fear

fear used to look like a sheikh
or any large bearded man in a long thawb
his mustache looking like two airplane wings

fear took the form of a huge eagle tattoo spreading
across the chest, accompanied by long hair
seemingly unwashed

fear was violent lashes,
foreign grounds, and names I could barely pronounce

but now fear is walking by English pubs with my British Mauritian Tinder date, waiting to find out
what the drunk white men tonight will shout
ni hao at me (a Vietnamese, by the way)
or namaste and go cut your dirty hair at him

fear is me and my Muslim dude not knowing
what and where we will be when our visa expires
so we’ll just roll a smoke and stare through the vapor

fear permeates tonight’s dining table
of you and your friends, all with unfair skin colors
gathering for some destressing, yet dreading
one of you might leave the country tomorrow after the major layoffs

the most terrifying stuff, after all,
are fears that go undiscussed

Brighton, 3/2023
–
written for my Race, Culture and the Media class

Stranger from the Internet

I’m just a stranger from the Internet
Who lives 1.8 kilometers away
Who shows up at your door like an uninvited guest
And feeds you strange food every other day

I’m just a stranger from the Internet
Who messes up your sleeping schedule
Who occupies half of your bed
After a ride that wastes your fuel

I’m just a stranger from the Internet
Who loves your crinkling eyes as you grin
Who randomly throws your name into every chitchat
Then cries my eyes out when I’m left on seen

I’m just a stranger from the Internet
Who finds you so achingly familiar
So gentle and mellow, the bestest of the best
Even potential, mayhaps, of being a keeper

So tell me, stranger from the Internet
Can you just stop being a stranger?
But if that is too much of a request
You will still be my favorite one ever.

Maastricht, 1/2019
–
the breakup poem that took me so many tears

1967

An early summer day, a 9-year-old boy fishing with his tabby
When suddenly the sky fell down, rumbling and shaky
The boy found himself at the bottom of the pond
With shattered pieces of houses, trunks, and his tabby.

The same summer day, 200 kilometers away
A calico cat basking peacefully in the sun rays
Purring with the cry of a newborn baby girl
In a house of warmth, tranquility and grace.

Fast forward through time and through space
Through warfare and hardships, through up-and-down days
The boy and the girl have found their way together
For their own kitty cat that is growing up today.

Maastricht, 10/2018
–
written for my poetry class in college

củ hành tây đột biến

(English version below)

củ hành tây đột biến
khóc lóc trên máy bay
sau mây dần tan biến
cho cơn mơ thôi dài

lặng im khép mi lại
trang sách bỗng ướt nhoà
thời gian trôi đi mãi
về đâu ngày hôm qua?

the mutated onion
crying on the plane
behind the clouds, gradually
my long dream wanes

quietly shut my lids
the words get teary
time keeps ticking away
where are you yesterday?

some people, unfortunately, are like onions. you keep peeling off their layers, trying to figure out their core, crying your eyes out in the process, only to find out they have nothing inside. I hope that all of us, including myself, are, and will find for ourselves, the mutated onions, those who have warm and loving hearts underneath.

–

viết trên máy bay từ Hà Nội đi Amsterdam, 2/2018, sau khi đọc 5 múi giờ, 10 tiếng bay và một cái khép mi

a friend from college recently sent me this reels of a giant onion, saying any time they see onion-related content now, they still think of me and this poem (which was also the first poem I ever read to my college friends).

so that was the excuse I needed to finally do this poetry-dump of pieces I wrote in college on this blog, while procrastinating.

convenience store

I spend as little as a fiver
for a bottle of enjoyment
and spend some tasteless banter
for my own amusement

I often come with plans to devour
then bring back an armload of materials
I come, even on days when I’m not sure
what I am having later?

I don’t have to spend plenty
to expect much in return
all this joy kept in frames, neatly
I would take at a swipe of the hand

no poem is sold under the label “instant”
nor love canned for convenience
but standing in front of this overwhelming illusion
doesn’t it look like I still have options?
as long as I don’t choose (to be) the bad person
who splurges half-hearted dalliance
not knowing what to get in exchange for it all

I spend tonight on a paper roll
watching my words glow
smolder, then vaporize

Brighton, 2/2023
–
this piece was originally written in Vietnamese

river of life

I dissolve into the stream,
a shifting, transient, smoke-like dream,
no swimming, no treading, just flow,
how did I get here? I do not know

the current may go either way
it still pulls me in for kisses and embrace
where I’ll end up, I cannot say,
but in the stream, I know I’ll stay

I glance up and behold the ocean
behind me, the river’s in motion
looking upstream, I seek to find,
the reason for the stream’s somber mind

Brighton, 2/2023
–
as part of the River of Life exercise
this piece was also written in Vietnamese

make a splash

If you know me, you might know that I’m super enthusiastic about dating apps.
If you know me a bit better, you might also know that I haven’t been swiping for over 5 months now.

I still receive notifications from Bumble and Tinder though – those nudges that they send you when you haven’t been back on the apps for a while.

I wouldn’t say that I wrote this piece – I just put together and rearranged words from those notifications. The words here belong to Bumble, and the illustration is a stock image. The style is inspired by (and quite frankly, stolen from) this guy who turned his girlfriend’s sleep talking into Rupi Kaur-like poems.

This is also done as a little throwback to my Bachelor’s thesis on Bumble, which was started around this time last year.

To the splashes and waves that we all wanna make.

Hà Nội, 04/2021

Unfinished

Let’s kiss
outside of the bedroom.
Let’s hold hands in public
and I’ll wear your smell like it’s perfume.

What we have is not a costume
to occasionally put on and show off.
So strip down all the labels and the acts,
stand up naked in front of each other.
I’ll write your name on my skin
and you can wear my heart on your sleeve.

I’ll try to finish this poem
as we lie in bed, under the influence
you, of alcohol and substance
and me, of the substantial thought of us.

Hà Nội, 12/2020

The city kisses me

The city kisses me
The way the autumn sunlight kisses my hair
As I cycle through the never-ending streets

The city kisses me
The way each of its corners speaks to my soul
Convincing me to find a corner for myself

The city kisses me
The way the cocktail melts on my lips
Sweet and strong and bitter, slowly, but all at once

The city kisses me
The way I long to be kissed
Sparkling in the night, exploding the silence
Unwinding the body nerves, but entangling the mind
Passion felt, scars marked, memories left behind

The city kisses me
The way you kiss me
And I might come back
For just another kiss in that city

Berlin-Maastricht, 10/2019