If you could only travel to one place, and then never travel again, where would you go?

During my work meeting today, my boss asked us if we could theoretically only plane-travel to one place, and then never travel again, where would we go? 

"Vietnam," I said. She asked why. 

I did my best to convey the kind of longing that I've felt ever since my parents told me their stories before I turned 9 years old; how my memories of visiting the streets of Sài Gòn evoke the smells of diesel, phở, cigarette smoke, and bánh mì into an aromatic concoction that I’ve only seen tangibly replicated in the Little Sài Gòn district of Garden Grove, CA; how the ghosts of Huế accompanied me on my daily walks around Hoàng thành, the ancient imperial city that echoed ghosts of its former standing as the capital of Việt Nam, as I meditated upon the water lilies and setting sun; how there was a certain logic to the chaos of streets as xe xích lô could no longer compete with the carbon power of scooters and cars, each driver instinctually inferring how the other would move and adjusting accordingly into what could only be described as constant dissonant driving harmony, all while the two xe xích lô drivers took us on a last tour of Sài Gòn before they too were pushed to extinction; how the residuals of French colonialism echoed in alleyways that housed carts of food and drinks, vendors whisking away at their respective culinary craft as the encroaching development funded by Japanese, Korean, British and American corporations loomed beyond the rooftops; how the old woman used to visit my mother, my brothers and me at our breakfast spot, always offering us her daily batch of peanuts, us always accepting her offers until we were no longer there; how the little boy abandoned his duties to sell cigarettes, lighters, and other goods to play with me on the beaches of Nha Trang, and asked me to marry him when we both grew up so we could live together in America; how my mother, my aunt, and my uncle cried and kissed the walls of their childhood home that had been stolen from them alongside their childhood, adolescence, and dreams of growing up and old in their beloved country.

“It’s where my parents are from. I used to work there as a public health intern, and there are so many cultural and historical parts that I want to visit and appreciate if I could only visit one more time.” 

My boss smiled, as did my coworkers, and as did I. Inside, however, I grew sad. 

Because how could I ever, truly evoke the longing for a country that I know is now extinct, of a country that I could never call home because imperialism and colonialism cared not for the unity of a people but for the expansion of power, using its southeastern location as the ultimate nexus of such power? 

Because how could anyone truly understand if they had never grown up with refugees, family and friends alike? How could anyone understand the sort of pain of looming extinction via assimilation and appropriation, and the struggle of making sense of where to go as my parents and the remaining generation of người Việt leave the earth, taking their memories, hopes, and dreams with them? 

So I smiled again, as my heart grew sad, and reiterated: 

“Việt Nam, always.”

『Public Health Haiku』

What originally started out as a half-joke, half-soliloquy on Facebook back in February 29th, 2020 has now aged into something quite prophetically sad.

Below is copy & pasted from the original Facebook thread of haikus I created. Friends and family added their own, which I am not including here.

We never get funding

Coronavirus outbreak

We get blamed again

"We're all gonna die!"

Is where we are at right now

Plus stocks went down, too

Everyone panics

At the wrong fucking bullshit

Like stupid stock shares

Someone now in charge

Who thinks science is made up

Will control health comms

At what point will we

Consider human lives as

More than stock markets

Health is not money

Yet the media only cares

When money is attached

Twenty percent cut

From CDC outbreak team

Because walls, not lives

"Dow Jones dropped a lot!"

Do you think I fucking care

When people have died

It is now the point

Where my job is annoying

Dealing with fake news

Outbreak fake news from

Racist hypochondriacs

Annoys yours truly

"Asians are dirty!"

Screams the racist on the train

Looking at yours truly

So in response to

This ignorant gross asshole

I cough right on him

I worry about

The elderly and the poor

Who lack protection

How are the people

Who are old and so lonely

Faring right now?

How will the people

Who have no money or home

Find treatment, at all?

To all public health

Responders and providers

Thank you very much

So please be kind to

Those trying to help the sick

Without funds at all

Human lives must be

More than politicizing

Ego over truth

I care more about

The vulnerable and poor

In this giant mess

So save your stock share

Woes for someone else who cares

Because I will not

In epidemics

Please be kind to those who work

To protect your health

2019 Los Angeles Animation Festival

There’s a surreal moment when the emcee pauses, then precedes with “this next one has a lot of directors…” before announcing that our collective hard work garnered another award for I Never Picked Cotton (2019), which won the Silver award for “Student Animated Documentary” at the 2019 Los Angeles Animation Festival! 

Major congratulations to the Winner of this category (who was also our TA), Yuri Jan for Thread (2019), an incredibly powerful animated documentary about Korean comfort women during and after WWII. (Check out her IG here: www.instagram.com/yurssj) 

All the thanks to Sheila Sofian for guiding us here! (Also thank you Trent and Janna from Visual Communications for coming out to show your support!)

• LAAF 2019 Winners: full list

• Animation World Network: news coverage

2019 Chicago Southland International Film Festival: notes for a newcomer

On the evening of September 6th 2019, I found myself somewhere in Indiana, enjoying the comforts of a modest AirBnB. I had been invited to attend the 2019 Chicago Southland International Film Festival after “I Never Picked Cotton” had been selected for the documentary competition.

Now, punctually late 76 days later, I’ve decided to recap some observations, thoughts, and kerfuffles that aspiring filmmakers may find helpful.

From my fumble to yours, here are some notes for first-time film festival attendees:

1. Read the damn schedule correctly. I missed the giant showcase of “I Never Picked Cotton” because I missed an email about the schedule change that pushed the film 30 minutes earlier, aka FML. Also, be sure to read the descriptions of the films so you can plan your festival schedule accordingly.

2. Get adequate sleep. Festivals can be really long, and watching films one after another can get pretty exhausting. You want to get enough rest so that you can get through all of the programs and films you’re interested in. Otherwise, you might find yourself desperately needing a midday nap.

3. Prep for any potential interview or Q&A panel. If you get invited to a festival, there’s always a chance that you’ll be asked to give an interview, panel, etc. It’s a lot easier to field these kinds of scenarios if you’re prepared. Otherwise, you might accidentally drop a f-bomb in the middle of a Q&A panel when the moderator asks “what are the challenges of documentary filmmaking?”

4. Be comfortable with how you present yourself. If PJs are your thing, go for it! If you want to glam it up, go for it! If you’re got a weird eyebrow cock, embrace it! What matters is that you’re ok with how you look in the event that you’re photographed. Also, wear comfortable shoes – you might end up walking more than you think.

5. Be prepared for networking opportunities. Festivals are great opportunities to meet other filmmakers, actors, producers, and so on. Having a set of personal business cards that has your name and contact information is a lot easier to deal with than awkwardly scribbling down your contact info on a stickie note or trying to figure out which phone number corresponds to who. Plus, you might make a cool new friend!

6. Don’t assume you won’t win. Likewise, don’t assume you will win! If you’re in competition, it means that a film programmer saw something in your work. Art is wonderful and also a bit of a clusterfuck because it’s obviously subjective, so assuming rejection or acceptance before the outcome isn’t helpful. Just enjoy the opportunity to be at the festival, and make sure you’re not seated too far away from the stage when they start announcing festival winners because who knows – you might end up awkwardly taking 60 seconds to get down to the stage and then blubber something incomprehensible.

With all of that said, I’d really love to thank everyone who was involved in the production of “I Never Picked Cotton”. It was an absolutely blast and amazing opportunity to attend my first film festival, eyebrow cock and all.