Wednesday, January 23


I opened my laptop just now knowing that I'm about to write something about myself to myself. I've been absent in my blogging, but also absentminded. I need to place a hold on the sports and start blogging again. It's just that my rationale that allows me to appropriate more of my time towards sore and restless legs than to a restless mind. The latter seems puts me in more danger; trust me, I've tried both. I've been hanging this post over my head for the a long time, inhibiting my creative juices. It's probably been longer than that, even before the passing of my Moms.

As of lately, I've been thinking of a word -- undeserving. I learned about survivor's guilt a couple years back. Look it up if you don't know. Knowing about my mom's situation, I knew I could possibly fall victim to the condition. I've stopped asking why her and not me. She would've made much more of a difference on this Earth than I could ever. That's not here nor there, anymore. Just know that I'm not afraid to die anymore. I used to say that loosely, but I'm ready when it does happen. Am I just filling time? For this, and other reasons, I am undeserving. Humility and compassion are two characteristics that I emphasize the most, to others and to myself. It is my life's goal to pass down all the love that my Mom showed and would've been able to show everyone. I'll never be as generous, but I'm trying. I don't know why I've been given so many luxuries in life. That's me. I try to be a good person to justify it, as if doing good deeds, like paying for a friend's meal, somehow shows gratitude to God and all those who have shown me love. Sometimes I'm not a good person. There are better people out there more worthy than me with less. I can sit here and type out my "why's" and my incomprehension or I can suck it up and make a difference. More and more often, I think about donating everything I have to live a minimalist lifestyle. I'm already, sort of doing that. But how can I say that when I just closed on a house, I don't have any debts besides my newly acquired mortgage, I can afford the things I need and most thing I want, my car, although old, I own, and it never seems that I ever ask for help. It seems that I've been given the cheat sheet to financial success and what some would say happiness. How was this divided? Why was I overly blessed? What am I going to do with all these blessings? I don't know who else to talk to this about. Can the overpriviledged complain? And why does Microsoft Word believe that overprivileged isn't a word but underprivileged is? So, is everyone who isn't underprivileged just privilege and there isn't some sort of limit to it? Are you telling me a word processor is telling me that I should collect my chips and not question where/whom it came from? Fcuk you Microsoft Word. Then I realize, they're just things. I've been given things. What matters in life? Are we supposed to really be gathering achievements? What's another notch on your belt if you only ever utilize one? There is a difference between not having everything and not wanting everything. Although both describe me, I'm more partial to being satisfied with what I have. Maybe I have these things and am granted these privileges so that I can find the root meaning of life. Sometimes people have to lose it all to find that meaning. I've lost my Moms, that was my all. They say people who have nothing to lose are more dangerous. They never say that you can always lose more of yourself, whether wealthy, rich, or penniless. I lose, I assess, but there are no insurances for me to get me back. After many failed experiments, I realize the only way to do that is to give back and make a difference. I don't mean the cliche action of monetary donations. That isn't the best method towards gratification. I mean in the way that I show patience to a child to relieve their hopelessness. I mean in the way to teach someone a trade/skill that'll show them worth. I mean in any way possible that makes life feel less serious and money less important. I'll gain so much more of myself that way than I could ever with the "luxuries" I both been given and have worked for. The things I've been granted aren't rewards for what I've done and who I am, but rather they are the tools that I can utilize to make the lives of others better, so very very indirectly. I know the score; I know how much I'm up by. I haven't won yet. I don't deserve a win; I deserve, even prefer, the struggle. If the struggle is what I want and what I am getting, then I am winning, and undeserving.

Post Script: My Moms always said that the only reason we are on this Earth to help one another, that's it. That's our life's purpose. From that, we should show gratitude, humility, and compassion whilst always having faith.

Sunday, September 9

Me, an Isle

With the windows down and sitting directly behind your seat in the car, my head leans on the window sill and through the side mirror, I smile at you. This isn’t a foreign feeling. I get like this sometimes, totally and utterly beguiled. It's very comforting, and, at the same time, very intimidating and paralyzing knowing that you could somehow possibly love someone wholeheartedly. Even if temporary, I’d like to think you could be that person. You're awfully alluring. With similar cadence and excitement, you remind me of jazz. You make me feel privileged, usually for more reasons than one, on almost all occasions. You're refreshing nature makes me feel refurbished, not quite new, but working again and maybe worth something. I'd like to get to know as much about you without being classified as a phishing scam. However, I wouldn’t want to offset my longing by asking the wrong question or speaking the wrong exaggeration. So, I’m caught in a bind of using suggestive hints that are implicit enough, but not too obvious and repulsive. There’s a certain kind of difficulty to say that you're the equivalence of an emotional defibrillator. You are my second wind, and I’ve been weary on this journey. Your laugh is actively undoing years of programmed disbelief in the possibility of loving. However long idle, your smile makes you someone to wait for. I wish my rules and morals didn’t forced me into this passiveness. I can't seem too interested like there’s isn't so much interesting. I just hope that my patience doesn't remove your enamor and effectiveness. It’s difficult when today I found another flaw of yours to love. How do I show you your strengths, without exposing my weaknesses? I feel embarrassed when I know too much and speak too soon. I wish I could verbalize the things that make me gravitate to you. Then, I wouldn’t transgress from the laws of attraction. The same ones that say my interests shouldn’t shifted so quickly to those of yours. Now sifting through my ambitions, I can’t think of any more important now than things involving you. I can’t let you know it. You have me wagering my independence for a blanket, wine, and a night’s worth conversation. This newfound vulnerability is the byproduct of your placid disposition. If it were not only my eyes that were mesmerized. The way you move has my brain running to document footnotes of your nuances. You bring color to music. I listen to songs and imagining you dancing. I listen in on your body language for the slightest invitation to a nonverbal agreement, some form of reciprocating desire. Until then, I’m saving some of my best memories for you. I want to hold your hands and spin us around vigorously until the background became unrecognizable. That way there'd be no distractions keeping me from focusing on you. My vision is blurry, but the bokeh is beautiful. I’m feeling too much, doing too much, and now writing too much. This has becomes less about who you are and more about who I become when I'm around you. I feel less like an isle when surrounded by you.

Tuesday, August 21

My business isn't the company that misery loves

I get it. Today wasn't your day. You were probably already having a bad day to begin with. Maybe with the way the day played out, all the "Good Mornings" that were said to you were in vain. Someone probably made you do something you didn't want to do because another person passed it onto you. This, most likely, repeated itself until it put a damper on your day's outlook. You've had it; I get it. When you felt vengeful, I was an easy target. You've yet to see me become ill-tempered, at least not together or while inhibiting the same space. I understand that the best, not the next best thing, but the very best thing, to do was to take me down. If misery loves company, you'd like me to be your best friend, your associate in discontentment. See, I would've joined you. I actually did for a few hours when I questioned my character and if my habits, which you probably deemed undisciplined, were disruptive. You had me going. I was quiet and remorseful, completely out of character. I've had time to think about it, and I've made a decision. Misery doesn't want me so much today, so I can't accompany you. However, I'll still be your friend. I know you chose me because I wouldn't make a big deal out of it. It was purposeful, and it made you feel better about yourself. I've done it; I'm guilty of it, but not anymore. I'd love to be the scapegoat of why your day went horribly wrong.The people who know me well will defend me. They're probably in a better place, maybe not every day, than you are today. Worrisome doesn't look good on me. Thank you for putting my business out there, which, in my opinion, is thriving. Guess there's really no such thing as bad publicity. I've invested too many hours today in your disgruntled spasm. I hope you know how strong I am. Your attempt to marginalize my strength has failed, and my need to prove that to you is nonexistent. I'm utterly sure that the worst day of my life is already behind me. I've survive way worse things than someone saying that: I'm too outgoing, too charismatic, and too easy to converse with. Because I'm sure that's what you meant to say. Is that a bad habit? To me? No. Did I think so today? Maybe. Will I spend anymore time on it after this post? Probably not. I don't need your apology if/when your conscience kicks in. I've already apologized to myself, for thinking that I should be a lesser self than I am. Somehow, I thought maybe I did something my moms wouldn't be proud of. I did no harm today, and thought not of revenge. She'd be proud. She taught me how to carry others' burdens, and you knew that to be true. I get it. I'll carry you, I'll forgive you, and I'll love you, as I do everyone. You get it? Always.

Monday, July 23


I'm afraid of this newfound numbness
It brings upon this fearlessness
the one that allows me to prematurely accept losing meaningful relationships
I've become rather hasty in that department
To disregard another's worth, because I won't accept mine
My intent is not to make you feel unwanted
from, what would seem like, pride, but is really indicative of self-loathing
and self-harm
It shouldn't be this easy to want to feel alone
Years of investments replaced with "okay" and "fine"
Since when did everyone and everything become a depreciating commodity?
I wonder if there are tax exemptions to write off my losses
because they seem to be accumulating
which should put me in a lower tax bracket
almost to the point of homelessness
burning bridges to a remote island
leaving everything unavailable to me
Just a foreword,
Don't take a page out of my book
My cover is blown
My spine has scoliosis
and I'm caught in a bind
of forfeiting my library of memories
at the hands of depression
I want to turn this around and rebuild
but I'm afraid that the resources that I've once gather
have already abandoned me
and I'll soon have to be "okay" and "fine" with that
on my remote island.

Thursday, September 14

Her and Her Infinite; Well Done

I had a dream last night, the first of many. On the way home, I said to someone, I'm headed  home to see my moms. The person was mumbling something, but I left, out of excitement, before I could hear what was said. I got home and realized something, she isn't going to be waiting at home for me anymore. If you haven't heard, my moms passed away in the early morning of August 31st, 2017. I had a feeling her days were numbered, and I'd wake up every few hours just to hear her breathing. Well, around 4:15 am, the room was dead silent. She had gone. Now, me not being very religious, I thank the Lord for the forewarning and bestowing the strength upon me to be strong, now and times to come. It's been a rough couple weeks, but I made it though with the support from family and friends and faith. I won't make this long; I'll just leave some things that I had written for my moms during that time period. First will be the obituary; then, the eulogy that I addressed; and finally the poem I wrote. That should be enough for now, as I'm sure there will be more to come. You get my sentiments.

Le Thi Tran, age 50, was returned to God peacefully in the early morning of Thursday, August 31, 2017. She was born August 15, 1967 in Bến Đá, Vietnam to Khanh Kim and Sen Pham. During her earlier years, she went by Missy and was known as goofy, playful, and smart. In 1986, she graduated from Assumption High School. Bing Tran and Le Thi Kim were wedded shortly after on November 22nd 1986. After completing her bachelor’s degree in accounting from Winthrop University, she received her master’s degree from Phoenix University. Although her occupational profession was an accountant and bookkeeper, she was essentially a servant and vessel of God. Well involved in the Catholic Church, she became a catechism teacher, Eucharist Minister, and prayer service member. She is survived by her parents; husband; her siblings, Thoa, Lan, Thanh, Thuy, and Jimmy; and her three children, Tiffany, Travis, and Taylor. She was devoted to and cultivated everything beautiful, especially loving to cook, bake, and garden. Her soul is as beautiful as the flowers she grew and nourishing as food she made. At one time or another, she wanted to open her own bakery or child daycare center. She was considered by all as a very a kind, happy, and gentle woman. Throughout her life, she serviced others through prayer and good deeds until ultimately offering her Earthly body to the Lord.  Her last verbal request was to be reunited with Jesus Christ her savior, to which she has. 

Dear Mommy,
 I love you. I’m having to write this sooner than I would like to, and also under the circumstance that letters like these are never truly finish. But we work on God’s time, and you would agree that he’d have it perfectly placed here. I quit questioning why God needed you more than I or anyone else on Earth, and started imagining things from the beginning. I try to imagine how big God’s smile must have been the moment he selected you to be in our lives. I imagine trumpets, violins, and pianos just strumming in the same harmony as you left us in. Even now, the questions I want to ask God are about you, and they seem never-ending. Like, how did he make you so disproportionate? How did God give you such an over-sized heart to fit in such a small world? How is it that you were able to convince God to let us borrow you for 50 years here on Earth? All I know, is sometimes we receive these divine blessings we didn’t have to pray for, and such is you. I heard this example once and thought of you, so I’d like to add to it. It’s about a bridge. So, as I am driving on the road called life and the rain is just pouring and pouring and my windshield wipers seem to not go any faster. And there is this upcoming bridge that runs just above the road that I’m traveling on. So, for a split second or so while passing under the bridge, there’s no more hard rain, no more thunderous noises and everything becomes clear and peaceful. That’s was you, you are my bridge. And sometimes when the storms got really bad, that same bridge started to feel more like a tunnel. I can’t thank you enough for sheltering me from the rain, and I don’t mean to be rude and just talk about just me, because I know you were the bridge to many people. There are so many thing that we didn’t have to sacrifice because you sacrificed it. We’ll never know how much you quietly prayed for us, but you’ll never know how easy you made it for us. How easy you made it to want to help and love one another. How undemanding but effective you were getting us to understanding God and keeping the faith. How easy it is, to write something so beautiful when the example, inspiration, and the subject matter seems from you about you. I’ve always been about you. We’ve always been about you. Up until yesterday, I’ve never felt so much love from so many people. All of that comes from you. It felt like the returning love that you shared with each and every one was coming back to me, our family, our friends, and those in need. You made the Earth just a little more gentle and so much easier to live in. You never tried to stand out or be unforgettable, you just did and you just are. Remember I told you that your cancer only gave us a chance at a longer farewell. Well, I’ve been thinking that you left earlier than expected so later it’ll be a sweeter hello. So that when each of us greets you again, we’ll hug just a little longer, kiss just a little more firmly, and smile just a little bit wider. You have a great place in the hearts of great people. I remember asking you why you chose to write well done on paperwork. You replied, “Because, everything you do, you have to make sure that it is well done.” Mom, I don’t know if you know, if God told you yet, but he left me a note. The day that you ascended into Heaven, as we gathered our things, I saw this little note at the foot of her bed. It read, “Well done, God and Faithful Servant.” You didn’t write it, because it wasn’t in your handwriting. It was God, leaving a message letting me know, what I already knew, that your life on Earth was well done. On behalf of the faces in this crowd, from the students, family members and friends of my mother, we would all like to say to you Thank you, Thank you for being our bridge. Well done, Le Tran, Good and Faithful Servant, Well Done.
 Lub lub,
 Travy help

Her and Her Infinite
Her love yields fragrant lilies.
Her movements as graceful as butterflies
Rooted in faith, she labors
Unwavering and unwearyingly, always orchestrating His works
Gentle and kind
Her soul radiates the same way sunlight breaks between gaps in clouds
Tender as a rose petal
A voice comforting as so a breeze on a warm night
Oh, poised dove returning home
Never lost, never gone
Ever present
Together with her and her infinite

Tuesday, January 31


Shits heavy yo.

I wish my moms could drive again
meaning she could go wherever she wanted
meaning she could take me with her
meaning we could go on adventures
meaning we would explore
meaning she could point things out
meaning she could still teach me
meaning I could be like her one day
meaning I could be the best
meaning I'd be invinceable
meaning she still supporting me
meaning she would be in good health
meaning I could believe again
meaning I wouldn't stop praying
meaning the church could perform its services
meaing she could walk me down the isle
meaning she could babysit my children
meaning my children would be raised properly
meaning they'd meet my favorite person
meaning I'd be happiest
meaning I could rest assure
meaning I could sleep at night
meaning my nightmare would stop haunting me
meaning I would stop worrying
meaning I could stop crying
meaning we could live and let live
meaninh we'd keep moving forward
meaning we could get to our destination
but she's always been my drive