Never have I ever…
I haven’t felt more invisible in my life lately.
I haven’t smiled brighter in all the days of my life, and that’s because I feel a well of tears behind my eyes. There’s just enough enough brightness to blind the fact that I’m not feeling so confident most of the time. I know that I do have some confident moments, but when I don’t, it feels like a weight; it’s soul-crushing. The glint in my eye is there as a functional dam; it’s there as to not let the sea break the levee. I’m feeling heavy.
I’m currently listening to “Soak Up the Sun” covered by Soccer Mommy. One of the phrase in the song is “I don’t have diddly-squat.”
So, true. As I’m living paycheck to paycheck, I’m scraping up my hours at the cafe to gain a living that I want / need. One of the many secrets I keep from other folks is that my pay grade is lower these days. When I switched cafes, I lied to family about being paid the same amount. I stepped down. In fact, in all the three coffee shops I’ve worked in Boston, my earnings continuously dwindled on me, as I opted more for a better work environment, less corporate measures, and decent coworkers.
… I remember the incidents where I was truly broke in this city. There was one time I had just paid all my bills and rent and had less than $100 in my bank account. It was raining, and underneath my raincoat, I couldn’t stop laughing how absurd it was. It was ironically one of the happiest moments in my life. I didn’t really owe anyone or any institutions anything. No debts. I was on the way to work. When I got there, after all the emotional ordeal, I carried on as if it was another day. No one knew of my plight.
… Another incident that was unfortunate was when I lost my voice and could not work for a week. I needed the money. But I longed to still meet up a friend, because I desperately needed company. It was in a crowded Italian pizzeria that I broke down while scribbling down my words in a notebook because I couldn’t speak. My hair was dyed orange as Trump’s. I hated it and how short it was. It was so rough.. Oh, how I’ve grown.
So far, this has been one of the most proud cafes I’ve ever worked at, though I don’t make much. I consider it an investment for my emotional well-being as well as a lesson on how I’d like my future work environment to be. I want to be in meaningful spaces and make meaningful connections, if I can. Maybe it will be with a film crew or a future cafe. I know I can be myself the way that I am now.
This seems like a theme in my life. Going backwards. From being at the top of my class in high school to graduating cum laude at university, I’ve excelled academically, yet some inexplicable part of me refuses to partake in being recognized that way. I believe there must be another way. What experiences has brought me up to think that way?
Again, I sigh, so I’m a meagre barista based in Boston, living paycheck to paycheck. I oblige to my family’s vacation, holidays, and visitation needs (funerals, weddings, and etc). Yet, I am still hurt at the fact, no one has visited me. I don’t think they will ever understand how much “art” means to me. It isn’t just “art” if you know what I mean. It’s… about being seen and understood.
It is ironic, though, how my middle brother is considering teaching piano lessons while still being a full-time pharmacist. He, who is the most critical of me for not pursuing science and a reliable job career, he who cares for my being in his best way, is giving another human being, a student, wings to fly in those same porcelain keys he used to orchestrate in our home. I haven’t achieved any of those things, yet. I feel incompetent.
In the Sunday mornings of my youth, before church, he would dabble on the keys while the rest of the family got ready to dress up for 8am Vietnamese mass service. After church, while mom warmed up the soup broths, the smells of pho, buon, and breakfast would invigorate the house along with my brother’s playing. We’d undress in looser clothes for room in our bellies for the food and Sunday catechism and Viet language school afterwards. Then afterwards, we’d return home, sleepy or in a play-mode as Sunday, finally Sunday was a day for rest. (On Saturdays, we’d work at the shop, unlike other kids who got to make plans and play. Growing up, we were robbed of Saturdays.)
I guess when looking at the scope of humanity - of when I look at humans and how we go about our conditions about loss — I can see why those who experience loss can get so riled up.
I grew up angry and frustrated at the world — and that made me say things.
In a way, I fear as a writer that I give into this « victim mentality » in order to brood on things that could have been better. Truth is, in this possible humility, I did have it better than others around the world. Though, in my community, because I was sheltered and raised in a traditional Vietnamese cultural sense, I usually accepted the way things were, took upon my cultural duties in the village, and obeyed my parents and the elderlies.
These days are so different. I play a different game in a different world. I am still the same girl that used to scooter around the village, now I scooter an entire city in a different part of the country. The only cultural duty I have now are actually the stories that I have inside, waiting to be told to the world.
…
I showed my mom the sun-catchers I bought for my room window. I didn’t get quite the response I wanted and was told, « Thi, it’s for babies. » I shrieked and laughed. I could see her point of view and believed it myself, too. I shot myself in the foot for then shaming myself at the fact I haven’t truly « grew up » . I know, too, that she didn’t mean it in a harsh way. But my sensitivity really got hurt. I’m still working on this emotional separation between me and my thoughts. It’s honestly a little embarrassing.
…
One thing I have been shouting and affirming to myself that I have never felt so strongly before is:
Thi, you deserve so much more.
…
So, with that being said, I also feel quite angry, sad, anguished even, and I long for so much more.
They say, “It does not help to dwell on dreams.”
So, then, I should write this entry. I should continue with loving myself each day, recognizing my inner strength and foundation, so that my love can be felt by others.