I did not take the traditional route of education and my self esteem payed a really big price for it. I felt really dumb and self conscious about my intelligence because I did not have the brand name education or degree all my peers have. My dad was constantly riding me about how no successful guy would want an uneducated girl like me. Then fate has it I got dumped by the most successful guy I knew because I was frickin uneducated. I kind of hated my dad for saying it. Anyhow, it’s easy to just hide and say I’m not book smart so I became an artist. I made myself feel better by saying at least I have a lot of common sense.

But I’m starting to realize the truth again. You know, I pretty damn smart. Book smart. All thanks to my yobo.

Over the years, never once has he ever said or hinted at anything even implying I’m any less intelligent than him or myself. But I never really paid attention to it (I know he’s going to read this and yell at me for not listening to him.. AGAIN. Gaaah! Loveubaby!<3<3<3 ) because my mind had already been made up that I was somewhere a step behind everyone.

Anyhow, so he’s been working on graduate school applications. To my surprise he asked me to edit them. I told him I’m not a good writer nor do I know anything about education so I surprised he even asked me out of all people. But he said I write my xanga well. har har har. Everyone and their mama knows I treat xanga like brain vomit. I knew he was just trying to make me feel good about myself.

Turns out… I’m a pretty damn good writer. As we went through the first of his essays together, I felt smug as he sat in utter silence and amazement at how I tore up and rebuilt almost every sentence in his essays. And the improvements were not just in my mind. His professional consultants said I did a really good job and that I should edit all his essays from here on out. Thank you THE BOMB DOT COM English professor who taught my high school english class for sh*ts and giggles. Seriously, thank you for teaching me to write really clearly and actively with a sophisticated flair.

Over the week I met with some new clients and we tried out some hair & makeup styles for their weddings. I typically spend anywhere between 2 – 4 hours with a client in a one on one consultation. So we talk about EVERYTHING. Now I may not be formally educated myself but my clientele are PhDs, college professors, FBI agents, billionaires who own microchip companies, the works. Some of them are the top of the chain type people with six figure weddings. Anyhow,  they usually ask me about my dating life and we get to talking about my boyfriend and our past and future goals. I’ve gotten some REALLY good insights and advice from my clientele about my boyfriend’s professional life.

So I take that all in and give him some really fresh new idea for his essay content that would give him a unique edge over other applicants. I mean, I suggest the ideas to him and he makes the final decision. On one particular application, he liked my idea so much he re wrote a whole essay upon my suggest. His professional consultants thought the content change was BRILLIANT! Yea! Score for me!

And my feelings towards an essay, whether positive or negative, is usually echoed by his professional consultants. Great minds think alike! Har har har. Mine and his consultants, who are verified geniuses.

Thanks to this project we’ve been working on together I’ve been feeling really confident and good about myself. And I’m actually really excited about going back to school and being the top student once again.Thank you to the best yobo in the world who has unknowingly made me a better person. And for always thinking the best of me and believing in me, especially when I don’t in myself. <3 <3 <3 <3

Grand entrance with my yobo. Both my brothers are married now… EVERYONE keeps asking when it will be my turn and how they can’t wait to attend my “kim-chee wedding.” Lol So racist! My poor baby is only seen as a Korean concept, not as a person. That’s what happens when you’re the ONLY non Vietnamese at an ALL Vietnamese event!

With the Pham girls! Aka Glam girls!
I’m so tiny! I picked out a size 12 dress when I am like a size -2. I had to get the dress altered down times so it would fit right! Lol.

With some friends of the bride who are also my friends!

With my cousin who is such a jokester!

Mommy Pham!

My brothers! My mom looked at this photo and asks why we don’t have even one feature that looks alike.

 
I was the MC! So nerve wrecking but yobo said I did a good job. Hehe.

With my yobo! My mom picked out this special hand embroidered tie for yobo when we were in Vietnam from a hand embroidery museum. It was a really nice gift!

All the ladies from the Lowell Girls Drill Team, which was my high school’s drill team.

With my our friends from Vietnamese school like 15 years ago! That’s what the V is for!

Yummy dessert! I loved the personal sized cake for everyone. Being MC, I did not get to eat ANYTHING! I missed out the lobster and roast duck, which is my favorite dish at this restaurant!

Lol. This is our “Ethnic” dance.

Boogeying!

And then we started fighting!

Time to go home. My brother asked how much was this “ride?” Hehe FREEEE for me. LIFETIME pass yo!

On my ride home from the airport my friend and I were talking about how the expensive American Zico coconut juice sucks compared to the cheap Asian brand of coconut juice. We concluded nothing tastes as good as well, coconut juice from a real coconut. My mom is the best coconut shell breaker I know. Too bad my kids won’t know what that tastes like since I don’t know how to open a coconut the way my mother does. It’s not really that I don’t know HOW to but rather I lack the strength to do it. This prompt me to make a list of things my yobo must learn for um.. our future kids!

1. How to chop a tiny hole into a young coconut for fresh coconut juice. This may expand into chopping the coconut in half so we can scoop out the soft coconut meat. To get the juice, you have to chop down with just the edge point of the butcher knife to get a hole for your straw without leaking the juice. Hehe. Dangerous.

Tools needed

How its done. shirtless. and with straw hat.

How it should look when finished!

Refreshing!

2. How to kill a crab for cooking. I LOVE live crab. First have to scrub them down without them clawing you to death. Then you hold onto all the legs on one side then pry off it’s shell while it’s still alive and kicking. Then you pry off the little triangle on it’s stomach. Then you chop off all its legs & claws from the body. It’s at this stage that the crab finally dies. Then you butcher knife chop the body in half down the stomach. Then another chop across the stomach so now the body is in 4 pieces. It makes for easy cooking and eating. Oh yea, and before you cook it, you have to crack every piece with the nut cracker so its easy to peel and eat later. I have neither the strength nor the guts for this. Thankfully there is Yobo.

Step one. But alive!!

Yum! Mouth watering already. Normally at this point they are still alive and their claws will scratch at your even without their shell.

Harmless when in pieces. And so yummy!

3. Hand squeezed fresh orange juice, every day. It’s like my spinach to my Popeyes! I hate the taste of store bought juice after having fresh squeeze orange juice with a touch of raw honey. But it’s a lot of work to squeeze them with your bare hands. So yobo will have to do it. Unless he buys me an orange juicing machine, if there is such a thing.

Special orange squeezing tool.

By hand by hand. That’s how I want to wake up to Won everyday making my orange juice. Hahahahaha.

This photo lie. Kids dont squeeze orange juice! Too hard!

Tada! I want this!

4. How to open a Durian. Not that I particularly like durians, but I figure the kids have got to try it at least once. And who knows, maybe one of them will be super fob and LOVE durians. So you have to run your knife through the thick shell around the whole fruit while avoiding stabbing yourself with it’s spike. You have to run your knife over all the ridges vertically. Then with your bare hands you have to grip onto the shell with it’s spike and tear apart the fruit. From there you can pick out the meaty seeds. But you have to repeat the process over and over again until you get all the seeds from all the layers in the fruit. All the while holding your breath! Cuz its stinky! Hehe

Spikey! In the old country, when you were bad you had to kneel on these as punishment. Or so my dad says…

Gotta pry them open with your bare hands!

So many layers! What a complex fruit.

If yobo refuses to do any of these. Then I refuse to give him any babies. So ha!

Yobo just got a promotion (yay!) so to ensure he spends the new money on something new and shiny for me, I am going to write a post about him!!

Things he does that I like:

1. He makes sure I always walk in front of him or next to him. I was watching this couple walk out this restaurant today and saw how the guy walked out first just looking at the door and the girl tried to follow him as quickly as possible in her sky high heels. I can’t think of a time where my yobo just walks some where and lets me trail behind. Usually he walks with me or lets me walk in front with him closely behind, close enough to open doors for me still. Cuz he’s a stalker! Can’t let me out of his sight for even ONE second!

2. My health always comes first for him. It doesn’t matter where we have plans or with whom, if I say I am tired then everything is off and we just stay at home in bed so I can rest up. Also when I say I am tired and cry a little he treats me like a princess! He gets me ice cream, drugs, chocolates, movies, anything!! And if he’s not tired and I’m not wearing a dress, he’ll even carry me everywhere!

3. He stays up late with me to watch scary tv drama. Then he wakes up early to go to work and doesn’t even wake me. Just lets me sleep. Never complains. Just kiss me and goes. Never ask why I don’t work hardrt like him.

4. Sleeps like a log but always wake up if I have a bad dream. Or am cold. Or hot. Or thirsty. Or coughing. Or want to cuddle. Or want to be left alone. And never acts annoyed.

5. Does the 10000x physical things on my list of errands on top of his own work.  No matter how big or heavy or dirty. Like how he single handedly carried and put all my furniture together. Or cleared out all the garbage in our balcony. He does it all. And as long as I say thank you he will happily do more.

6. Translate everything his Korean family says in Korean for me to understand.

7. Even though he always lecture me about too much spending and need more savings, whenever we’re at the mall or at a store, he always buys things for me.  Even things that don’t really make sense.

8. He always finishes my food when I can’t. Instant weight loss plan for me. Har har. No need to go to the gym!

9. He wears everything I buy without question or complaint. Or how he asks, “can I wear this?” every time we get dressed, even when he’s just dropping me off at the airport.

10. He is ALWAYS encouraging of everything I do. Whether it’s eating my first ever made batch of shitty pasta. Or eating and pretending to like my first ever batch of Korean pastries, ho duk. Or always telling me that I am doing good with my business and believing I will be very successful one day. Or not rushing me through school.
Never expecting more from me. He’s happy even if I decide to just stay home and be a bum!

11. He’s made me feel completely comfortable around him. Even if it means holding my hands at the mall when I look like a monster cuz my hair is up in rollers and Im in sweats. Or the time he had to help me go to the bathroom the whole snowboarding trip. I can even pick my nose and he just smiles. No shame. Hehe.

There’s so many reasons why I like him. So it drives me NUTS when I ask why he likes me and he says he just does or he just knows! Whats that even supposed to mean?!

I just realized this is a very self fish list because it lists things he does for ME that makes me like him. For the record, I like him for who he is on his own without me too. But I’d like him better if he started recycling and composting -___-

I was reading a girly girl magazine on my plane ride home. There was an article about what guys think of the way girls dress. One of the points that stood in my mind was that when guys see a girl wearing sky high heels they automatically think she’s high maintenance and stay away. Being that I live in sky high heels, I’m glad I don’t attract those guys!

Tell me how many hours you spend buffing up your car? Or time spent talking about your fantasy football league. How many hours do you spend at the gym? Guys can be just as high maintenance. Obviously, I am talking to good looking guys here. The uglies can just ignore this post because who cares what the hell they think about me and my sky high heels. Har har I kidddd.

Or if you think it’s a burden to be a man for your hot girlfriend to lean on, well maybe you don’t deserve a hot girlfriend. High maintenance means she has an eye for detail and probably a A game personality. So she can probably school you in your own subject and look good doing it. I hate cheap & lazy guys!!!

With that said, I am very low maintenance. Takes me 15 minutes from the time I get out of bed to the time I’m out the door. And 5 of those minutes are spent on brushing my teeth. What a lucky guy my yobo is

My cousin and I were walking into the hotel lobby into the competition. My teeth were noticeably chattering and my hands shaking. “I’m so cooold” I lied to explain why my body wouldn’t be still.

The truth is I have really bad anxiety to the point I can’t control what my body does sometimes. Heart pounding against my eardrums had become the norm for me. Sometimes my vision would go out of focus and I would cold sweat so bad the back of shirt gets wet, which is really bad considering I hardly ever even sweat even in 100 degree weather. Somethings as exciting and loving as a wedding would turn into complete dread for me where I seriously contemplate in calling in sick and finding a replacement artist (not that I ever have or ever would, just saying). Something that I’ve done a million times before as easy as making a right turn in my car is suddenly a huge ordeal. My light is green right? Right? Right? Or was it red? What if that person steps down the curb? What if I hit them? Do I get out my car? What if they die? What if they lose their legs? What if they sue me? I can’t afford to pay? What if I have to go to jail? How is my  mother going to deal with it? Will my boyfriend break up with me or will he wait? What will his parents think of me?

I never let anyone know that’s how I’m feeling. I usually say Im tired and need to just rest. Or laugh it off. Or like earlier, if it’s physically visible, I pretend its the cold or something else. I try to appear as CALM and serious as possible even though I am screaming a million and one thoughts on the inside. WHAT’S HAPPENING!? CAN THEY SEE IT? CAN THEY TELL I’M IN PANIC? JUST HOLD YOUR GAZE! REMEMBER TO LOOK LIKE YOU’RE BREATHING NORMALLY! WHY ARE THEY LOOKING AT ME? SMILE! ACT LIKE YOU’RE TOO BUSY TO NOTICE THEM! AH!

I didn’t want people to think I was nervous, of course not, I am on top of everything! I didn’t want them to think I was weak and couldn’t handle the situation no matter how easy or hard. I didn’t want anyone to see me sweat. It was like being sick without having the papers to prove it so I didn’t want to be seen like a big baby crying wolf.

That was a bad time in my life. But I’m all better now! Haven’t felt like that in months! I found it really helped to finally open up and tell people about it.

Inspired by Cakalusa’s post. Enough said.

Anytime I’ve ever got voted for anything, it’s always along the lines of, “quiet but deadly.” Once my teacher was asked if I were to get into a fight with M**** (same height & weight) who would win. She said M**** might win because she looks like like she can really get fierce and do some damage. Then she thought about it and said… no, she thinks Van will win because it’s kind of scary how quiet and calm I am no matter what is going on. Like I have some hidden kung fu black belt training (not racist at all Mrs. White teacher).
…. If only she knew the truth about what a nervous wreck and anxiety monster I am…

My nick name at cosmo school was “ninja” because I am always in and out without anyone noticing. Or I’d be standing right next to someone for minutes watching them before they notice me. Or suddenly it seems I appear out of no where.

I just thought it was because I’m too small to be seen or heard for the most part. Nothing intentional on my part.

New goal: Smile more.

When most people talk about their moms in her younger years, she’s usually the prettiest person in that school, village, group, etc.. Either I have friends with REALLY pretty moms or everyone is just the prettiest person in their story

So I guess everyone’s mom is the prettiest, except my mom. Not to say my mom is ugly or doesn’t care about her looks. She’s a cute woman and she wears more makeup than I do on a normal basis. I guess for my mom her looks wasn’t her proud point. She admits all the looks went to her little sister who is 12 years her junior. My mom told stories of how her sister was the prettiest girl in thee village and how all the rich suitors would come to ask her sister’s hand in marriage. I never heard one ounce of jealousy or wishful thinking from mom. Instead, she has a soft spot for her beautiful little sister and always saves the best cosmetics to send to her sister as gifts so she can preserve her beauty.

My mom accepted her heavy set figure years ago. She struggles to find beautiful clothes. But for me she lets me enjoy all my beautiful dresses that emphasize my tiny waist. And she does care that I keep my tiny frame and blemish free skin. She cares that I don’t tan and that my hair is kept tidy. I know she is proud for me that I am decent looking and that her friends want me to marry their sons.

But for herself she is more proud of her two working hands. Her favorite memories are of the pigs that she fed with her hands. The hands that would have to dip into pipping hot porridge to stir for the pigs to eat. The same hands that bought and raise live stock to feed her family. Family, as in, her mom and siblings after her dad passed away in her early teens. Her own two hands that smuggled vegetable goods during the war to sell for profit to raise money for her siblings weddings because no one was else able to. Her hands that cooked the food for her own wedding, which she was able to pay for herself. Her hands that built and tended the farm on which she raised her own family. And then her hands that worked at the market to feed her husband and children, never letting them starve. In fact, making sure we were able to enjoy our meals, as poor as we were. Its the same hands that hold me when I’m crying or laughing. My mother loves her hands.

She’s been especially proud of them at her work place. In a country where she doesn’t speak the language nor understand the culture, her hands have taken her to local popularity with the salon crowd. We used to think she was exaggerating but all the Yelp reviews from strangers praising her and her alone does not lie. Also, mom’s homemade baked goods are the talk of all her parties. Treats that she stays up into the night kneading and mixing. The same treats that cooks them perfectly before sun rise.

She tells me her hands holds lots of wrinkles because she worked them so much when she was younger, always in hot water. My hands have a lot of wrinkles too, something I’ve always been extremely self conscious about, even though I don’t do a fraction of the work she’s ever done. I hope her great hands are just genetic! 

My 8th grade teacher had said 10 years ago that this will be one of the days where everyone can look back decades later and still remember where and what they were doing on September 11, 2001.

I had woken up at 5AM San Francisco Time that morning to finish a school project. This was rare as I always sleep in as much as possible, normally waking up around 8AM. As I was working on my project, I was watching the news. This was also rare as at 13 years old the last thing I would watch is the news.

But I saw it. I sat there on the living room couch in shock. Any work on my school project had completely stopped. I remember not understanding exactly what was going on. And as more and more time passed, the news just got worst. More breaking news. More plane crashes. More waves of my my stomach dropping. And I was living it, I wasn’t asleep. I wasn’t hearing about it later. I was awake, I was watching. The news station was swarming and you could tell there was so much heat.

School was canceled in San Francisco, there was fear we would be attacked too because we were another BIG city in the US. At that moment, I hated myself for wishing that there was no school the next day because I wanted more time to work on my project. Careful what you wish for, school was officially canceled. I saw in on the news but my dad did not believe me. He drove me to school anyway only to be sent home at the door by our teachers. I remember thinking the teachers were so brave to stay at school and tell us to go home, rather than go home and be with their own families in what could be their last day. For some reason, I thought our teachers REALLY loved and cared for the students that day.

I remember thinking how stupid the kids on the streets were for being excited that they had a day off. Because it was a terrible reason to have the day off. The rest of the day was spent glued to the tv, not working on the project even though now I had the time, I decided to just turn it in as is the next day.

I remember the station news reporter who are normally so dressed up, was unbuttoned at the collar. Their ties loosening and eventually just taken off because it was just too hot. There was too much heat. Too much going on. Their hairs getting more and more messy. More and more sweat. They were clearly exhausted and took no liberty to try and hide it. But they never stopped working. More and more news with every passing minute.

That’s where I was 10 years ago today. Where were you?

I also wanted to add that Ive been totally absorbed in the all the attention given to 9/11 today. Even the songs on the radio dedicated to 9/11 has been making my eyes misty. And now I’m sitting through what has been at least 5 hours of the 9/11 Ceremony in New York on tv. The background noise of the name readings seem necessary today. Love and prayers to everyone affected.

I’m very short. And it’s very obvious. The first thing any boyfriend’s parents ever notice about me is how small I am. But my body is not midgit like, it’s actually very nicely proportion but I’m just very short. And it’s not like I grew up normal sized then one day my growth stunted, nope, I have ALWAYS been small for my age. Front of the line in all height ordered lines! So what’s life like from down here?

The good things:
- I could pass for a kid for the longest time, which resulted in cheaper bus fare, cheaper movie tickets, cheaper ice skating tickets, kids meals
- I fit the same clothes I wore in middle school. I can buy limited edition Jordans in kids sizes for 1/2 the price (not that I wear tennis shoes).
- I can wear ridiculously high heel shoes (6 inches minimum!) and everyone would understand
- I eat very little so it doesn’t cost much to house or feed me… although sometimes I have expensive taste, but at least it’s not a lot of it!
- It’s easy to bury my face in my boyfriend’s chest. Feels nice when he hugs me.

The bad things:
- No one takes me seriously when I’m mad. When I shake a fist at someone it’s, “awwww so cute!  A tiny fist!”
- Everyone makes fun of me for being little. Not that it’s a big deal. But I’d rather people not
- I can’t reach things at the top of the grocery store shelf
- Everything is heavy
- Everyone is “tall” when I’m describing anyone
- People think I’m young, which really works against me in the bridal business because I’m deemed inexperienced or untrustworthy
- I get tired easily
- People don’t notice me. Especially the really tall people
- I have to alter all my clothes to fit
- It’s almost impossible find high heels in a size 5, more often then not I have to buy the more expensive brands and special order them
- Anything I do is so “cute!” I want to be gorgeous &sexy damnit! I mean, what if I want to be a supermodel or a pageant queen?! Those thing are out the window.
- I hate hugging tall people, my face goes straight to their stupid chest! Can’t breath!

That’s all I can think of for now. But as you can see there are much more negative aspects of being short than there is positive. So if I could choose, I’d choose to be 5’8″.

Here is a picture of me appearing “tall.” And by tall I mean normal height for an asian girl. Hehe.