiting for you
This is a quest that’s just begun

(*) this is not an attempt to dismiss relationships between men and women. Nina and Lorraine also ran in a close-knitted circle with James Baldwin and Langston Hughes, as well as with other Black Intelligentsias)

^{(from left to the right): Charles McDew, Lorraine Hansberry, Nina Simone, Theodore Bikel, and James Forman during a rally for Freedom Riders in New York City. 1960s. Collection of the Smithsonian National Museum of African American History and Culture, Gift from the Collection of Andy Stroud.}

The eponymous song became a hymn of promise, elevating the motivation for the young generations. One of them being the Morehouse College audience, many of whom were women wearing their Afro hairstyle as large and as proudly as her. But her most memorable performance might have been on Sesame Street – on the set’s iconic brownstone, in an African gown and statement jewelleries, among 4 mesmeric black children. She promised them the future, acknowledged their power, and celebrated by raising their arms in victory and solidarity. I am unable to verify whether Toni & Nina ever met in person (albeit they expressed reverence for each other), but the worlds they constructed, the possibilities they proved, the fears they unravelled and the fearlessness they necessitated – should suffice. Their interconnectedness was neither isolated nor inadvertent. It’s their identity as a black woman writer/artist they fought so hard for. It’s their kindred alignment to the Civil Rights and Black Power movements. It’s the tales of black life that their language and rhythm are built on. They echo each other, but more importantly, they carry the collective weight of history, and echo the collective voice of the voiceless. They push us and challenge us to find out who we are and what we long for. They hold us captive and make us surrender our mind to their works, but in return, they also set us free with their emotional forces and their transcendent visions. 

“Death is a sure thing but life is just as certain. Problem is you can’t know in advance,” wrote Toni in Home (2012). It’s hard to use past tenses for people whose consciences are still very much present, and prevails through generations of writers/artists, beyond races and genders. That inordinate vitality, we all definitely know.

A reflection – on humanity and of humanity.

“How strange it is to be anything at all.” – Neutral Milk Hotel

I dragged my family on a 6-hour trip from Siem Reap to Phnom Penh, a city with “nothing to see”. Whoever told me that were wrong. Here, my eyes have been opened. Not to the atrocities of war, but to the oppression, struggles and survival of humanity in its darkest hours.

We visited this place on a glorious sunny day. Birds chirped and chickens clucked as the wind breezed through the orchard, hugging the path with a calming, yet lively ambience. And I realized, on many people’s last days in this field, the sky was just as beautiful as this, because whoever above there didn’t care about human sufferings. On the trees, which they were hung on and their babies were flung into, traces of brain scraps and skull fractions were long gone, only carpenter ants moving diligently, trying to survive.

1.7 million Cambodians didn’t.

I’ve read about deaths, learned about grief, planned my own funeral, and accepted mortality as part of life. Yet I’ve never been around the deceased like this, knowing them only by the numbers, their skulls, their clothes, their harrowing photos. I couldn’t imagine being brutally killed for stealing 2 bananas, for having soft hands, for teaching kids literacy, or for coming back all the way from France with a dream to rebuild my war-torn country.

I was walking among them, literally seeing through them more than they ever did themselves, my eyes sunken in tears. But still I couldn’t imagine.

Did they catch a glimpse of the luminous sunshine as their eyes were gouged out?

Did they feel the wind flow through as their intestines were cut wide open?

These questions rushed through my head as I paid my tribute at the stupa, looking them in their eyes (or what used to be). My Dad advised me not to, worrying the image would haunt me in my sleep. But childhood fears pass easily. It’s simple to be scared of skeletons, zombies, and corpses, but at the end of the day they are just puppets. The true horrors are the fiend we carry inside ourselves, waiting to be set off by a trance of indoctrination, a prologue of fear, a bout of cowardice. We tread on thin ice, condemn the wrongdoings that we didn’t do, and vindicate the ones we did. One lapse, and we “slipped” to the other side.

I don’t believe in dehumanizing criminals because it negates their sins away from their consciousness. I didn’t see the “evils” on the faces of the Angkar rulers. I saw educators, intellectuals, rubber sandal wearers, just like the people they ordered to kill. I saw the “everyday-looking” grandfather and grandmother denying their crimes and passing the blame. The brainwashed Khmer Rouge youths, who smashed babies while laughing and making the parents watch, are probably rehabilitated into the many kind, hospital Cambodians I met. Genocides happen because people choose to kill. Isn’t it more frightening to see how humanity can be sunk to, by a mere mortal and corporeal being?

As the car turned the corner and the past was out of my sight (was it ever, though?), I saw a street cafeteria with a pool table named The Living Fields. A chuckle escaped me. That name wouldn’t do well in America, but I guess people who have faced death, face life in a different way. These days, life is finding humor in the little things instead of escaping terror, is having to work in the sultry weather instead of dreading for a new day, is trying to stay afloat instead of struggling to stay alive. Pol Pot’s daughter is living an ordinary life in her father’s once war-torn country. One of the survivors wrote that he’d rather the money for the Khmer Rouge Tribunal go to education and infrastructure. These days, life is seeing hope for the future over despair from the past. Because while resilience may be quieter than repression, in the end it will always prevail.

Top pictures: At Toul Sleng Genocide Museum, with Chum Mey and Bou Meng, 2 out of 7 survivors out of 20,000 Cambodians imprisoned at Security Prison S-21.

Bottom pictures: at Choeung Ek Killing Fields (taken from the Internet). They speak for themselves.

Sunshine in my eyes

Bài này có một đợt nổi khủng khiếp ở Việt Nam do có phim Hàn Quốc gì đấy đưa vào làm soundtrack. Các bạn Stratovarious đến từ Phần Lan nên có nhiều đoạn phát âm nhịu, nghe yêu vãi.

Hồi cấp 2, mình chán chán thế nào ngồi dịch thành thơ, đọc lại vẫn thấy ưng, chỉ có đoạn cuối là không sát lắm. Từ lúc ấy đã biết mình sến. Bây giờ thì thấy các bạn Heavy Metal hay khói bụi gì thì cũng sến như nhau cả thôi.

Một bóng hình cô đơn
Giữa phố đêm vắng vẻ
Đông như hơi thở nhẹ
Lướt cùng ký ức xưa

Ký ức của ngày xưa
Ngày mang tên hạnh phúc
Ánh mặt trời thẳng đứng
Rơi trên cánh đồng xanh

Mải miết thời gian trôi
Em vẫn là em đó
Hạt bụi mờ trong gió
Ánh sao nhỏ trong đêm…

Đêm tàn, rồi ngày lên
Như gió mùa luân chuyển
Thời gian còn mải miết
Như gió mùa sớm mai…?

Long into the night

Các bạn VnRock vừa post bài này lên, lại khiến mình nhớ lại cái thời Rock Việt ngày xưa. 10 shows thì 8 shows sẽ kết thúc với Courage. Một cái kết rất đẹp, khi gần trăm cái đầu đen dúi dụi vào nhau, trăm bờ vai sát lại gần nhau để cùng đu mình theo cái giọng hát (phát âm tiếng Anh hơi chệch nhưng vẫn) vang vọng, tiếng lead (tuy bị loa làm bẹp đi gần nửa nhưng vẫn) thúc giục mạnh mẽ. Nhiệt huyết tuổi trẻ, cộng với sự ngây ngô của tuổi trẻ, có một chút Metal vào là như bước ra một bầu trời hy vọng.

Bài hát hết, cả lũ người lạ gật đầu chào nhau một cái, rồi ai về nhà nấy.

Mấy năm trước, mình cũng có những người lạ như thế trong đời. Tuần nào cũng thế, chả hẹn nhau mà cứ lên quán là gặp. Tuần nào cũng từng ấy bài mà nghe đi nghe lại vẫn hứng khởi. Xong cũng chả nói chuyện mấy, bâng quơ vài ba câu, thi thoảng cụng bia, châm thuốc, rung rinh người, xong rồi đi về. Hứng lên thì tag nhau vào mấy cái FB status như để nhớ về cái thời “tuổi trẻ” xa xưa lắm.

Thế mà xa xưa thật. Bây giờ thì đứa có vợ con, đứa vào Sài Gòn, hoặc đâu đó. Mình về Việt Nam cũng không còn lý do để liên lạc nữa.

Nhiều khi cứ nghĩ, có những người mình chơi cùng bởi trong cùng một hội, nhưng nếu chỉ có 2 đứa với nhau thì chả biết nói gì, không khí trôi qua rất vụng về. Nhưng có những người lạ khác, chả có chuyện gì để nói với nhau, nhưng ngồi lại với nhau bằng âm nhạc, thành ra như có một sợi dây gắn kết vô hình.

Who knows where the time goes

Oh the Florida sky.

If you want to make God laugh, tell him your plan.

In my case, if you want to see God roll in the aisles, plan your trip to the Z in TripIt. My mini-moon in Florida Keys could have been the ultimate beach trip, with sunset rendezvous with dazzling glasses of mojito, floating among the whimsical Florida Reefs, playing pirate ghosts in shipwrecks, or parasailing with the wind.

Nah! He sent his pariah named Winter Storm Jonas.

On the day I planned to go diving in John Pennekamp State Park, all water activities, even kayaking in semi-concealed mangrove tunnels. I got really upset! I’m like a spoiled kid when things didn’t go accordingly. But this was no hollow plan. I have wanted to go to the park since I read about the underwater Christ of the Abyss statue and ship remnants that settled there. It’s a chance for me to put my PADI certification in use, and it’s different from other water sites I have snorkeled/dived in.

John Pennekamp that day.

2 days later, we woke up at 6.30 for our tour to Dry Tortugas National Park, only to be greeted by a cautious ranger. She informed us that the catamaran was still running, but the ride would be very rocky, and snorkeling would be “out of the question”. Despite my longing to see this unique, superlative park, the kinetosis in me cried no. I knew my limit: Dramamine wouldn’t help much, and I would get too cranky and exhausted to enjoy the scenery. Plus, what’s the point of seeing a mesmerizing palette of blue without being to touch it?

On the Seven Mile Bridge. The GoPro shook like crazy, I had to do multiple shots to get one or two almost neat-looking photos.

Still, we still had a lot of fun dashing through the Overseas Highway and exploring the Keys. It was no California’s State Route 1, but with a Mustang Convertible, the drive was still a classic. Here are some of our interest encounter along the way:

• Python Challenge: NOT SAFE FOR GEEKS! The wildlife in Everglades National Park is being threatened by the invasion of non-native Burmese pythons, so people are participating in a removal competition. I propose captured pythons be packed and sent oversea to Asian countries, where python fat is used as a kind of alternative medicine (notably burn treatment), but apparently Everglades pythons have high levels of mercury and not recommended for consumption. (Not that Asians care)

  

  Kids for scale! This is a humble 13-feet.

• Robert is Here: a well-known fruit farm in Homestead, FL. Well, for me, it was a sanctuary. There were star fruits, canistels, rambutans, full-sized jackfruits, SUGARCANE JUICE! Sapodillas were twice the size of a regular one, and soursops were twice the prize. I particularly love how the tastes are described: pineapple cotton candy, egg custard, fruity flan… Growing up eating these tropical fruits on a daily basis, I kind of took them for granted, never thinking about how foreigner would perceive these tastes. It’s like… describing colors to blind people.
• Big Pine Key / No Name Key: I was adamant about dropping by this tiny island to spot the endangered Key deer. We saw 4: a lonesome, mellow buck, and a group of 2 does and 1 tiny fawn. They are tiny and intrepid, but I kept my distance, with respect to their habitat.
• Bahia Honda State Park: some guides say this state park is passable. I’m glad I didn’t listen. Not much activity was going on the day we came (stormy stuffs), but the beach was sophisticatedly turquoise. I think it’s one of the more beautiful beaches in Florida Keys. It also gave a great view to the old Bahia Honda Bridge, and better, access to the bridge itself.

The “here and there” view. The clouds looked like watercolor strokes.

• The Spice & Tea Exchange Key West: a “franchise” that specializes in, well, spices and tea. I purchased a bag of Wuyi tea with relatively good quality (not on a par with my favorites Ten Ren, Harney & Sons, or McNulty though). I have higher hopes for the spices, and can’t wait to try the salmon rub made from black tea and peppercorn.
• I almost forgot the most important thing: food! While the seafood here is so fresh you can hear fishermen singing, the execution didn’t wow us. We went to restaurants on both the widely praised and the locally recommended sides, enjoyed our meals overall, but neither of us got that euphoria in the tummy. The only memorable dish, for me, is the Asian-fusion tuna tataki, seared rare tuna and wakame salad, at Bagatelle.
• And yeah, conch fritters!

For now, I think I’m done with Florida. Temporarily. Maybe I’ll be back a few years later to explore the off-beaten paths this sunshine state has to offer. But in the mean time, 2016 will be the year of lakes and mountains!

Descending the quiet desperation

Recently I applied for an educational counselor position, and as part of the application, I had to write a “personal statement”. I almost didn’t want to follow up out of laziness, but there was a topic I wanted to write about anyway, so yeah, I did it. This year, the common application has enforced a strict 650-word-limit so my essay had to oblige to that regulation. Turn out, I’ve reached a phase where writing complete yet meaningful sentences, not to mention “conveying your thoughts and describing your growth” in under a thousand words is really, really hard.

It was fun writing this bit, though. I still feel like it misses something, but compared to my actual college essay 10 years ago, it is a big, big leap.

And it’s only “based on a true story”. I love how that phrase is just a glorified, but justified way to fabricate the truth.

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The sub-zero temperature chilled my bones, to the point that I had to frequently pinch myself to assure my senses weren’t numb, as well as to stay awake because I was afraid I might get hypothermia in my sleep. I huddled with my friends to keep warm, even though it didn’t help much. I spoke gibberish to the girl next to me, and the story of how I got here, the summit of Mount Fuji, became clearer to both of us.

It started with the news that I failed the H1B lottery and must leave the US within two months. I tried to downplay my disappointment by condemning the US immigration policy for its pure dumb luck system. But I couldn’t lie to my consciousness. My job was my quintessential dream. It was where my career was headed, the goal of many classmates’, and I attained it all on my own. Now, the symbol of my self-esteem was ripped off of me, and there was nothing I could do about it.

It wasn’t the end of the world. There were easy ways out for me: a marriage to my fiancé, a doctoral program, a promising career in my homeland. But whatever decision I chose wouldn’t be a decision I made. I wanted things to happen on my own terms.

So three weeks later, there I was, on this iconic mountain. There’s a saying that people climb it for the sake of the status. That was exactly what I was looking for. I didn’t even know to whom I was proving myself. I just knew that if I had to postpone my future, it had better be for an awe-inspiring reason.

I reached the summit two hours earlier before the sunrise. It would have been a proud moment for me, had it not been for the freezing rain. Amid the hallucinations from exhaustion, sleep deprivation and the cold, I found words flowing out of my mind, unrestrained. In a disrupted and inebriated-like voice, I told the girl next to me that I had always been defined by my career, I made it the sole focus of my life. Now that I lost it, I became so desperate for recognition that I was risking my life in this strange place. Then I hit the epiphany. I wasn’t Thoreau searching for transcendence. I was just a self-pitying narcissist, disguised as an inexcusable, so-called “soul-searcher”.

Maybe it was the cold hard truth that wore me down, but my mentality gave in. I dozed off for 15 minutes when my friend woke me up and led me to the viewpoint. The furrowed clouds swept around the sky, hemmed in by a golden haze. Then, the Sun slowly ascended from the horizon, spilling its orange-hued rays over the mountain. Soon enough, it laminated the whole landscape with warmth and light. Everyone cheered and applauded, while I stood still, dumbfounded and teary-eyed. It felt oddly, yet naturally soothing to be vulnerable and inadequate in front of a wonder this monumental.

My friends and I then headed down to a nearby onsen. I must have picked up some Japanese spirit along the way, because for the first time, I didn’t feel self-conscious at all. I skinny dipped into the hot water. Nobody was peeping at anybody. We relaxed our muscles, exchanged brief pleasantries, and overlooked the Sun, which had haughtily reigned over the unassuming mountain. In the back of my mind, I knew I’d boast of this achievement on Facebook later. But at that moment, I just wanted to enjoy this scene as long as I could. It was a long overdue compensation for many sunrises and sunsets I had missed whilst working 10 hours in a city office.

Then I closed my eyes, not looking for a nap, but dreaming of what the rest of Asia would offer me in the next 12 months.

“Even after all these years”

“Notes between the lines” is a series of blog posts in which I will share pieces of music and literature that I think resonate with each other. This post features “I Just Don’t Think I’ll Ever Get Over You” by Colin Hay and “The Bridges of Madison County” by Robert James Waller.

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I discovered Colin Hay thanks to Scrubs, one of my most favorite TV series. His music, for me, is the quintessence of acoustic music: unruffled in melody, pensive in lyrics, like a piece that you improvised with your guitar while sitting on your porch in the late afternoon and indulging in reminiscence. In that moment, the rhythm becomes a narrative and the words become a tale.

That’s why it was easy to think about “The Bridges of Madison County”. I can imagine the image of Francesca, as she saw Robert walking up to her for the first time, as he departed for eternity, as she missed him incessantly and desperately the years gone by. I can imagine how she was always alone, but never lonely, as long as her thoughts were with him. And I can imagine this song serenading her longing for him, in and out of consciousness.

I never watched the movie adaptation, so I never knew how the soundtrack fits. I never revisited the book either, having grown out of the belief in “made for each other” or “love of my life” (I’m not cynical, I just think the concept of love is more than that). I think Francesca & Robert’s love was, and would be star-crossed in every way, even if she had made the irrational decision to leave. It was the wistfulness that bounded them together, and got them through. And that was what made the story, while unrealistic, spoke to many people so genuinely. We are reminded of the love that will forever change what love means to us, and when that happens, the memory becomes an everlasting part of us.

And all that’s left to do is wake up in the morning, and have a good cup of coffee (or tea, if you’re like me).

 ««It’s clear to me now that I have been moving toward you and you toward me for a long time. Though neither of us was aware of the other before we met, there was a kind of mindless certainty humming blithely along beneath our ignorance that ensured we would come together. Like two solitary birds flying the great prairies by celestial reckoning, all of these years and lifetimes we have been moving toward one another.

The road is a strange place. Shuffling along, I looked up and you were there walking walking walking walking across the grass toward my truck on an August day. In retrospect, it seems inevitable—it could not have been any other way—a case of what I call the high probability of the improbable.

So here I am walking around with another person inside of me. Though I think I put it better the day we parted when I said there is a third person we have created from the two of us. And I am stalked now by that other entity.»»

And Facebook just reminded me that 3 years ago I posted a quote from the same book. “… all the philosophic rationalizations I can conjure up do not keep me from wanting you, every day, every moment, the merciless wail of time, of time I can never spend with you, deep within my heart.”

I tended to get sentimental on August. Blame it on the summer blues.

Travel tidbit: Breakfast at Beacon (NY)

Last weekend was my bachelorette party, so my closest girl friends in the city & I packed and headed to Beacon, NY. It is a lovely town, 90 minutes away from NYC by train. There are already some good guides on exploring Beacon, so I won’t bother with a list. This blog is just a token of a good time, and a nice break from the wedding planning (I’ll always have time for writing!)

1-Beacon is a quintessential small town.

All of us have lived in New York City for a long time, and we have gotten so used to the city life we almost forgot our roots as alumni of small liberal arts college. Beacon is a pleasant reminder of those younger years, with one Main Street on which everything is, from homemade foods and indie coffee shops to brick & mortar stores, and no trace of franchise businesses. The reminiscence is extra special for me, because just like New London (the city of my alma mater Connecticut College), Beacon’s train station and railway are right by the water, making our ride very scenic and “classic American”.

And then there are festivals named after as many crops as you can list, and on as many occasions as you can imagine. We went on corn festival, last month was strawberry festival, and I saw a sign for Native American festival this upcoming week. Fortunate enough, our visit also overlapped with the “Second Saturday”, when art galleries and special events go on until 9PM (yes, that’s a small town curfew for you), so there were a lot of exhibitions going on. Hundreds of people strolled among the hustle & bustle of talks and sales and culinary tastings. But as soon as we drifted off Main Street, the sounds faded and the lights blurred into the night, and the town went back to its tranquility.

Corn on the cob!

Hudson Beach Glass

And of course, the famous Dia Arts

2-The town is very couple-friendly.

Most accommodation listings in Beacon are family B&B, so finding a place spacious enough to host 7 of us was a hassle. It is easy to understand though; the town is more suitable for a day trip, and moreover, it’s not really a “bachelorette destination”. Nightlife with clubbing is a foreign idea, unless you mean a bar with live music for people to dance to. We went to Max’s on Main, where we doodled on the tables and sang along to Don’t Stop Believing (we were one expressive “Ohhh my goood this song is totally about me” from becoming the stereotype).

Fortunately, with all of us at the upper side of 20s, our definition of fun has slightly changed. Stressed with work, pregnancy and wedding planning, we just wanted to chill away and relax, the same way we’d love to do with our loved one.

That’s why Beacon was the right choice… for my kind of bachelorette party, and my kind of relationship.

3-The town is serious about their morning eats!

But then again, so are my friends and I! That is why I’m glad we decided to spend more than one day here, otherwise we wouldn’t be able to cover all the restaurants on the list. Many blogs and guides I read swear by Homespun Foods, and while we had a hearty breakfast in their lovely patio, my favorite goes to Beacon Bread Company. My Bleu Boar (crumbled bleu cheese, pulled pork, strawberry chipotle on brioche) was fantastic, sweet, creamy, soft, spicy, and grilled at the perfect level. And then there’s a cafe dedicated to bagel that I definitely will try next time.

It makes me think that no matter how suburban it is, Beacon is still partly New York at heart. Like an elderly, retired New Yorker who goes out for an early brunch at 10 o’clock.

Bleu Boar at Beacon Bread Co.

Runsas at Homespun Foods

Like M&M, but a tiny bit less guilty!

4-Our finds.

• Beacon Creamery: a homemade ice-cream shop on the South end of Main Street. We tried the apricot orange blossom flavor, and damn if it wasn’t the most refreshing thing I’ve ever tasted.
• Alps Sweet Shop: my fiancé and I have made a habit of buying artisan sweets for each other, so I couldn’t pass the chance for the life of me. Have you ever heard of sunflower seeds covered in colorful chocolate? You should because just like me, you’ll be glad you did!
• Denning’s Point State Park: a rocky trail located further South, overlooking the river. Not a pleasant bike ride because of the rocks, but I imagine it will be fun to hike here!
• I discovered a beautiful flower called Queen Anne’s Lace that looks more like a snowflake than a snowflake flower bulb.
• Metro-North packages: Back in college, I used to take the train from New London to visit my then-boyfriend in Providence all the time. 5 years later, I almost forgot how special it felt to travel by train. MNR has some good deals for traveling in Hudson Valley and beyond. 90 minutes seem very short when you have your friends around (and of course, a view to ponder to).

Photo credit: My friend Dieu Nguyen. The one of chocolate covered sunflower seeds is taken from foodspotting.com.

Ramble on and around Loy Krathong

English version below.

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Nếu ai đã xem Tangled thì không thể quên cảnh Rapunzel và Flynn lênh đênh trên thuyền trong khi hàng trăm nghìn chiếc đèn trời được thả lên cao. Cảm hứng cho hình ảnh này chính là lễ hội Yee Peng/Loy Krathong, được tổ chức hàng năm ở các thành phố miền Nam Thái Lan. Năm ngoái mình có may mắn được là một phần của Loy Krathong tại Chiang Mai (nơi lễ hội được tổ chức tưng bừng nhất), nghiên cứu rất nhiều nguồn, nói chuyện với một số người dân bản xứ, và nhận thấy có nhiều nhầm lẫn về các lễ hội xung quanh sự kiện này nên muốn viết lại. Để biết thêm là chính, chứ mình nghĩ có chút nhầm lẫn cũng chẳng ảnh hưởng đến việc tận hưởng vẻ đẹp của Chiang Mai.

1. Loy Krathong thực chất là gì?

Krathong tiếng Thái nghĩa là “đèn hoa đăng” nên Loy Krathong, trước nhất và trên hết, là lễ hội đèn hoa đăng. Đây là dịp người dân cảm tạ thuỷ thần, thuỷ linh đã mang đến nguồn nước dồi dào trước khi mùa khô đến. Đèn hoa đăng được tết thành hình hoa sen, ở trên cắm hoa, nến và cây hương. Trước khi thả trôi sông/nước, mình bỏ lên đó một ít tóc để bỏ đi những phiền muộn và điều dữ trong cuộc sống.

Một hoạt động lớn khác của LK là biểu diễn xe hoa đăng. Các xe tham gia diễu hành được trang trí rất cầu kỳ, đa số có ý nghĩa Phật giáo.

Tuy nhiên, nếu đến Chiang Mai đợt Loy Krathong, mình thấy mọi người vẫn thả đèn trời là chính, chứ không hứng thú lắm với việc thả đèn hoa đăng. Quả thực thì thả đèn hoa đăng không “thích” bằng thả đèn trời vì nhiều lý do: (1) thả đèn hoa đăng khó hơn vì bờ sông khấp khểnh, nên đa số không tự thả mà xếp hàng, đợi có người ngâm mình dưới nước để đẩy cho đèn trôi, (2) đèn hoa đăng không sáng bằng đèn trời, dễ bị thổi tắt, nên không phục vụ được mục đích chụp ảnh, và (3) lý do tương tự – đèn hoa đăng chỉ trôi sát mép sông chứ không rải rác cả bầu trời được.

2. Một lễ hội đèn lồng khác.

Yee Peng Festival và Loy Krathong Festival diễn ra cùng thời điểm nên bây giờ được coi như là một. Yee Peng Festival là lễ hội “đặc trưng” của miền bắc Thái Lan, có nguồn gốc từ Vương quốc Lanna. Đủ các thể loại đèn lồng – đèn treo, đèn cầm tay, đèn lồng xoay và đèn trời – sẽ được trang trí ngoài cửa nhà và trong chùa.

3. Thế dịp nào là thả đèn trời?

Ở Chiang Mai, có 2 sự kiện mà hàng nghìn chiếc đèn trời (lom khoi) sẽ được thả đồng thời (mass release).

Lanna Kathina Ceremony là một lễ hội Phật giáo, được tổ chức bởi Giáo hội Phật giáo và các cơ quan chức năng cấp quốc gia và địa phương, diễn ra phía sau Mae Jo University. Thường thì khách sẽ phải đến rất sớm để giữ chỗ, nếu ai lười có thể thuê các tour du lịch để đưa đón từ nhà và giữ chỗ cho mình. Sau khi các nhà sư đã tụng kinh, hàng loạt chiếc đèn sẽ được thả lên trời cùng một lúc, tạo nên một cảnh tượng vô cùng thanh tao, và đẹp đầy xúc cảm.

Tuy nhiên, xét về khía cạnh tôn giáo thì mass release chỉ là một phần của lễ hội. Trọng tâm chính là lễ “trao áo cà sa” (kathin), là dịp người dân cảm tạ các nhà sư bằng cách dâng công đức (áo cà sa, tiền, thức ăn). Chiang Mai là cố đô của Vương quốc Lanna, thời cực thịnh của Phật giáo, nên có rất nhiều chùa chiền, và các nhà sư rất được coi trọng. Các ngôi chùa ở đây có kiến trúc đa dạng, không khí vừa linh thiêng vừa trầm mặc, mình không theo đạo nhưng bước vào cũng cảm thấy rất yên bình. Ở Wat Chedi Luang, khách còn có thể đến trò chuyện cùng các nhà sư về Phật giáo, văn hóa, hay bất kỳ chủ đề nào (monk chat under the sun).

Lanna Kathina Ceremony là lễ hội cộng đồng nên ai cũng có thể tham dự, nhưng hãy nhớ ăn mặc kín đáo, lịch sự để tỏ lòng tôn kính. Dịp lễ được tổ chức vào ngày rằm, còn ngày tháng chính xác thì 1 tháng trước đó mới được thông báo chính thức: www.tourismchiangmai.org

Yee Peng Lanna (Mae Jo) là một sự kiện bán vé, được tổ chức bởi một nhóm Phật giáo tư nhân tên là Duang Tawan Santiparb Foundation, không thuộc quyền quản lý của hội Phật giáo. Đây là bản sao của Lanna Kathina ở chỗ sau lễ tụng kinh là mass release đèn trời. Khác ở chỗ, sự kiện này diễn ra bằng tiếng Anh để phục vụ khách du lịch, và ngoài ra không có các sự kiện tôn giáo nào khác.

Yee Peng Lanna diễn ra khoảng 1-2 tuần sau Lanna Kathina, giá vé $100 bao gồm đưa đón và đồ ăn, số lượng người tham gia hạn chế. http://www.yeepenglanna.com/index.html

4. Nên đi lúc nào?

Chiang Mai là vùng đất tôn giáo và văn hóa của Thái Lan, vậy nên nếu mục đích là đi để tìm hiểu và khám phá thì dịp nào cũng được cả. Dĩ nhiên, mass release đèn lồng là cảnh tượng nên xem một lần trong đời, nên nếu canh được đúng hôm ấy thì là chuẩn nhất.

Mình thì lỡ hẹn với Lanna Kathina, và không bào chữa được với việc bỏ $100 (5 ngày ở CM mình tiêu chưa đến mức ấy) cho một sự kiện “bản sao” nên đi vào dịp Loy Krathong. Tuy không có được những shoot ảnh thần tiên, nhưng chỉ đứng thả đèn và ngắm nhìn ánh sáng lung linh trên nền trời và sông nước cũng đã đủ cho mình một cảm giác rất lâng lâng và mơ màng. Chiang Mai còn có rất nhiều thứ để khám phá: đạp xe lang thang, thăm thú chùa chiền, ăn khao soi đến khé cổ… vậy nên nếu không xem được mass release thì mình nghĩ cũng chả có gì phải xoắn.

Công viên quốc gia Doi Inthanon, nơi có ngọn núi cao nhất Thái Lan / Doi Inthanon National Park, home to the highest mountain in Thailand.

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If you remember Tangled, you must remember being intrigued by the scene in which Rapunzel & Flynn float on the river while watching hundred thousands of sky lanterns released on her birthday. That captivating moment is inspired by a festival in northern Thailand, called Loy Krathong/Yee Peng. Last year, I was fortunate to travel to Chiang Mai and be a part of it. I did a massive amount of research, talked to the natives, and found out that many people (me included), have some confusions about the festivals and events surrounding this sky-lantern release. This is a comprehensive note to clear things up (even though it doesn’t matter if you just want to enjoy the beauty of Chiang Mai).

1. Loy Krathong

Krathong means “water lantern” in Thai, thus Loy Krathong, first and foremost, revolves around water lanterns. People pay tribute and express gratitute to water spirits for the water resources by floating lanterns along water banks. The lanterns are usually in the shape of a lotus, and carry offerings (candles, incenses, flowers). You also put a small chunk of hair on it, resembling sending troubles and predicament away.

Another event that attract tourists are parades. The floats are deliberately decorated, mostly with Buddhist tributes.

But yeah, during Loy Krathong, people choose to release sky lanterns over water lanterns anyway. To be honest, it’s more fun with sky lanterns, for many reasons. (1) It’s harder to float the water lanterns. The banks often hinder their flows, so people usually queue up for a guy in the water to help send their lanterns away, (2) water lanterns are not as bright as, and more fragile than sky lanterns, so they are not up for photo-taking purposes, and (3) similarly, water lanterns only floats along side the banks, compared to the sky lanterns, which fly all over the sky.

2. The other lantern festival

Yee Peng Festival and Loy Krathong Festival are now considered one, due to the proximity in their dates. However, the latter is celebrated throughout Thailand, while the former occurs only in northern Thailand. There are all kinds of lanterns involved – hanging lanterns, hand-carried lanterns (with a long handle), revolving lanterns, and yes, sky lanterns. They are decorated in front of houses and temples, as to lure away darkness and predicament. 

3. The one we’ve all desired: mass release!

There are two events in which sky lanterns (lom khoi) are released simultaneously.

Lanna Kathina Ceremony is a Buddhist festival, administered by the Buddhist Sects and the Thailand Authority of Tourism. After a night of chanting and prayers, hundred thousands of lom khois will be released into the sky. This is an ethereal and emotion-provoking moment that everyone should experience once in a life time.

However, religiously speaking, this moment is only a part of a much more significant ceremony: “robe (kathin) offering”. Laity and people will bring donations and offerings to monks in the form of new robes, money and food. I think Buddhism in Chiang Mai is beautiful (couldn’t find a better word). The temples are diverse in architecture, and they have a hallow atmosphere that captivate even a non-religious person like me. Just strolling around the city, visiting different temples, engaging in conversations with the monks at Wat Chedi Luang gives me such peace of mind.

Meanwhile, Yee Peng Lanna (Mae Jo) is a ticketed event by a private Buddhist group named Duang Tawan Santiparb Foundation. This is a tourist’s version of Lanna Kathina the mass release occurs after the chanting and prayers, except that it is conducted in English, and there is no robe offering ceremony that day.

Yee Peng Lanna is usually 1-2 weeks after Lanna Kathina, and only a limited amount of tickets are sold at the price of $100pp, including transportation and food.

4. My verdict

Last year, I missed the public mass release. At the same time, I didn’t see myself paying $100 for a ‘faux’ event. Even though Loy Krathong didn’t give me any breathtaking shoots, just standing among the crowds, looking at the bright lights floating in the night sky was dreamy and ravishing enough for me. After all, Chiang Mai has a lot more to offer than a few minutes of beauty. I had an amazing time biking around, eating khao soi 3 times a day, discovering the live music scene… so if you can make it for the mass release event, it would be the best. But if not, honestly, don’t sweat it.

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Source: TripAdvisor, thaizer.com