I was a strange kid.

I finished the daycare program early
because I had been attending since my twelfth month.
After graduating from nursery,
I suddenly had nothing to do.

I remember…

That summer before my special primary school life began.
Calculating back, it was around 1992.
I stood by the window in my grandparents’ house,
feeling anxious about this weird state
of having nothing to do.

Knowing I was bored,
or maybe just to keep me from messing around,
my family enrolled me in an unofficial first-grade class.
That’s why I ended up attending
two first grades in my life.
The first one was really
a kind of “advanced preschool year,”
just to pass the time and learn the ABCs
at the local primary school
with children one year older than me.

I did well:
second or third place in the final exam,
even though I didn’t concentrate much.
Most days
I went there just to play.
Really play.
I annoyed the whole Miss Yen’s class everyday.

I remember…

Every trip to school
and every walk back home
was a small journey.
Grandpa walked me to school.
(He was famous in the community for never knowing how to operate any kind of transportation.)

If it rained, dad rode me to school,
and grandma biked to pick me up.

Eighty percent of the time,
the 6:00 a.m. morning road
and the 11:00 a.m. return home
belonged only to grandpa and me.
Especially the trip from school:

I remember…

The road was dusty,
rough under the tropical standing sun.
It was only 1.5 kilometers,
yet I could rarely walk
the whole way by myself.
Grandpa walked beside me.
He was the shade,
and I was the shadow.
If I became too tired then crawled along the road,
he lifted me onto his back.
Suddenly we became taller together,
moving slowly down Nguyễn Văn Tư Street.

That was every day
of my first school year.

Later it became more than just my memory.

It is…
grandpa’s pre-retirement “nightmare,”
grandma’s favorite story,
and my family’s shared memory.

Perhaps…
because
I was the first grandchild.

Perhaps…
that is why
it stays.

Today,
that first grandchild
has gone far away.

Today,
I miss Grandpa
and the long road
where the shade walked besidemy shadow.

• April 18, 2026

I wanted to write a poem about silence so bad
But the topic is sound
So technically…
I’m not allowed to cheat.

Ay, shhh
don’t tell anyone that I almost did.

But wait…
Isn’t it funny
that whenever we want silence,
we make a sound:
Shhh.

Hmmm
Silence itself makes no noise
Yet the command for silence
comes with a sound:
Shhh.

So who is making the sound here?
The person asking for silence?
Or the silence arriving late at the meeting?

Hmmm
What does shhh even mean?
“Please keep quiet.”
Or “Keep this secret.”
You want people to keep their things with you.
Or you want them to keep your things with them.

Ahhh
Shhh is a tiny sound with a surprisingly big job:
It can calm a baby,
pause a crowd,
hide a secret,
or start a plan.

One small breath,
good or bad,
depending on who whispers it.

Shhh
Now listen carefully.
Did you notice?
I tried to write about silence.
But the entire time I was making noise.

Shhh

Don’t let them know I cheated.

Shhh.

• March 20, 2026

People always want
what they don’t have, at least, not yet.
In my case: winter.

I’ve never seen snow.
Never touched ice.
Never breathed out smoke like a dragon.
Never worn mittens and called it fashion.

Sounds fun.

Everyone says winter is sad,
depressing,
cold,
and dirty.
Which somehow makes me like it more.

I’m good at distance.
Great at staying in.
Professional at being alone
without calling it loneliness.

Winter feels like my kind of season,
when hiding is normal,
silence is acceptable,
and everyone stays home too.

I’ve been living in my cave all year anyway.
Winter would just make it official.
Winter, a season that might understand me.

• December 20, 2025

Verse 1
There was a day that | felt like fate
You texted in time, across | the stars and brave
Ears met, and coincidence | spoke so loud
In that moment, we | found each other in the sounds
We stayed… | because we knew…
Hearts collide | when minds approve

Chorus
One day is all it | takes
To change a world, to | raise the waves
Through joy and tears, through | high and low
We keep on walking, letting love | grow
Because we choose each | other
To learn from one an | other
To under | stand, to hold more than | hands
To love a | gain

Verse 2
There are days just | like today
Ordinary hours that never | drift away
We talk, we laugh, we | look, we cry
Yet every breath feels | like a lullaby
Even pain can | feel okay
If you’re beside me | all the way

Bridge
Someday, time will | end its run
But before the setting | of the sun
We’ll meet for the first time in our dream | place
With the same warmth, the | same embrace
Even if now we | part, our souls will | stay
Because we were | meant to find our | way

Outro
So if I’m light, you’re my | spark
If I’m rhythm, you’re the | mark
We were not just passing | through
You were the reason, I always | knew…
You entered and stayed for our | better life,
That one | day.

• July 27, 2025

In my kitchen
the scent of garlic and onion slows time down.
I taste before I serve,
not for perfection,
but to make sure it feels like home.
Every ingredient I choose is like a word in a poem:
carefully, with love,
thinking of your smile in every chop and stir.

Cooking for you is my happiness pill.
And I don’t plan to hang up my apron,
not until the last sunrise of our incredible journey together,
and the last meal is seasoned with forever.

• October 10, 2025

Let me tell you about my greatest fear
a tiny sprout rooted in a childhood dream
that visited me again and again,
until I grew up.

Every time, I wake with it, clear as day:
Mom riding her green 50cc Honda Cub,
a cardboard box tied behind her,
me inside it.

She reaches the bridge,
drops me and the box in the middle of an empty road,
then rides on,
steady, constant, without looking back.

I stand up.
I run after her,
across that endless bridge.
But the distance never changes.
No matter how hard I try,
I can’t catch up.

I keep running
until I wake,
short of breath,
in tears,
scared.
She just leaves me.
Again.
And again.

Not just once.
Not just a dream.

We all have old friends
that show up uninvited,
longing for reunion.
But this dream?
It’s more like a bully,
one that visits
when I feel most insecure,
most alone.

And I don’t like it.
Not at all.

• Initial: May 24, 2025