2018 Random Thoughts
"Learn how to see. Realize that everything connects to everything else."
Leonardo da Vinci
We are Mortals
The first month of 2018 is coming to an end, yet it has been the most thought-provoking month I had in a while. Jan 1, 2018, I took my dad to the Emergency Room for fever and chills he had. We received the news we did not expect, the CT scan shows a new tumor located where his original primary tumor was in 2012. He was in the hospital for fifteen wild days.
When people found out my dad was in the hospital, they text words of condolences, and it made me feel uncomfortable. The word "cancer," a word that many fear. Why? According to WHO 8.8 million people worldwide died from cancer in 2015, that is 1 in 6 of all global deaths. That is 16% of people die from cancer. It's a word we synonymously correlate with mortality. Death happens to all of us eventually. Knowing someone close to us who has advanced cancer diagnosis death becomes more real. We know their time is limited, but all of our time is limited. At any moment anything can happen.
"We don't get to choose our time. Death is what gives life meaning. To know your days are numbered. Your time is short." A quote by The Ancient One in the Marvel movie Dr. Strange. The day we were born was the day that we know one day we will die. Many of us don't like to think about that word. It sounds negative to say. Why must it be? It should make us value the time we have and whom we choose to use it on. Loss of a loved one is more painful when we have regrets. Did we do all we can with them or for them?
The day I took my dad to the ER, Jan 1, 2018, happens to coincide with the lunar calendar of the day my mom's father passed away. Before my mom left Vietnam to America, my grandfather told my mom to stay. He said, "I know we don't have much here but what good is the money you send me if I cannot see your face and have dinner with you? I rather eat whatever vegetable we grow and sit across from you at dinner. " He passed away a few years after she came to America, she could not afford to go back to Vietnam to see him. She loved her father; she said that my grandfather had zen and wisdom that few men have, my dad and all my uncles lacks it. She tears up knowing that she could not do more for her parents. The only thing that she could do was contribute to their tombstone. The village my parents are from has been nicknamed "The City of Ghost." Not many villagers are left and what is left are lavish tombstones. My grandparent's tombs are smaller than most of the graves there but it's still lovely is what mom said. It may sound wasteful to spend so much money on tombstones for the dead but to those whose parents passed away when they left their homeland and was never able to help their parents out this is how they pay tribute years later.
We all will lose someone we love sometime in our lifetime if we live long enough but what keeps them alive is through the stories we remember of them. Time is our friend to make memories. Macklemore song "Glorious" has a verse where he says, "I heard you die twice, once when they bury you in the grave and the second time is the last that somebody mentions your name. So when I leave here on this earth, did I take more than I gave? Did I look out for the people or did I do it all for fame?"
As we age our skin forms age spots and wrinkles, our mortality seems more real. Most of us during our lifetime will realize that with death we want to use our limited time to help others. At a young age as humans, what set us apart from animals is that we are innate helpers, we may lose sight of this with our competitive environment, but death reminds us that we are innate helpers. It's not about us.
Read:
BBC Humans
Sam: I know. It's all wrong. By rights we shouldn't even be here. But we are. It's like in the great stories, Mr. Frodo. The ones that really mattered. Full of darkness and danger, they were. And sometimes you didn't want to know the end. Because how could the end be happy? How could the world go back to the way it was when so much bad had happened? But in the end, it's only a passing thing. This shadow. Even darkness must pass. A new day will come. And when the sun shines it will shine out clearer. Those were the stories that stayed with you. That meant something. Even if you were too small to understand why. But I think, Mr. Frodo, I do understand. I know now. Folk in those stories had lots of chances of turning back, only they didn't. They kept going. Because they were holding on to something.
Frodo: What are we holding onto, Sam?
Sam: That there's some good in this world, Mr Frodo..and it's worth fighting for.
A dialogue from Lord of the Rings, showing bravery and hope. If we don't have hope what do we have left?
My Father
What to say, what to write, how do I pay tribute to the man who gave me life? Who raised me?
When someone leaves this world, a famous public figure, a tribute is given to them on the impact they had on millions. A legacy. My father is not famous, but he did have a lasting impression on at least eight people in this world, my family. It's not the number of lives you touch it is how deeply you touched them. So much of my life and my thought process is because of him.
The word wabi-sabi is how I would describe my father's life. The beauty of his life lies within the imperfections.
My dad lived in America for more than half of his life, 35+ years, yet he is not fluent in English. When I was in high school, I had a Vietnamese friend whose father took me home from school, somehow he questioned me about my dad's English speaking skills. I had to defend him. Another incident involved relatives who use my dad's education level in a heated argument that his argument is invalid because of his lack of education. Sometimes I hear other's say to my father, "You are in America, you need to learn better English."
The beauty of his lack of literacy and English skills is because he loved his family. In Vietnam, being one of the older brothers, he chose to go to work instead of school to help his family out. He does not know how to read or write well in Vietnamese. When he came to America, he worked at a minimum wage job, trying to raise a family of nine while trying to help out others even when we had nothing.
He is one of the most intelligent human beings I know. There is no street smart vs. book smart; he is just smart. Navigating the roads, traveling cross country, without knowing how to read. He does not need a GPS; he remembers direction and alternate routes. He loved to read the newspaper sports section scores. His memory and understanding of things amazed me. Ask him about the games of the day, and he would know.
Because I witnessed what he went through in his life, I know that social status, education status does not make one human better than another. To be kind and understanding to those who look different than me, speak differently and think differently. He showed me that you don't need a book to tell you how to live.
He tends to be loud, those around him thinks he lacks etiquettes. In conversations, they talk about his loudness as though his words are wrong due to the tone of it. His volume is his way of showing his pride. He stood by his convictions and stood up for my family. We cannot be bullied; he won't stand for it. His strength in standing up for his views when everyone disagreed with him instead of staying silent is admirable. The beauty of his loudness is that he had a strong sense of self.
What people view as weaknesses and imperfections, I see beauty and courage. He is my Wabi-Sabi. Even now that he is gone, he is still teaching me about death and grieving.
He is an example of the American dream, an immigrant, through hard work, paved the way for seven of his kids, who all went on to have an education that he never got. A proud, grateful Vietnamese-American. He lived more than a good life; he lived a spectacular one. He is my father, Tuan Huynh.
"Ohana means family. Family means nobody gets left behind or forgotten"
- Lilo and Stitch