Every year my family and I would take camping trips to El Capitan State Beach. We would wake up early to try and reserve campsite 101. It had the biggest lot, with a huge tree casting its perfect shadow on our tent. We were lucky, the odds were in our favor. My sisters and I with our phones and iPad’s, my parents with their phones and laptops. The drive was short and beautiful, 2 hours of the cliff view of the bay, then the ocean. We would help our parents set up the tent, unpack the car, and quickly run to the cliff view of the beach. It was so surreal, you could see the seaweed crashing through each wave, people under their umbrellas, and maybe if you’re lucky dolphins. There was a bench there. It was a wooden one, weathered and aged. I sat there with my youngest sister, my mom, or both. And we would talk. About anything, with the white noise of the waves, people, and the cries of seagulls. With the luminescence from the sunset, fading blue, yellow, orange, back to blue from the vast ocean. The ocean who holds all our secrets, the bench who only listens, and the sun who creates the atmosphere. Where I feel safe, nothing can hurt me despite the lack of railing, and where the sun emits its light on the people I love most in the most beautiful way possible. 

Youngest Daughter

2:40 hits and it is time for my dad to pick my youngest sister up. He gets in the car excited to see his youngest daughter, rushing trying not to be late. 

It’s useless, I tried but to no avail

She gets in the car walking away giggling at her friends. How was your day baby? No answer. Just shrugs. Are you hungry? Want to see what Daddy bought you? No, she says annoyed. Are you sure? It’s your favorite. I said no. Feeling tired and defeated, he stops trying, wondering when this all started. 

I am horrified at everything I hear

The youngest daughter lost her way

Every day repeats itself again

They arrive home, no sweet thank you or kind smile. Just face down on her phone. He takes off his shoes, disappointed. Disappointed that his youngest daughter grew up so fast like the rest of her sisters, that she no longer has time for him. That she is no longer his baby anymore, the one who used to laugh with him when his other daughters wouldn’t, ask about him when his other daughters wouldn’t, and care about him when no one else cared.

The cycle of our misery, it drives us all insane

Please come home

He watches her drag her stuff into her room, closing the door, not looking back. He takes out the 2 sandwiches he bought earlier, one for him and one for her. Places them both on the counter, next to his respective seat then next to hers. Unwraps the paper sleeve, missing the crinkle and the chatter coming from the left of him. Missing his daughter. 

Every day that you don’t call her

I can feel it

You’re coming down

Baba

We call her Baba because my cousin Destiny couldn’t pronounce the ngoại in bà ngoại so Baba it was. She can not speak English despite being in the US for decades. She watched all of her grandchildren during the day when their parents were at work, up until they reached to age to go to school. She fed them, changed their diapers, and most importantly taught them Vietnamese. Simply phrases and pointing, then labeling and pronouncing, she wanted her language to live. Eventually, she sadly let go of each one of them, September was always the hardest month for her. Baba watched as her grandchildren learned English. Slowly the Vietnamese faded away because there was no use for it in public school. Watching the conversations fall to basic words, she feels saddened. Her hard work is all gone, her culture gone. Now her whole family talks in this language, like a puzzle she figures out the pieces. Some are familiar some not so she chooses to sit on the high stools, while everyone else sits at the dining table. 

𝜗𝜚

I see younger kids these days buying skincare products, expensive makeup, and workout clothes. Essentially things that 10 year olds do not need. Older generations like to judge them but we are to blame. For promoting products that are useful to my generation but they are the targeted demographic. Brands target the most vulnerable and easily influenced. In a way we are hypocrites, judging them for acting older while we easily give into things because they make us feel sentimental. Silly toys, watching TV shows made for children, and the one that I’ve seen the most recently, adding dainty bows to everything. When we were younger all we wanted to do was to grow up and now that we’ve reached this point, we feel full regret. Regret for wishing for responsibilities that feel so much bigger now that it is in our hands. How do we cope with that? By subconsciously drawing closer to things we used to see in our childhood. Adding small bows to everything, calling ourselves silly. But really we just feel a universal regret, concealed by our desire to mature faster. 

The Day My dad Sold His Truck

My dad sold his truck today. He loved that thing, the huge wheels, black windows, and custom spray-painted red parts. It sat on the driveway, day through night waiting to be used. Maybe on a lucky Saturday, my Dad would take it to Costco or maybe it’s a holiday and his brother invited him to his house in the rocky desert. It was only useful when we were out there, rolling over stones like it was nothing but, we lived in the city. No use for a bulky truck taking forever to find big enough parking in a tight plaza. He still cherished it, that’s why when he said he was going to sell it, my heart dropped. The realization of why hit me right then and there, the significance of my age got to me. I had been talking about driving and the process of getting your driver’s license. He knew that one day he would have to sell his childhood dream for the sake of his children. But seeing him ask if we wanted to take one last drive in that truck broke something inside of me. Who was I to take this short-lived dream from him? We never did take that one last ride in that truck because we all forgot and my Dad did not want to bother us. How could I forget the sacrifice he made? They took that truck late at night. Handing in the keys and attaching it to the tow truck, he saw it fade away down the street.