rub-a-dub-dub

I would have never thought that my journey in life would have led me to Black Rock City. The couple of burners I had met over the years seemed to exist in another dimension from my life in corporate America. Camping in a remote desert with only the amenities that you bring in and out, leaving no trace, sounded like a miserable experience.

Yet magic can happen in the strangest places, and we have opportunities to learn more about ourselves when pushed into uncomfortableness. It was a year-long manifestation that prepared me with smaller festivals camping in the desert and navigating other burners in the poly communities. My journey led me to the playa...and the playa was waiting to enfold me, befitting its theme for the year of Metamorphoses.

Some of the lessons and experiences seem to sacred to share but as I've learned in full circle (part 6), birthdays are much better shared. Unbeknownst to me, my partner had planned out the day of festivities, which on the playa is a feat in itself since anything and everything unplanned can happen.

Slushies - What can be more refreshing in the desert than slushies for breakfast? Of course, as I was getting too comfortable from the respite, lounging in a chaise in the desert, I was rushed off to the next adventure, despite my feeble protests.

Nuclear Dandelion - Relaxation I asked for? Relaxation I got...at an oasis spa in the middle of the playa. A cold face mask seems a mundane activity at home but in the middle of nowhere, it was a luxury that my skin drank in. The lessons of gratitude became a recurring theme.

Glamour Shoot - With a hydrated face, despite the layers of dust on my body, I was whisked away to a glamour shot at Tickled Mink where we get to showcase our 'burner straight from Mad Max' costumery.

Cup of Joe - Naturally, in celebration of my background...well perhaps more coincidental than not, we made a pitstop to cool down with Vietnamese iced coffee and Thai iced tea.

Birthday Goodies - Of course for my sweet tooth, we stopped by the Black Rock Bakery VICE - Vietnamese iced coffee.

Traveling the playa takes a lot of patience, and traversing to the other side is like traveling to the other side of the world. No ubers, just our feet and our trusty decked out bicycles. Of course, it wasn't our first attempt but ended up being a moment of synchronicity that we encountered a moment of kindness to be ushered in as the last group, not having to navigate any long lines...

Bubble Bath Orgy - The Foam Dome (open secret of course, sponsored by Dr. Bronners) was and experience that cannot be explained. Bodies in its natural glory, undulating to tunes DJ'ed by the best in the festi scene. How best to celebrate a birthday than in my very own birthday suit. I probably wasn't the first, nor will I be the last, but it was fun being a child and having a golden shower moment, as my little secret.

Birthday Treat - Black Rock Bakery was like a siren to my sweet tooth. I got special treats and a surprise birthday song from strangers that were family.

    

 

Bon Apetit - Spoonful of Friends is Black Rock City's attempt at fine dining, hosting 50 people for a taste of French cuisine. Reservations are hard to come by like Michelin restaurants and are oftentimes made in advance of the Burn. We may have been the only few Americans among a sea of international dialects. The food seemed like a minor player in the beautiful connections being made.

Lost in the Deep Abyss of the Dust - Stretching with clouds of dust to No-Man's Land, we ended the night not letting the night end. Chasing Sabo and parties at Camp Q, exploring art installations, taking a moment at the Temple (chimera) to respect experiences of the past that shape us, and releasing any inhibitions to the guide of plant medicine, we lost all sense of time in the magic of the moment.

It may not be my last Burn, but I will never have another first Burn. A day of synchronicities, a day of abundance, a day of loving and kindness ... a dream I never dreamt. I am ME. FREEDOM!

naming names

In light of the movement with #GoldOpen to draw attention to people of color in Hollywood with the opening of Crazy Rich Asians, Kelly Marie Tran, a Vietnamese actress who had a leading role in Star Wars: The Last Jedi, wrote an oped today in the NY Times regarding online abusers and racial discrimination that resulted in her deleting her Instagram.

I am not the first person to have grown up this way. This is what it is to grow up as a person of color in a white-dominated world. This is what it is to be a woman in a society that has taught its daughters that we are worthy of love only if we are deemed attractive by its sons. This is the world I grew up in, but not the world I want to leave behind. 

I want to live in a world where children of color don’t spend their entire adolescence wishing to be white. I want to live in a world where women are not subjected to scrutiny for their appearance, or their actions, or their general existence. I want to live in a world where people of all races, religions, socioeconomic classes, sexual orientations, gender identities and abilities are seen as what they have always been: human beings... 

You might know me as Kelly. 

I am the first woman of color to have a leading role in a “Star Wars” movie. 

I am the first Asian woman to appear on the cover of Vanity Fair. 

My real name is Loan. And I am just getting started.

~ Loan (Kelly Marie) Tran 

People often ask me when I introduce myself why I did not take an American name. In high school French class, I had picked the name Anne-Marie. I had thought long and hard when applying for university whether it would be a good time to go by a name that was easier to pronounce and/or remember. I even filled out two versions of a college application with Anne-Marie on one. In my 20s, I sometimes introduced the world to Bambi (core values and full circle (part 8)) but she was more of a nightlife persona.

Although I kept my birth name for personal, university, career, etc., I did Americanize it. When we first came to the U.S., my parents in their FOB accents somehow butchered the pronunciation of my name to be 'Chong'. People from the church that sponsored us and in elementary school would refer to me as such. Of course, my parents had no foresight that 'Chong' would be a basis for childhood bullying. As one can imagine, it became fodder for the derogatory slang 'Ching Chong', which many had posted on Tran's social media accounts. On the first day of second grade when my new teacher was trying to pronounce my name, I decided to change the course of my name and said it phonetically before any of my classmates can chime in with 'Chong'.

There have been two important men in my life who refuse to call me by any other name than the true Vietnamese pronunciation of my name which is neither 'Chong' nor the phonetic version I go by now. Both happen to be white American men. One (moments that matter (part 4)) lived in Vietnam for a few years and learned the language, and the other (bubble of bliss) has lived in Asia for most of his adult life. When I first moved to Vietnam, I will admit that it took me some time to recognize when people were calling my name. As I introduced myself, it was automatic to go by the phonetic pronunciation although I was living in the country that would know the correct way to say my name. 

One of those men was baffled why I allowed people to call me by any other name than the one given to me. Even in mixed crowds, he stubbornly insists on calling me by my true name despite the looks of confusion by others who do not understand that it is my name he is using. Despite my initial embarrassment when he would do this, he is right and in hindsight, was teaching me a valuable lesson on authenticity. It really is not difficult for people to pronounce the 'tr' as 'j' or 'ch', and if a Vietnamese person can learn to say 'Kelly', an American person should be able to learn to say 'Loan'.  

bloody hell

I had a sigh of relief when the doc cleared me to go home early this morning after pulling out the vaginal packing and not seeing ongoing bleeding. The pad they had put under me was clean as I got up and got dressed. Since she was on call at the hospital, they had put a hospital bracelet on me in case I had to head to the operating room that she had booked as a default plan.

I had not eaten since lunch yesterday so stopped by Starbucks for a muffin and chai latte on my way home. With those sensitive nerve endings, I knew that there were fluids moving within my body but figured it was just the body's way of cleaning itself. I had not even touched my muffin by the time I realized that the fluid movement seemed unusually high. A quick trip to the bathroom confirmed my fears and after it seemed to stop filling up the toilet, I thought it was safe to change, including topping it off with a fresh pad.

I barely got back into bed before I felt that it had not stopped, realizing that after another toilet full of red and the dripping not stopping, that perhaps doubling up my pads may not be sufficient. I had the foresight to get a change of clothes, and started texting my friend and doc. The lack of blood took its toll and I found myself constantly sitting down to catch my breath waiting for my friend. The doc called me with instructions including calling 911 as my picture to her had her alarmed enough to not wait. As I was laying on the kitchen floor with the door open, there was something surreal about the moment that I could not place.

As 5 EMTs came in, it occurred to me that I had dreamt about this recently. At the time, I had thought it was a very odd visual memory mixed in with an entirely different theme from the dream. Luckily, my friend arrived in time of them getting me into the ambulance to coordinate. I was worried about her relatively new car and had eyed a beach towel downstairs that I was going to grab, but as they switched me to the hospital bed and I saw the bloody gurney, my first thought was that I was glad it wasn't my friend's car. The nurses had difficulty drawing three vials of blood, as the blood seemed to want to flow elsewhere. I did learn that the body can survive on two-thirds of its usual blood volume as they were discussing potential transfusion. I still had the hospital bracelet on from earlier this morning.

As with the oocyte retrieval, I went out like a light, and apparently was not aware of any update from my doc; fortunately, she followed up with a call to remind me. We had dinner plans at Lazy Bear, a fixed menu dinner that you had to purchase tickets a month in advance. I was determined to make it, as it was also a friend's birthday. In the end, I was not allowed to go and order to get rest and be horizontal. Of course, I got chastised by my brother who became my emergency contact and default family doc for not even letting him know that anything was going on. He must have informed my sister, the anesthesiologist, who advised me not to be alone post surgery.

As we had to get replacements for Lazy Bear, since two others did not want to attend if I wasn't going, as it was my event that I really wanted to experience, a few others at work had reached out to check in. I did tell him that I could have used a cuddle yesterday, before today's event. I had sent him kissing my boo-boos. He had made a point that over the years, he did not feel as if I initiated, primarily texting and in life ways rather than transactional texts. While I tend to mirror people's communications style, and had communicated that, I had heard his concerns and had made efforts since returning. We all have our lives, and he's busy acclimating to new team and new job.

I don't often reach out for help - lot of that is based on full circle (part 8). To me, communicating that I wished for a cuddle from him is initiating. Perhaps this is another episode of lost 'n found and as with that gentleman, he initiated and pushed despite my hesitation with the age difference, sometimes people do not know how they would react until experiencing it, which I understand. However, I disclosed to him what happened with the other gentleman, and he still danced the dance. A part of me is disappointed, a part of me knows to focus on my recovery. In the end, I am blessed for my friend who was there for me throughout the day, as well as very kind people who interacted with me today, from the EMTs to nurses to doctors, and my siblings, the doctors. full circle (part 7) serves as a reminder to live in the moment and not fret over a past that cannot be changed.

* * * * *

Update September 21, 2017:

It turns out I lost over 3 units of blood (or over 25%). Luckily, I did not need a transfusion but it has made my body anemic and dehydrated, causing weakness, lethargy and headaches. 😔

* * * * *

Update September 28, 2017:

In an act of kindness, the primary EMT who worked on me texted me today to check up on me. Given the sexual harassment at work (kissing my boo-boos), I initially hesitated to respond, assuming ulterior motives. I am glad I listened to my inner child and responded in kind...Law of Attraction.

chain smoking

The first time I had attended the Singapore Night Race five years ago, my memories included a sweet moment with moments that matter (part 4) and so I had associated Maroon 5, particularly the songs from their album that they were promoting Overexposed, to that moment in my life.

Although in a last minute negotiation, the Singaporean government had extended its arrangement with Formula 1 for another four years, it was promoted as potentially the last race with some marquis performers. When I saw The Chainsmokers on the lineup, as well as a friend moving to Singapore, it seemed a divine sign to make it happen.

It was a bit of a mix feeling with the association of the duo to 11:11 (part 3). However, I was determined to let it all go. I was a bit surprised when I woke up on 9/9 and received a happy belated birthday message that was sent at 1:22am his time. In all our years, I have always wished birthday wishes on his date but had never received the same until now. Perhaps it is part of the full circle.

Regardless, I had a wonderful time with one of my first friends and one of my last friends during my assignment in Vietnam. The latter was someone who had spontaneously contacted me on Facebook (ironically where he started a new role in Singapore) at the time. We marvel that we stayed in contact over the years as well as that we have no real mutual friends in the small community of expats.

He had never been to F1, and as with children, it is always a blessing to see things through the eyes of someone going through something for the first time. The excitement from the night was not limited to that though and the energy in the air that I had felt the first time I went was exponentially intense and contagious. In so many ways, the experience had a lot of full circles. While many were busy recording snippets on their phone, I marveled in living in the now and absorbing the sights, sounds and love of the night.

It was perhaps one of the best nights of my life, and maybe there is some significance to the best set that my friend recorded lasted 3 minutes and 33 seconds.

lost 'n found

A few weeks ago, I realized that (and confirmed with) my "work wife" from pig in mud (part 2) had intentionally steered clear of any serious discussions on her current relationship in fears of jinxing it as in her last relationship, whose demise resulted in a lot of eating binges, Korean dramas, sleepless nights and tears. As I was reminding her how it was a good thing that her last relationship did not work out compared to her current partner, I stopped mid-sentence when I realized that my penchant for keeping my relationships "private" (hide 'n seek) was subconsciously for similar reasons.

I ended up finishing up that conversation and advice that I had intended to bestow to her inside my own head. Over the last few months, I am learning to embrace my emotions, rather than the rational mind, choosing instead to sit with my gut/instincts/inner child. To feel ease or dis-ease. In so doing, while nothing tangible actually occurred, something did not sit right with the man from absolution. In the spirit of our pact (the truth shall set you free), each time I communicated and we discussed these thoughts/feelings, no matter how insignificant they may have seem individually. In aggregate though, I knew it was time to call it.

In the end, it was the unspoken truths (the truth shall set you free) straining to be released. He was not my first 16-year age gap, and I would never limit myself to say he's my last. Unlike moments that matter (part 4), he turned out not to be as progressive as Emmanuel Macron. Apparently, he had been uncomfortable if his friends or roommates found out that he was with a "hot older woman" as it would "complicate" his life. While he claims that he was upfront about it, the only thing he actually communicated was that my place would be more convenient in general because I did not have roommates.

The reality is that nobody was judging him except himself. In so doing, he projected that judgment onto me (reclaiming the cunt (part 3)) as somehow rationalizing to himself that his behavior was somehow "normal" and ethical. Macron blames "misogyny" and "traditional, homogenous" views in society for the negative attention they have received for their relationship compared to POTUS and FLOTUS, who have the same age gap.

"If I had been 20 years older than my wife, nobody would have thought for a single second that I couldn’t be [an intimate partner]. It’s because she is 20 years older than me that lots of people say, ‘This [relationship] can’t be tenable, it can’t be possible.' There is a big problem with the presentation of society and [how they see] the place of women."

~ Emmanuel Macron

Despite many speculating that their marriage would be short-lived when they first tied the knot in 2007, Macron refers to his wife, whom he met when he was 15 years-old, as his intellectual soulmate and confidante. He declared that he would govern more effectively if he is happy, which includes having his Brigitte by his side. While it is hopeful to see a man brave enough to live in his authenticity, it is just as cathartic to listen to the inner child and hear her voice again.

anisoptera papilionoidea

While I did a lot of thinking and research into the meaning of my tattoo, the actual design was a bit impromptu because the ones that my sister had drawn up for me were too complicated for an actual tat. So my dragonfly has butterfly antennas, which a friend has appropriately termed 'anisoptera papilionoidea'. I thought about getting it corrected while I was here; however, coincidentally, as the same friend pointed out later, my tat is unique - one of a kind.

Hoi An is a coastal town that is well known for its numerous vendors that make custom clothes and shoes within 24 hours. Although we had lists of recommendations from friends, my friend and I haphazardly navigated towards the same store over and over again. Within a 3-day period, we would stop by at least twice, usually for fittings or some other follow-up, which would result in an additional purchase each time. Another friend went with us on subsequent trips as her curiosity got the best of her, and she ended up making purchases over two trips.

It was amazing how quickly they were able to turn around hand painted silk designs. Any mistake may require a whole new silk canvas. We got to meet the designer who was working with a customer in designing her wedding dress. Not only were the designs and colors fantastic, but the 'one of a kind'-ness of each piece was the appeal for us.

Our friend who was a late convert to the shopping extravaganza remarked to others that the shop must have great feng shui. That may be the case but my explanation for the six pieces I got was that the store was my kindred spirit. While Papillon Noir is French for black butterfly, its logo was a butterfly with a dragonfly tail. Unique in its own way, but an anisoptera papilionoidea, nonetheless.

got milk?

There are obvious things that make me homesick:

• images of my nieces and nephews on skype
• my niece telling me to hurry up and come home for Christmas
• messages from friends telling me stories of their adventures (and missing their friend/wingwoman)
• messages of encouragement and enjoyment from my stupid blog posts
• messages of concern from family and friends when they haven't seen me on skype, instant message, social media, or blogging in awhile

However, there are also things that on a daily basis, one takes for granted until it is gone. Bangkok is somewhere in between the developed and third world countries. It's got all the amenities of Western lifestyle at emerging market prices. Surprisingly, these are the things that Bangkok made me realized that I miss:

• speed and fast cars - the expressways and wider streets as well as less motorbikes/scooters enable cars to go faster than the 20-30 mph in Vietnam.
• lines/queues - people actually respected this concept rather than squeezing into every nook and cranny that they could in order to get in front of you.
• mass transit - getting a taxi to get around town gets old, and sometimes I just want to be an anonymous person in a crowded car to people watch without having to sit in traffic.
• sweet fruit - there are mangos and all sorts of tropical fruit in this region; however, Vietnamese tend to eat the more sour/bland type fruits, dipping them into chili/salt or chili/fish sauce concoctions rather than eat the riper/sweeter version of such fruit.
• chains - we have KFC, Subway and Dominos, but the regulations, market protection and/or access to supplies, including distribution channel and infrastructure, have increased the entry costs for businesses like McDonald's and Starbucks. Gosh, I sure miss the Mickey D's french fries and sundaes.
• quietness - if you don't pay close attention to the words, the intonation of Thai is very similar to Vietnamese. Yet, it seems as if Vietnamese have a tendency to talk over their counterparts, resulting in everyone raising their voices trying to outdo each other. This makes for a very loud elevator ride. Thai people seemed to have a gentleness about them from their helpfulness in the outdoor markets to their tone of speech.
• array of entertainment - HCMC has a number of bars, restaurants and clubs that can keep a girl's schedule pretty busy; however, there are times where I miss having a nice lounge or places for pure entertainment such as Broadway shows, musical/variety shows and the typical red light district that is for both genders. I haven't found the Patpong of Vietnam yet.

A friend asked me this week if there are things that I miss to put in a care package. I have a wicked sweet tooth so like to bake rather than cook. I insisted on finding a place with an oven, which is not common here. I always hated the taste of milk. Growing up, mom always made us drink a glass of milk every day before going to school, claiming that milk (despite the short genes that I inherited from both parents) would make us grow. We tried everything from chocolate milk to strawberry powder to make me tolerate the taste. Yet, I still would try to find ways to not have to drink it, including pouring the glass of milk that my mother had set out before she went to work down the drain, of course until my brother ratted me out.

So it was a bit ironic that the first thing that came to my mind of what I miss when my friend asked the question was fresh milk. The pasteurized milk with shelf life of multiple months just doesn't taste the same with cereal. My baking recipes also would need to be adjusted - all of a sudden it makes sense why my friend Rae had a tough time with making cupcakes, cookies, etc. while living in France where they also had the shelf milk. I'm going to have to find guinea pigs for eating my creations while I experiment with the local ingredients in my American recipes.

Factoid: Lack of access to lactose products like dairy products has resulted in more than 95% of those in Asian countries genetically being lactose intolerant. Luckily, I can still enjoy my ice cream cravings; however, there are times where I wish my mother would accept her lactose intolerance and not subject us to the repercussions. 😜

parisian air

Hanoi is considered the Paris of Southeast Asia. During the French occupation, there were a number of structures built with the French architecture of the time. Coupled with the numerous lakes in the city, the French architecture creates a European ambiance in certain parts of Hanoi.

While I've made a couple of other trips to Hanoi for business, this was the first time I stayed the weekend and experienced more of the social scene of the capital city. Interesting enough, the city is hotter and colder than its counterpart in the south. From a Vietkieu's perspective, I would liken Hanoi to being a beautiful woman (or man) from afar until she (he) opens her (his) mouth.

They are generally friendly to foreigners, and being a city where the government is based as well as primary location for state-owned enterprises, it is generally a more political, serious, structured type city whereas Ho Chi Minh City is more 'chill' and liberal. Although there are a number of Vietkieus who come to Vietnam to flaunt, and in many cases flaunt some wealth that they don't have, there are also a large portion who come to learn more of their history and connect with their birth country. The former though give the entire category a bad reputation though. Yet I have yet to feel any discrimination from the locals in Ho Chi Minh City towards Vietkieus. Quite the opposite...in fact, many are overly gratuitous with their flattery for any Vietkieu trying to speak the language, assuming in most cases that either I'm not Vietnamese or only speak English.

So when my friend (Canadian Vietkieu) and I stayed in Hanoi, we were a bit taken aback by the rudeness to us, including pretending they didn't understand our Vietnamese for something as simple as an order of 'lemonade with ice'. I've taken years of French classes in high school and college. I was excited during my first trip to Paris to practice my skills, but soon learned that unless I spoke with the perfect French accent, the Parisians were snobbish in anyone who tried to speak the language. I have had a mental block for speaking French ever since then. Hanoi has adopted that attitude, and my friend had to remind me when I ordered dessert to just speak English, and sure enough, that was a much easier task.