Axolotl Love – a short story

Hi! I’m Tamaki, an axolotl currently living in captivity in a lab at Saigon University. I’m the lab pet and everyone LOVES me, perhaps because of my unique coloring – purplish pink! That also might be why I was kept alive and not used for research. Eek! Or perhaps it’s my dashing personality and ability to listen to people – I understand (you can see it in my eyes) but never talk back and I never tell a soul what is told to me. Mum’s the word with me, that’s how you build trust! 

A lot of people come in and out of my lab, some drop in for a few months and never come back. Very sad-making for me sometimes. However, three have remained consistent in my life and have always come back! I guess you can say they are my caretakers. Nick is the head of the lab – he’s very stern and serious, rigid and inflexible about his work. A lot of people don’t like him because of this, but I get where he’s coming from. His work could save lives someday so he takes it very seriously.  He’s probably the reason I’m still alive today as he’s the only one in the lab that could allow a pet. Bobby comes in every night and cleans the lab – he’s really handsome, charming and funny and works really hard too. And then there is my favorite, Tina! She feeds me. If it were left up to Nick, I’d be a bag of sticks and cartilage right now. She also gives me lots of snacks: brine shrimp, blood cubes, California blackworms, you name it. I can tell that she really loves me. What’s not to love?!

Speaking of love, I’m no love expert, but I think this is how it goes. Bobby loves Tina, Tina loves Nick, and Nick loves… well, his work. And me. Why else would he have saved me from the perils of lab experimentation? 

That kind of love is different from the love Bobby has for Tina. They have been friends since childhood and he’s always had a secret crush on her. She was actually the person who got him this lab cleaning job when he was down on his luck. He’s a serial entrepreneur but the problem is he’s always just too damn nice and trusting. Perhaps because he lost his dad at a young age and his mom sent him to go live among the priests at a convent. He’s been cheated and scammed by his business partners so many times that he’s become disheartened and has temporarily given up on any of those entrepreneurial dreams for the time being. He’s gone back to a type of monastic life of living simply and appreciating what he has. His “friendship” with Tina being one of those things. He’s never expressed his romantic love for her outwardly, but she can tell it’s there.  Although she generally tries to be in denial about it most of the time because those feelings are unrequited. It’s complicated. She cares for him a lot: he’s her best friend, her confidante, the person she is most comfortable with. Like your favorite pair of socks. But she has her heart set on Nick. And for a really stupid reason, I’d tell ya.

One day while they were working in the lab late together, Nick asked if she wanted to go grab a quick bite and then return to the lab. As they were leaving they both reached for the door and his hand landed on hers, completely cupping it. This is the first time they had ever physically touched and although it could have meant nothing to Nick, to Tina it was everything. She felt her heart flutter. You see, Tina grew up in a very strict family with an overbearing, hovering mother. Her dad had passed away when she was a child and her mom was left to raise her with the help of her large extended family. Not only were they Catholic, but they were also Vietnamese. Which meant that a girl’s innocence was of the utmost importance to maintain. She wasn’t allowed to date until after college, or speak to boys for that matter, she wasn’t allowed to watch anything that had kissing scenes, and she wasn’t allowed to wear any clothing that showed her shoulders or legs. And being the goody-two-shoes that she was, she happily abided by these rules. All except for one, she loved watching romcoms and would secretly watch them at night on her laptop while her mom was sleeping.  Some of her favorite movies to name a few were When Harry Met Sally, Sleepless in Seattle, Annie Hall. 

So you can see why this simple interaction with a man she looked up to and admired so deeply for his work threw her for a loop. After that, they would often go grab quick dinners together when working late. She thought of these as little dates and would look forward to them, disillusioned by the romantic comedy plots she was so fond of. He wasn’t dating anyone else (mainly because he was so obsessed with his work and didn’t have time for it) so he enjoyed her company – it was easy and convenient for him. She took this as a sign of commitment and fidelity even though he had never openly expressed his feelings to her, she knew deep down inside that he cared for her. Why else would he invite her out to dinner every night? She enjoyed working beside him in the lab toward the same, bigger cause and felt connected to him for this reason. Plus she found his mad-scientist vibes to be super sexy.

So now that you have everyone’s background, let’s get to the real part of the story. I’d say more about Nick, but honestly, even though he’s like a father to me I don’t know him that well. He doesn’t talk to me much, but that’s okay – I know he loves me. He’s just too busy doing more important things. Sometimes I think about how it involves killing my fellow axolotls and it’s a bit frightening. I try to push that all to the back of my cute little head. But I digress – on with the story. 

One day, I saw Papa Nick look at me and stare at me for a loooooong time. It seemed like forever and was kind of awkward. I just continued to do my thing, hamming up how much I loved that bloodcube he had just given me. I wonder what he was thinking while looking at me so intently. And then Tina came in and started arguing with him. I couldn’t quite get the entire story but she was trying to convince him not to do something. She kept saying “Don’t do this, it’s not going to make a difference.” And then she pointed at me and said “But look at him, he’s so cute!” I thought to myself, this is not looking good for me. Did Nick want to use me as a research specimen? I thought he loved me, but it turns out I was just as disillusioned about Nick as Tina was. From what I could gather from the rest of their conversation, he had only kept me alive all this time because I exhibited special qualities that would be useful to his research at some point and the time had come. If I could insert an emoji here, it would be that crying one. Not the one with just one tear, but the one with two thick blue lines of tears streaming down, mouth wide open – the shocked, sobbing one! 

They argued for a while longer. I half expected Tina to say something drastic and dramatic like “I’m going to break up with you if you do this.” But alas, she said none of that for I know she did not love me as much as she loved him. But she also was still not privy to it all – just a lost, convoluted, naive soul so I could not blame her. They both left for yet on another disillusioned dinner date.

I sat there for a long time in existential turmoil.  Thinking to myself about how odd life is, we’re all in our little cages: thinking our own realities represent the truth, thinking that we know others and we understand the world. But we know so little about each other – even those we are close to. And sometimes we even know less about ourselves. We see what we want to see. I had always thought I was special – the special purplish pink kind, cute and coveted. But it wasn’t that at all. They had just kept me for their own purposes. And we do that a lot, we all serve some sort of purpose for one another. And it’s nice when it results in mutual happiness, but many times it’s one-sided. Especially in these types of caretaker relationships where it’s hard to parse out sometimes because of the huge difference in power dynamic between caretaker and caretakee.

And so I had gone through all the steps – denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and as I was starting to lull my way into acceptance – Bobby comes in! It was time for his nightly shift. I was so happy to see him knowing that it might have been my last. I ran to the glass and smushed my little face on it and he smiled back at me. He probably thought I was just asking for a treat, but I really was just saying my goodbyes. Then something strange happened. A huge, strong hand descended upon me and lifted me out of my cage. I was then carefully placed into his pocket where he had put some cushy cotton balls for me to lay on, it was like floating on a cloud. I felt like I had died and gone to heaven. Thankfully not literally! I knew better than to squirm around and stayed very very still. For the rest of the night, I went around with Nick cleaning the rest of the labs. A bit of a bumpy ride, but I enjoyed myself. Listening to the soundtrack of his humming while he cleaned and occasionally talking to me or to himself. I didn’t care. I finally was out of my cage, not even realizing up until that moment I had ever been inside of one. Queue my favorite song from the Killers – “Coming out of my cage and I’ve been doing just fine. Gotta, gotta be down because I want it all!” La la la la…

I fell asleep dreaming of my future, new life with Bobby. When I woke up, we were at Bobby’s place. I heard a familiar woman’s voice. It was Tina! Apparently she was the one that told Bobby to save me. How else would he have known that I was about to become research minced meat? She gave me a brine shrimp snack and I lived happily ever after in my new, shiny cage.

English 1B — final project — mother poem compilation

Glisten

Pandemic forced us to drive

Twelve hours forever up the five

Through California Oregon Washington

Loaf of rye bread on her lap

and raw ginger in her hand

Chewing, taking naps, closed eyes

Foot on the dashboard taps

The motion makes her sick

Worth it for the snow 

White, fluffy, thick

Glistening in her eyes

She told of trying times

A thousand worse than mine

Humanity on the line

 

Man Overboard

She had once saved a man

On her journey from Vietnam

His name was Quang

His family had given his uncle gold to buy his ticket

But his uncle had shaved some off the top

And so Quang was short and they threw him overboard

Seeing this, she quickly offered all the gold 

she had brought for her own journey

to this stranger — compassion kindness

He was grateful to her

so she gave him her heart

‘Til death do they part

Little did they know

It was doomed from the start

 

Signal

Sickly sucking sour limes

Twenty days at sea

Rocking, rising, roaring

Shaky flooring

Small wooden boat, 

like sardines tightly packed 

Prisoner of the waves

Stench, suicide, shark

Yet “not all those who wander are lost” 

– but some really are lost

out of food, out of water

Sick of the shelter sea

Scout skills: sending signals, sewing flags

T-shirts doused in oil, on top of the boat

Survival flames ignite

She waved them in the night

Telling of their plight

Finally Kilauea spewing 

hope and sun 

on fateful day 

twenty one

“The [road] less traveled by 

And that has made all the difference” – Robert Frost

 

Singapore

Waiting for sponsorship in Singapore

Waiting to move once more 

to the land of the free

home of the brave

All her gold she gave away

Still making it day by day 

Happy to be alive

Content to survive on four dollars a week

Weekly stipend on which to depend

A pig’s head she ate – dense in fat, high in calories

Dreaming happy memories

When rice was scarce but with her family

 

New York

Her and her new beau, opportunity in tow

Mind elated as the elevation grew high

Soul touching the sky, stomach laying low

How would their sponsor be?

Rough, scruffy, and tough 

Kind, gentle, and meek

Either way, anything goes

As if they had a choice anyway

In life, all is fated — elated

But she would not know that day, the sponsor never showed

Landing JFK, they met a stranger, he helped them find the way

He paid for their hotel where kindness and fortune fell

And now she needed a new voice

And once again her eyes became  moist

 

The Ring

She’ll never forget the ring that he stole from her

To give to another

He said it was the kindness of his heart

But was it just lust?

After all she had done for him

How could he?

 

It was just as much about the love as it was the pride

At some point they had a child

And they exchanged rings with hurtful smiles

It forever weighs on her heart, 

sinking and heavy in the darkness of the sea

like on that 20th day before love came spewing

 

Wedding Day

I asked “mommy, is this your wedding picture?”

She was wearing a white traditional Vietnamese dress and veil

She said it was her first communion 

And I believed her because I also had a first communion, 2nd grade

Where I wore a white dress and a veil

My uncle told me the tale later — and it was her wedding

But out of wedlock, she would not talk

 

Alone

At first it was just my mommy and me

My mom, I call her mẹ

A heavily pronounced “men” without the “n”

When I was born, my father was not there

I’m sure my mom cried — 

happiness, loneliness, all tightly wrapped up in a bundle

He was in San Jose, my mom in Pittsburgh

California, not Pennsylvania

I later found out from reading my birth certificate

I was actually born in Martinez, not Pittsburgh

I took my mom’s last name — Doan, 

and as my father was not physically present, 

neither was he present on paper — his name is not on my birth certificate

Pretty peculiar for as long as I can remember I’ve gone by my father’s last name — Hoang

In true Vietnamese tradition

But I did not ask, I was a quiet and polite child

and children did not ask about about the past

and with hands folded 

I learned that we were also not supposed to ask about the future

even our own 

for their future was unclear and mine was set in stone

Not a single mother, but an alone mother

Not knowing new norms nor language

She continued to navigate her way through migration

She strapped me to her back, walked and took the bus all over town

Subsisted on $500 a month of government assistance

Most of which went to shelter, the rest for food 

One month she was mugged and ate instant noodles for the remainder of the month

Maybe that’s why I like them so much — the smell bringing back hidden imprints of tough yet happy times 

The thief  eventually returned her purse to her sans money

Left it at her front door, an ironic act of kindness 

She tells this story often and I often wonder what part of it really resonates with her

Twenty-five, still young at heart — even after being driven from her country and having to grow up so fast

She believed America stood for freedom, democracy – a place where books would never burn

She felt lucky to have been rescued by an American ship, given opportunities of the American Dream

In some ways, she is more American than me 

Had she known she’d end up in America someday maybe she would have taken English instead of French

But she chose French, cause she is a hopeless romantic 

and had the luxury of being one at the time 

 

Floating

Remember when you wrapped me

in a blanket

with a high fever?

Rushed me to the emergency room

They stuck a long needle into my back

The fever subsided, but your pain did not

The pain of not knowing

The pain of not having

your own mother there

to tell you the anecdotal actions 

one should take

when one’s child is sick

Remember when you found me?

In the pool

Almost drowning

You say you saw

my short black hair

wispy tufts

Body floating gently 

as if in the womb

I was four, you twenty-nine

You saved me

and once again I 

owed you my tiny fragile life

 

And Then There Were Four

I never knew that my mom once had a miscarriage after having me

She mentioned it casually, recently

Maybe that was the son my mom never got and so she kept trying

Mai, Kim, Tam came after – all girls

She likes to say all our names at once when she calls for us as if we were one — trimaikimtam

It just rolls off the tongue — sometimes she calls me by all four names

She tells us regardless of our sex, she loves us just the same

All she cared about is that we grew up healthy and plump

I believe her, but I also know how boys are treated in Vietnamese culture

Especially if you are the only one, rare and coveted

Granted many freedoms and much power

Even so, I would have loved him just the same

 

Yelling

Vietnamese mothers don’t tell, they yell

They don’t scream, they don’t lecture — they yell

And so she yelled until she could no more

I told her 2 + 2 = 5 

She kept insisting four

All for my own good

Never cause of the mood

my father put her in

He kept insisting

we’re all living in sin

Never cause of the money

that was so hard to make

or the prosperity that was so easy to fake

To her family left behind

she had to prove leaving was worth 

the time, her being, her soul

the yelling took its toll

it aged her throughout time

and then it all became mine

Context

2+2 = 5 is reference to how my mom used to yell at me all the time when I did not get schoolwork right – especially when I was struggling with math, it is also a radiohead song

 

Pictures of Me

My mom loves taking pictures

Not for vanity — 

she doesn’t wear makeup

isn’t sharing them on Facebook

I went to Vietnam and found

It’s just “the thing” people do 

For memories, perhaps for permanence

She brought home a shockingly large pork rind one day

It was as big as a Chihuahua

When we asked, “who’s going to eat all that?”

She responded, “It’s for all of you to take pictures with.”

She made my sister hold the pork rind 

and pose in front of the flowers in our front yard

A peculiar site to see, but didn’t really surprise me 

— that’s just mom’s idea of fun  

One time she made me take her to park

to take a proper picture

for her alter for when she passes

She smiled, tried to look natural

But it was awkward — 

awkward for me to take the photos 

and awkward of her to ask me to

I thought I don’t want to remember my mother this way

Old, with a forced smile

Awkwardly posed, stiff

 

I want to remember as if

She were mid-twenties and I were two 

In the park, sitting on a green grassy field

Yellow dandelions all around us —

She used to  make rings out of them for me

Cool breeze bending everything ever so softly 

I was fixated on something, looking down

My Red Riding Hood shawl

Her mid-seventies sweater

Her hair — short, curling inward 

I want to remember her

wide beautiful eyes, staring softly

not at the camera — at me

Candidly, naturally, happily

By far my favorite picture of us

Even though I don’t remember

 

Menopause

thought drop 1.5.22

so easily distracted. i just went to search for the ‘easy come easy go’ bracelet again after thinking of new blog url names. i swear someone stole that bracelet from me. i’m addicted to scrolling, not even buying. +__+ it’s really hard to disentangle from wanting to show your identity — appearance really is a minimal effort way of telling others about yourself without really trying. and if you’re intentional about it, then i don’t think it’s easily misunderstood. my anime sweatshirts, loose clothing, girly yet boyish, all trying to tell you something, cause i do care what you think of me initially. just not enough to take action. and if you come to the wrong conclusion, we were never meant to be anyway, damnit!

learned a new word in w&p today — interlocutrice: female speaker in french. thought of using it as my new blog name because it has ‘tri’ in it. keke but it’s a bit too formal and i can’t even pronounce it in french. and R would call me pretentious.

i dream of the day when we are house of two. more so for the space. empty space, clear mind? could probably meditate myself through the visual clutter, but that is a battle i’m not willing to take on at the moment.

little scuba is really good. five stars.

i made the saltiest soup and ate it for two days, finally ended up just throwing it away. know when to admit defeat. my egg cups didn’t come out so good this week either. i ended up compensating by eating a bunch of high-grade japanese snacks instead. not the best eating strategy here but it happened. resulted in poor digestion. my new way of writing ‘poop’ is ‘pewp’ — much cuter. cewter. i just realized cuter sounds like cooter. h8 ernest.

 

thought drop 1.4.22

w&p — a lot about infinitesimally small moving individual motivations and how the major players in the world are just a coincidence/bi-product of them. and i suppose this is true, we all make our own decisions based on our personal values, goals, upbringing, inputs, outputs. can anyone person ever be blamed? and so yet, another philosopher who speaks of the lack of will. we’re all just moving parts. started listening to watts – the world just peopling.

i should make it a point to spend more time with my mom, maybe watercolor together or do projects together.

start once a week dinners with C again

the plan journal really works, i felt much more calm and composed yesterday. it’s really easy to go off course from processes when ish hits the fan. just don’t do it. and stressing about things that aren’t done doesn’t help. just still need to get things done one thing at a time. point is to not overload oneself which is easier said than done. i’m super excited to finally be serious and not scared of hiring someone. it’s the first risky big move i’ve done in years, possibly actually having to go back into debt is a big fear of mine. it was so hard to get out of it. but this is good debt i have to tell myself. life-changing debt. E constantly telling me that runaway inflation is going to make the world collapse isn’t helping but that’s another story.

i’m super proud of C and am really happy that she is moving out at such a young age. something we could not do and it really seems like there is generational progress. i see how helpful it is when roots have been laid down and spread to younger generations. each generation just getting a little better and progressing. maybe at some point my parents thought of that for me. although i don’t think they’ve ever admitted or said they are proud of us. maybe they are too lost in their willow wallowing sorrows to recognize? maybe they are a little bit proud but just don’t say. which is all fine, i know i wasn’t perfect — but i still think i have contributed to the progression.

thought drop 1.3.22

hm, ok — lots of things. so many things to do in the new year. started off today by  reading ~10 pages of W&P, making it a goal to finish in 2022. made everything bagel egg cups, trying eat healthy again with minimal effort. i know, cliche for the new year but doesn’t mean it’s not good for you, so whateva all you haters out there. this year i really need to hire someone and get the compliance side of alpha down and properly get into the advisory phase of things. i will be a financially burdensome year i think but i’m feeling positive about it. will be good to get back to the basics anyway and be more aware of the minimalism i struggle with pursuing. another thing i want to practice is not putting “haha” or “lol” at the end of every text — why do i do that? lol

fighting!

 

floating

Remember when you wrapped me

in a blanket

with a high fever?

Rushed me to the emergency room

They stuck a long needle into my back

The fever subsided, but your pain did not

The pain of not knowing

The pain of not having

your own mother there

to tell you the anecdotal actions

one should take

when one’s child is sick

Remember when you found me?

In the pool

Almost drowning

You say you saw

my short black hair

wispy tufts

Body floating gently

as if in the womb

I was four, you twenty-nine

You saved me

and once again I

owed you my tiny fragile life

not single, but alone

At first it was just my mommy and me

My mom, I call her mẹ

A heavily pronounced “men” without the “n”

When I was born, my father was not there

I’m sure my mom cried — 

happiness, loneliness, all tightly wrapped up in tiny little pink bundle

He was in San Jose, my mom in Pittsburgh

California, not Pennsylvania

I later found out from reading my birth certificate

I was actually born in Martinez, not Pittsburgh

I took my mom’s last name — Doan, 

and as my father was not physically present, 

neither was he present on paper — his name is not on my birth certificate

Pretty peculiar for as long as I can remember I’ve gone by my father’s last name — Hoang

In Vietnamese tradition

But I did not ask I was a quiet and polite child

and children did not ask about about the past

and with hands folded 

I learned that we were also not supposed to ask about the future

even our own 

for their future was unclear and mine was set in stone

Not a single mother, but an alone mother

Not knowing new norms nor language

She continued to navigate her way through migration

She strapped me to her back, walked and took the bus all over town

Subsisted on $500 a month of government assistance

Most of which went to shelter, the rest for food 

One month she was mugged and ate instant noodles for the remainder of the month

Maybe that’s why I like them so much — the smell bringing back hidden imprints of tough yet happy times — my brain still forming

He eventually returned her purse to her sans money

Left it at her front door, an ironic act of kindness 

She tells this story often and I often wonder what part of it really resonates with her

Twenty-five, still young at heart — even after being driven from her country and having to grow up so fast

She believed America stood for freedom, democracy – a place where books would never burn

She felt lucky to have been rescued by an American ship, given opportunities of the American Dream

In some ways, she is more American than me 

Had she known she’d end up in America someday maybe she would have taken English instead of French

But she chose French, because she is a hopeless romantic 

and had the luxury of being one at the time