365 Emotions Book Final Layout

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Book Dedication I dedicate this book to my 15-year-old self, a beautiful lost soul that almost left this world unknown. And to anyone else who feels this unspoken pain, know you’re more than enough, even if you don’t see it. Your true beauty awaits its awakening at the end of this book. 2

Artist Biography Daniel Luu graduated from UCLA undergraduate in 2019, majoring in Asian American Studies (Ethnic Studies) and minoring in Urban and Regional Studies. He also recently finished his Master’s in Urban and Regional Planning at the Luskin School of Public Af- fairs with a Certificate in Public Health Food Studies (2021). As a first-generation scholar, his focus and interest include working with the Southeast Asian community (Cambodian, Vietnamese, Laos, Hmong, Khmu, Mien, etc.) to address various social issues related to community design, financial revolution, and more. 3

Artist Biography Through Daniel’s journey, he pushes himself to further understand how urban planning, design, art, and entrepreneurship can be reclaimed by Black, Indigenous, and POC community members through storytelling, cultural arts, and the creation of alternative systems/economies. This type of work has led Daniel to find his identity and become an empowered human being working towards generational freedom and financial revolu- tion for himself, his family, and his community. Check out Daniel's other artistic works here: https://daluu.myportfolio.com/ 4

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365 Emotions: The Poetic nature of survival thirvance TABLE OF CONTENT Book dedication: ................................................................................. 2 Artist Biography:................................................................................ 3 Land Acknowledgement:....................................................................... 5 Language Acknowledgement:.................................................................. 7 Compassionate Appoarch:...................................................................... 9 Sensitive Content Warning:.................................................................... 10 Introduction:..................................................................................... 12 Letter 1: searching for self in letters Chapter 1: Upbringing from- Another world............................................... 27 Letter 2:the constant questions of “why” Chapter2: Intergenerational Blues.......................................................... 65 Letter 3: Unknown hurting Chapter3: Unpacking contradicting baggage................................................ 99 Letter 4: Unlocking potential in self-discovery Chapter 4: Repainting unexpected realities................................................ 141 Letter5: Forever is our favour Chapter5: A chance of joy.................................................................... 192 Letter6: From you, a decade ago Conclusion:...................................................................................... 255 4

LAND ACKNOW LEDEMENT Before starting to read this poetry book, I would like to take this blissful moment to graciously acknowledge I wrote the entirety of this book occupying both Ohlone and Tongva land, the sacred sites that fostered the creative thoughts to develop the courage to permanently ink my story in this lifetime through the native practice of storytelling. It was the rite of passage to dive into the sea of unknown by sacrificing the old me for a renewal in life – the spiritual connection I found when I made the conscious choice to see the sacredness of my environment. The lands and geographies where writing took place versus where I was raised unraveled a complexity that raises the critical question of how modern civilization in inner cities disconnects us from the touch of soil with our hands and soles. However, the movement between these two spaces recalibrated my mind to see beyond the box and affected the whole development process because it was a journey of self-growth in discovering what it truly means to feel a multitude of unknown emotions. The memories from the water in us showed me the truth in life because I finally touched my inner reflection with the care from mother nature to let time be patient. Land, Water, and Nature have a significant influence on our life’s trajectory, and so I urge everyone to do a little research on why we must acknowledge the Native/ Indigenous peoples (Tongva, Ohlone, and more) as the traditional land caretakers of our land because it pays our respects to the honuukvetam (ancestors), 'ahiihirom (elders), and 'eyoohiinkem (relatives/relations) past, present, and emerging. As we move towards a more equitable future, accountability must be upheld when fighting for collective care, freedom, and liberation. Acknowledgment is the stepping stone toward reframing how we think of Land, Water, and Nature. These are living beings that offer us sustenance, stimuli, and life. Although I do not have all the answers, I continue to grow through self-education, and I hope my journey can contribute to other people's internal work before external work. My privilege to have this platform in writing will always come back to pushing for justice for both the majority and minority oppressed. I hope you all can join me on this journey of self-discovery to learn, relearn, and unlearn to move beyond acknowledgment with intentionality. Land, Water, and Spiritual connections to Nature give us life. 5

365 Emotions: The Poetic nature of survival thirvance Please reference below for additional materials for self-edu- cation and exploration: What native land do you reside on? https://native-land.ca/ What indigenous readings are available? https://tinyurl.com/nativeauthors How can we support the Native/Indigenous community? https://tinyurl.com/indigenousrightscard 6

Iacknowledge that I do use Ebonics (Black Culture and Language) in my writing in specific parts of this book, not as a means to be part of the \"next trend” of slang or colloquial language. It comes out a little more presently when I read it to myself as I can hear the vernacular English of my inner voice. A practice of as- similation for survival when dealing with the pressures of street drama. Regardless of outside opinions that don’t have the full picture of me, this is the most authentic representation of me and the blending of cultures between various marginalized Black, Indigenous, and People of Color (POC) communities that I grew up in – the Tenderloin, Chinatown, Richmond, and so much more. These are the most vul- nerable inner-city communities that are often unknown to the public and forgotten because we’re painted as savages for being Black, Brown, or Golden to then be criminalized in the low-income communities we were given at birth without choice. Furthermore, I was heavily influenced by my hypermasculine environment in Amer- ican and Vietnamese culture, which led me to publicly embody certain street char- acteristics and mannerisms to avoid the very issues of being a “target” at school, on the bus, or on the street. On the other hand, being in privileged spaces like “the pinnacle” of higher education pushed me towards speaking “proper English” to do “well” in all my classes and get that “A” grade. The energy used to con- stantly change unauthentically just to fit in further distanced me from my inner spirit. Although this was my past, it heavily influences my present and future to feel outcasted when barred from opportunities in the privileged spaces I’ve accessed for jobs, education, and more. Throughout this book, my writing shifts between various voices and grammatical structures because I have occupied both spaces of resource abundance and disad- vantages. I acknowledge my privilege in accessing highly-resourced spaces like academia. As my environment changed continuously, I acted as a color-shifting chameleon, naturally adapting and camouflaging to wherever I was to survive – bringing the occasional question to mind whether sometimes the way I speak is the right way to talk at all. These are the realities I face as a young adult when navigating authentically in my skin to realize how we are so often conditioned to be “normal.” This book is the start of embracing my status in between — the feeling of limbo transforming into an invisible bridge for empowerment and shared knowl- edge by using my shape-shifting powers. I understand that this acknowledgment may not be enough for some. However, I have also come to the realization that we all live complex lives that are unexplainable at times, and I do not need to prove myself to anyone anymore. I have already proven enough by exceeding not only others’ expectations of me written concretely as statistics but, most importantly, my inner self-doubt. 7

365 Emotions: The Poetic nature of survival thirvance 8 freedom is close

365 Emotions: The Poetic nature of survival thirvance CAOPMPPAOSSAIORNCATHE As a writer, I approached this body of work by understanding that everything I put into this book portrays only one piece of my life through various complex lenses – a snapshot of where I was mentally in the moment of writing 365 Emotions. Being a transitional adult in my mid-twenties, I felt the need to process my childhood traumas before I could move forward with my life intentionally. A compassionate approach reminds me that this work embodies my growth as a young artist, and I urge readers to take the same approach when “critiquing” an artist’s work. Our stories, labor of love, and growth should not be determined by an outsider’s perspective without in-depth conversa- tional understanding. Society has taught us how to easily “critique” or give unwarranted critical praise rather than truly understand how to appreciate and build upon knowledge – the premise of listening through our hearts. I push us to unlearn and relearn as I did through writing and art – a daily practice of happiness we can’t take for granted. However, I also acknowledge and understand that different point-of-views will interrogate this body of work because the propaganda of religion, politics, and more have heavily filtered “the influence” in shaping our egos to break each other down. The traumatic ex- periences and exposures we face daily from projected societal beliefs make it difficult for our traumas to converse and dance on the aurora borealis for healing. Life, emotions, and stories are complex – sometimes, they cannot be fully comprehended through only words and text. Other artistic mediums, such as visuals, music, and more, can better portray these nuanced complexities. Regardless, I believe we are all born beautifully pure from the stardust of supernovas to be innately good people and light beings – making any civil con- versation from a place of compassion a catalyst for productive inner growth in spirituality. Everything in life, including ourselves, are works in progress that sometimes need post-ar- ticulation and post-rationalization through reflection. The beauty of art when learning how to embrace all of our imperfections is a way of truly loving ourselves and our organic thoughts, like how all circles are not perfectly round but uniquely oval. As we let our body naturally work to its truest form, our senses will innately let us know when 9

365 Emotions: The Poetic nature of survival thirvance something is finished. With compassion, we grow to be a better version of ourselves without inflicting more harm and trauma on top of the ones we continue to heal through our artistic works. Therefore, whenever I revisit this piece of work, something always changes with my thoughts and perspectives because we as humans are dynamic; I am never who I was yesterday. My emotions and I are forever growing each day, revealing the different layers of this body of work through reflections. A belief in each other is the start of co-sharing confidence to reach infinite heights. SENSITIVE CONTENT WARNING This poetry book includes writing, text, and discussions around topics such as sexu- al assault, domestic violence, physical violence, identity-based discrimination, and many other traumas related to systemic oppression, as well as complex community dynamics. This content may be difficult to take in and digest, so please take breaks in between to care for your safety and well-being when needed. Remember that self-care is the foundation of the ongoing work for self and collective liberation. 10

So what does freedom really look like to you vs. me?

0 Through this journey in writing identity was something I was constant- 365 Emotions: The poetic nature ly told not to pursue — the same one of survival and thrivance, challenges I was told would not keep my family were inevitable but I proved a lot of financially sound. The propaganda from people wrong in what I can accomplish, racial capitalism strikes fear in Black, most importantly, I proved my inner Indigenous, and POC individuals to doubt wrong because I never considered think there is only one way to succeed, myself an artist, nevertheless a poet. I all while policing others who stray perceived the label of an artist as being away from the norm of educational suc- only those recognized by mainstream cess. This glorified and romanticized media, but that brings to question why educational path is a mechanism to box I was conditioned to believe this grow- people into a tunnel-vision future to ing up. Instead, art became my way to be people-pleasing workers who follow heal and understand everything through individualistic values. These practices my own creative process and mind — again further disconnect us from our a hobby for senseless healing that kept most authentic selves. me sane through the everyday struggles of poverty, trauma, etc. It took me to this current moment to finally claim my identity as an artist. As I stum- bled upon abolitionist seminars with like-minded artists and perspectives, I soon realized my spiritual and em- powerment identity was disconnected due to societal devices of productivity and capitalism that make the public subconsciously take art for granted. As we are disconnected from ourselves, we lose belief in ourselves. This artistic 12

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not questioning will it twist or turn we are like flowers we experience the emotions of the four seasons. As I come to this revelation a unique lense that processes the of being an artist, I also outside world in a different me- believe that everyone is innate- dium that can never be identical- ly an artist because we have all ly replicated – remembering art done art to some capacity as a is merely the target while holis- child through music, writing, tic growth through the journey movement, drawing, and more. is the goal. In all, art is one of It is a matter of fact whether we the rarest productions that gift are ready to claim this artistic this world with collective care to and spiritual identity for our- grow through compassion. It is an selves. Reconnecting with our embodiment of emotions, and like spiritual self through the muse of any art medium, it is layered; the art unlearns the mechanisms of layering symbolizes our complex capitalistic productivity. It also emotions. Once deeply reflected unravels our deepest emotions upon for internal healing to be from past, present, and future comfortable in our own skin, it to see art is more than an out- builds a path to creatively rethink come, but a perspective on life society to dream of a new future – “art imitates life.” When we that abolishes oppressive systems. claim this artistic identity and our genius, the artistry is not about the production of art, but instead being able to see through 14

But what if it doesn't ? Through perspective and money as life's energy because everything is energy This poetry book is my journey to heal and understand my emotions as I actively address my lingering childhood traumas that were exacerbated during the COV- ID-19 pandemic. Some of these stories were merely thoughts that stayed silent in the unlit mind for years, thinking they would never be shared to see the light of this world. However, God shined the light on me to find my “ikigai” — to think further than monetary values by tapping into the intrinsic purpose of healing and telling a passionate story from my heart. Consequently, I wrote spoken words, diary entries, letters, and poems to learn, express, and be a role model to my past self – a younger me that yearned for guidance when lost. I revisited what I ran away from for years, my own being. Tired of running towards nowhere, so I began looking deep within my wounds to know suffering – an attempt to finally save myself from my other self to find my true self. Each chapter tells a beautiful story of struggle that evolves with time to show the emotional maturity and personal development that develops through writing and deep reflection. In this world, we first learned through storytelling, such as folklore narratives similar to our Indigenous and Native communities. I hope my writing wields this ancestral power with grace to tell a story that shares knowledge, care, and empowerment because “a wise person learns from another’s mistake,” another’s story. Overall, my writing in this book is an encapsulation of my journey in embracing my struggles as well as cherishing life’s blissfulness 15

Daniel Luu





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365 Emotions: The Poetic nature of survival thirvance letter 1: searching for self in letters (younger daniel to older daniel) dear Daniel, Am i valid? am i enough? am i worth anything? to this world...to you...to me... why do i seek approval from others for this feeling we call “happiness?” from those i don’t even know… no Matter how many accolades, trophies, and certificates i receive I still fall short of feeling like i’ve done nothing right my questions of uncertainty leave me unsure of what an accomplishment truly feel like Worrisome thoughts accompanied by a colorful spectrum of unexplainable anxieties for my presence and my Own existence doubting every step i make, afRaid of taking all the wrong ones as i pace back and forth in circles with cluttered negative Thoughts paranoia soon triggers my fight or flight to protect something…to hold onto just one thing How do i continue like this if my constant thoughts linger in isolation? the loneliness of no solitude with an inner voice repeating: “I don’t know…i don’t know…i don’t know…” am i becoming who i truly “want” to be in this one life? Till we write again, daniel luu my questions of uncertainty leave me in isolation AM I WORTH IT 24

Hai Đời Khổ (two lives of suffering) giờ mơ dạy, con lớn trải qua bao nhiêu ngày đêm sáng mà nói lời yêu còn khó when time wakes from its dream, i grow up experienced so many nights and days but saying i love you is still hard 25

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365 Emotions: The Poetic nature of survival thirvance Chapter 1 upbringings from 27

365 Emotions: The Poetic nature of survival thirvance Chapter 1 another world 28 i’m building generational freedom

365 Emotions: The Poetic nature of survival thirvance Chapter 1 : upbringings from, another world the prisms of straight lines we’re contained within smaller than a chinese to-go box for your friday night lights shining brighter from the magical wo oden box with a fuzzy screen ... far away from the “it’s so fluffy” scene flickering the channels like a haunted ring coming out of the box with scary glowing eyes from the blank space of darkness on a daily repetition of halloween 365 times a day, 365 days a year… our greatest fears begin to grow as the claustrophobic tunnel shrinks with hate to isolate closure… a village’s tribe gaslighted to be burnt to the ground by -isms as we look at the multiplied reflections of self-hate the very ones we can’t bear to face – our inner beast i start to think, if we don’t love ourselves how do we expect to love each other? 29

cloaking our traumas with a blanket over our head the sound of water washes our ears the rain overworks our mind and our mind is a river being drained… hot desert daze pulls the plug on a harmonic dream once dreamt to feel from overseas the other side i hoped to see but instead, we stand in front of blinding red trucks’ yellow lights losing hope like a baby deer struck by thunder strikes from the white man‘s black belt roadkill on the corner block and the only block we’ll ever see in this hole down deep where the sun doesn’t shine but the stars soon align for a faint connection with life’s direction towards light from the dark tunnel we live, but... nocturnal, we become our own shadows can we simply live life more than r u n a w a y s? i can’t fully forgive myself for the hate i see in me like parasites in a luxurious home eating away the pearl insides of our invisible bridge the “never to come” peace keeps us separated a wall within our walls, we will soon dissipate like ashes... 30

a product of poverty how many times do i not hear you? come running down twenty-third every day every night speeding on our c r a c k e d road so kindly disrespectful as a guest screaming and shoung with your diaphragm in our neighborhood at the top of your siren horn lung lights blinking at my eyes for an epilepsy seizure to past away we become ghosts… not to be normalized, but it starts to become normal and i ask, do the sirens go unnoced? ongoing mass producons of paranoia sculptures falling into deep slumber no welcoming at ease, just a series of anxious emoons l untreated... feedom is near 31

i subconsciously internalize my fears of the demanding auditory lion roars night howlings reminding me only of trouble when hearing the authoritave pig “protection” devices hidden to roll the dice for the very plausible moments of \"am i a problem?” why ask if i know the predetermin ed results of a system’s four-move checkmate the constant surveillance om the state in us feels like god’s hands ready to crush our people at the gates of golden bridge in Đà Năng thinking we’ll walk into the comforting touch of heaven in the mountains but rather left with a lingering worry of, “when will i get caught?” for any dirt they can miraculously dig up om our graves as an enforced grudge that cost our lives – a “behind the scenes” expectation... constant delusions pretend sleep in my brain as inflamedmigraines overnight burn new scars every day a ringing of old scars covered up with foundaon a makeup for the mistakes the system planned for me to make 32





365 Emotions: The Poetic nature of survival thirvance muni hopping with a few bucks saved om skipping school lunches overpriced garbage not even enough for one’s head no more expected for one’s stomach a colonized plate devouring a human’s diet the intestines inside us swell to grow mutated octopus arms like kraken gone wild... while in bed, explicitly hidden to wickedly park a landfill island in our digestive system outside systems controlling the body as a vessel sailed toward new slums om past ones the public menace of blight putng lead paint on tomatoes to look red something not worthy of respect, just some chow down for a lling they said meals rather eaten at a fast food stop...7/11, 24/7...resulng in depression but a little better than no better cardboard pizzas, not the boxes they said 33

bart hopping to be more than a city-issued ticket lying for an only soluon of over-policing rather than access havoc a ruckus of consequences, but a secret to never be told just wanted a free ride home to motherly care...is that too much to ask? punitive measures on paper to steal the few bucks we starved to save we soon smile at the disposable camera for the files of our arrest a scheduled mugshot to dispose of us with candle lightings at the flickering street light corner as the blinking eye of the white pedestrian sign watches our every move we pray the dimmed fluorescent hues won’t suddenly hit an “outage” midnight midday ‘cause it’ll prolong the cold winter waits for an overly-delayed bus that seems to “accidently” drive by us once every day reflecting on the normalized past to process this chapter fifteen sleeping on the late-night bus ride home om school and work didn’t see the struggle as much as what the faithful niners saw in me 34

san francisco ain’t the same as the one i have grown to known ...a windy city blowing goodbye kisses... because techies on a manic episode addicted to coding the color green...self-imposed... worst than t h e n e e d l e s o n t h e s t r e e t ... reconstructing the social laws with more policing in skyscraper blimps a cooperation with the feds fueling terror in my city tearing up every naves’ heart to start world war iii the labor and love that made this city...diminishes through colonial surveillance a designed metamorphosis of the “white man’s burden” from then to now... to commit rich crimes in pure daylight while i connue to ride the city bus to a supposed “paradise” 35

freedom is close 36 freedom is close

365 Emotions: The Poetic nature of survival thirvance comparative deterioration in everyday competitions compared by the rough, ashy hands of heavenly gods when barely sprouted to know left malnourished without the much-needed compassion for a baby seed to grow under the pavement hoping to c r a c k to peek a glimpse of the concrete jungle past the conditional feelings of being loved and freed during the harvest seasons crickets begin to chirp away the “i love you’s”... so they begin to slowly fade into “the moon is beauful, isn’t it...” small dosages of care in vitamin d pinned to a catch 22 of ulmatums a crime clue lead towards uncontrollable heights where warming sunlight rays lay comfortable beds — “visually” perceived... as the addicon heaave high dries, the illusion in darkness to be a rose from concrete becomes only a lucid dream to be wished upon a meteor shower of shooting stars is this what it feels like to nally dream of something other than a pitch-black screen? 38

when almost fully grown at twenty-five in life a giant again repeatedly shrinks the mouse to bite-size emoons the crumbles of a sweet cookie too stale for an ant’s appete rather consumed and devoured alive in the aosphere of toxici leaving a sour patch kid taste in one’s mouth with the expected sweeess never to come... turning a sugar rush high into an unpleasant green avor of disappointment as unripe bananas monkey-jump and climb on one’s tongue recreating dramatic flashback scenes from the movie “my life” on screen “how do i feel so migh small? when i’m struggling to feel at all? tape measured to be psychologically lesser physically shorter ... than the firstborn goldenchild i inevitably strived to be unauthentically me in everypossibleway meeting my contradictions halfway om the mandatory sports obligaons to the tradional 9 to 5 idea of success my “traditions” stopped me from becoming what i’m supposed to be 39 freedom will come

i prolonged my gracious pain as my imposter sings in its head voice starting to hate myself from only seeing what i lacked twenty-five years of not being enough... with repetitive, intrusive negave thoughts, “am i ever enough?” always second place, first to lose to be put in place stunting my growth, i fall short to please the ones i love the functionality of a doorknob 40

we live in a world where design is assumed like dream don't sleep 41

365 Emotions: The Poetic nature of survival thirvance a role never to be filled 2, 3 jobs extracting energy from being a dad i wanted to know... a chef never home for when i was awake in my adolescence fading permanent memories of the late-night pizza-stench shirts and morning gas station legos the little-to-no interactions left me feeling empty on my own in anguish... a life matrix i was afraid of exploring all alone... in queue for this thing called “success” i start to blame this world for what i was given... the demons i still sit with at recess so i block out the outside voices to only hear my inner cry no role models in my buds, j.cole’s thought-provoking speech lyrical to my soul confused with no one else to be consoled... a first-timer to the feeling of anger to displace my emoons with a dagger to another’s heart as explosive fireworks spark like machine gun sounds bombing the border of vivid dreams alive ...from a jungle war to a concrete war... the hate i’ve been holding onto for generations is my confused love with lost 42

limbs from the heart it grows heavy as it suffers in pain yelling at this world i am a direct product of these wars... two, three jobs without recognition as society strips away adolescent to young adult, mom was always there an unsung hero without our family name unconditional love at every moment every day singing a piano-violin duet — the harmonizing lullabies to my sleep ll i rise school, bart, kitchen — all falling through the branches ll this day ...into place the “tradional roles” chronological mandatory tasks for mama’s recipe slurping on soup and chopsticking rice; an end day’s remedy a mommy’s boy , but wanted to be grown on my own no public hand-holding; a manly pride breaking the man in the mirror glass shattered with a self-perpetuated iden as a popular loner the only identity given to me as i buy into the intimidation of societal lies to never cry when starng to walk my path alone like a wolf shunned by an avalanche in the white artic snow my mixed emoons exerted to be gone, but never known because attachments few but strong, nevertheless, suppressed and gone 43

not questioning will it ist or turn but am i outgrowing everything i’ve known for this rite of passage? the white-influenced patriarchal manhood i subsconsciously consumed... printed into the transcripons of my brain...emotionally tattooed getting it wrong to myself, i walked away... fearful of my anxieties or courageous with my will? i still tried to unlearn and relearn a proper man’s way scratching out the mistakes on my esh like lottery tickets hoping i’ll win better days, but i don’t sleep how it used to be like the newborn mes of yesterday at chuck e. cheese piling up willy wonka’s counterfeited golden tickets that averages out our worth to a negative-sum making us feel worthless to everyone including ourselves the reinvented me sll see the complicated dominance i thought i erased but can these thoughts truly ever be wiped away for a clean slate? “home” lives a dierent culture...one, i still don’t completely understand... in a place where roles follow discipline — no words out of order... diving deeper into the imagination abyss seeking peace in art till i nd the right way to carry myself free a role model for the young kings and queens who i see repeat the cyclical lifestyles of struggle like the younger me... drenched in mud a similar pain i felt and dealt with growing up like it was just yesterday... 45

365 Emotions: The Poetic nature of survival thirvance 45 what if it doesn’t?

365 Emotions: The Poetic nature of survival thirvance imagine a landline ring from another universe... secludedly hidden by design under the nose to be unexplored... ...even with the “trustworthy ashlight” a ufo beaming through the softly tinted car windows to feel the intution of despair ‘cause ironically, the aliens speak the anglo-tongue starting and ending in a generic robotic tone from the cold depths of this hole on the other side of these concrete walls trespassing telepathy to “intimately” feel the souls of purgatory yanking at my heart as forceful chains cut off my blood flow abruptly halting the rhythmic beat inside our own home raiding our sacred peace ...our sacred grounds through the telephone... “they so-called made...” regardless of where my heart stands in line, in order i unwillingly accept an outsider’s self-invitation in with muddy shoe imprints blemishing the clean cream carpet floors with cystic acne as cortisol levels rise in defeat to feel the physical and emotional stress of an experience never to be cleansed away... the owning hyperpigmentation of brown scars on my blank face spills the british tea with an unwritten genocide of my people...simply forgotten... 47

inickingagain and now. lost in translation as the vietnamese words stumble over to mom “ba ain’t coming home...” abducted by the red, white lights above om the smurfs in blue flying their bikes high the imagery been my left and right eye begins to disarray into a desaturated gray like ripped up family photos of an old scrapbook bagged up and boxed away a complex collage of emoons spirals downward m out-of-control tv drama episodes dropping off a bag of mundane abstract art in our unrecorded reality show to ask in an undertone, what can we really do? 48

naivete left us stranded in the waiting room... an island of desperation clogging our hearts with a matter of minutes to solve jigsaw puzzles till a massacre chainsaws all of our happy memories... i then hastily play “their game” of a cynical escape room overnight – losing sleep – to decipher the rubik’s complexity of bail bonds at the age of thirteen... the manifestation of squid games in a cubicle-size laboratory with all squares being white there was no room for emotions to sit an othering design to isolate in dim stage spotlights my face turns red and my skin turns orange as i ponder in a zoo pool of exhibitions, the pain tranquilizes the inflammation in the brain i inevitably numbed what it meant to cry... across these patchy white walls lay cons behind metal bars hypnoze to think otherwise my head swings on a thread of the grandfather clock to sleep the wait for the next school bell release no ringing sound all day through my muted eardrums a surrender to despair to physically feel the numbing sensation as the only thoughts i felt at the me... what job will i need to take on if ba was never to come home again... 49