[Story] Spirit Awakening – Chapter 2: Lucid

1/3 - Night Light

Table of Contents

  1. Chapter 1 – Awakening (Lee)
  2. Chapter 2 – Lucid (Anna)
  3. Chapter 3 – Coming Soon

Chapter 2 – Lucid

Sometimes, I have dreams where I am swimming in the ocean. Surrounded by unseen aquatic creatures.

I am invisible.

From the depths, a huge mass surges towards me.

Panicked, I try to swim away until the snout of a very large creature nuzzles me, helping to push me up to the surface. Its fin gingerly cradling me until I burst through the liquid sky, diamond droplets, shimmering, so dazzling in the setting sun.

I soar, my eyes closed, my body weightless, cold air buffeting my rosey cheeks. I am one with everything.

I open my eyes to billowing fluffy clouds, and I float further and further. The idea of flying doesn’t frighten me, in fact, it feels ever so natural. The white puffs adorn a veil upon my body.

A loud crack splits the sky asunder. A chasm emerges and my world goes spiraling, like watercolor paints being washed down a drain.

Sinking into the sky, I turn myself about–crawling, clawing as my surroundings begin to shrink.

I am helpless to fight against the torrent.

Just as I am about to be swallowed whole, my mind clears and there is only a singular feeling–

“I want to live!”

But, it’s too late. I’m already gone…

[Story] Spirit Awakening – Chapter 1: Awakening

smoke signals
I decided to start writing creatively again. I’ll be doing so in chapters. I’ve started with a short story that was inspired, but NOT directly taken from one of my best friends from Elementary. I’ve always wanted to write about Hmong culture and Shamanism, as my paternal family line had many shamans, and so I thought that highlighting a #HmodernHmong woman’s journey into discovering and awakening to these spirits would be an interesting twist.

Enjoy!

Table of Contents

  1. Chapter 1 – Awakening
  2. Chapter 2 – Lucid (Anna)
  3. Chapter 3 – Coming Soon

Chapter 1 – Awakening

I’ve been laying here in bed for what seems like forever, but I know how long. I’ve counted. Two days, four hours, six minutes, 53 seconds. 54. 55. Wrapped with this agonizing pain in my gut or what used to be there. And I just keep looking at the peaks and valleys that trace the lines of my palms.

Seven minutes and five seconds.

6.

7.

This line here is your life line. This line that runs down from your fingers and across your upper palm, that’s your love line. And this line on my palm, the one that is cut in half, fractured into a million pieces–that is my family line.

42 seconds.

43.

44.

I had gone to a fortune teller just four days back. I was just too excited to go and get my future read. I had heard of this one in particular because my friends all raved about him. And quite honestly, I didn’t really know what to expect. Maybe I was a little anxious even.

But I went anyway because, I don’t know–morbid curiosity? Maybe because I knew that it was fake. Perhaps I did it because I just wanted someone to look me deep into my eyes, to create an artificial connection, to create a paper mache future that I could take with me to throw away at a later time.

Whatever it was, I just wanted to finally bite the bullet and go. And I know now that I regret going.

But Lia really insisted that I go and so I went. Continue reading

Photo-A-Day: January 1st + Super Quick Kao Poon Recipe

Kao Poon

Kao Poon

Photo-A-Day #1 – January 1st, 2015
I wanted to try to be more creative for 2015, so here I am, creating a photo entry. I posted this photo on my Instagram, but thought that I would share my recipe on how to make a VERY Simple solution to a great staple of my people. The Instagram entry goes:

In some cultures, families get together to eat noodles to symbolize a long, prosperous life. For the last 4 years, I’ve done some sort of pasta but this year I made a traditional Southeast Asian dish called kao poon.

Extra spicy for the long year ahead.

There are many ways to spell the spicy curry noodle dish. In Hmong, you can spell it as Khaub Poob, but I have seen the phonetic spelling turn into kao poon, khao poon, kapong, etc. But however you spell it, it always means good, hearty, spicy comfort food. Again, this is my super simple, I-miss-home-cooking version and so, it will mostly be ingredients that you can find at your local grocery store, and the best thing about it is that it’s super quick.
Continue reading

Happy Hmong American Day!

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I hope that one day, we not only get a day, or a month, or an entry in a history book for our contributions to the US during the Vietnam War, but that we are appreciated as individuals and our contributions to society as a whole.

I wanted to post a poem that I had written back in 2007 that I feel encompasses what it means to be Hmong American.

Enjoy!

Lost Spirit Aflutter

“From a high mountain, across a vast ocean,
Into a deep valley, my spirit has flown with me,”
My grandmother continues, “But when you fall, it will leave.
It will go back to the land of ancestors.”

I listen to my grandmother as she lays in her bed,
A single flickering light illuminates the room with an orange glow
As she has my hand embraced tightly,
intertwined into hers, and a tear rolls down her cheek.

“My young child, your grandma has lost her soul.”
In most cases, with ua neeb ritual a shaman
Would get onto his spiritual horse, and ride into the land of ancestors,
Offering a pig’s heart to exchange for her heart

But in a Christian household, where Shamanism is pagan worship,
Where bamboos do not line the roof from threshold to alter;
A spirit line drawn to guide our ancestors;
How will the spirit know where to go?

There are no paper money boats to sail the offerings
Into the land that is cold and long forgotten.
There are no halved bull horns to clang or bells to ring
To call my grandmother’s spirit back.

My Daughter Says… #1

I wanted to start a serial of conversations that my daughter and I have because she is largely low-verbal, there are some days that she has creative speech.

Here was a quick exchange between Ami and I on my way to dropping her off to preschool.

Ami: Can I listen to Alphabet song?
Me: You can listen to it later.
Ami: I’ve got an idea.
Me: What’s your idea, sweetie?
Ami: You play Alphabet song.

For those who may not know, my daughter is autistic. She was non-verbal up until about 3.5 years old, where before that, she only had 2 or 3 words to communicate to us what she wanted such as “apple”, “water”, and “sandwich”. Which is not to say she didn’t talk. Her enunciation was beautiful, though scripted, known as echolalia.

Everyday she is growing her vocabulary and I enjoy our conversations, though they do come off a little sassy, she is such an interesting person, I appreciate the little glimpses she allows to see every now-and-then.

Disaggregating Asian-American educational attainment

As a Hmong woman, this information is not astonishing to me.

Though I did complete my BS degree and have worked on a Masters of Science, I realize that my breed is quite rare.


Disaggregating Asian-American educational attainment

http://computinged.wordpress.com/2013/06/25/disaggregating-asian-american-educational-attainment/

What I didn’t realize was how sub-groups within Asian-American differ markedly in their educational attainment. A new report from NYU and ETS disaggregates the data, and below is the startling graphic that Rick Adrion pointed me to.


Read More…

My Daughter is Autistic and That’s Okay!

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We always knew that Ami was different than other babies. Special, even. She could read whole Dr. Seuss books at 2-years-old but couldn’t string together a sentence of three words spontaneously. She loved lining up her blocks neatly, orderly, but couldn’t understand how to build a tower. She could count to 100, she could sing songs, she could identify 12 different colors, nine different shapes, but she couldn’t hold a conversation about what was her favorite thing to do at the park. She couldn’t even tell you her name, let alone answer to it.

Communication with her was non-existent, but we could look into her eyes and know that there was a whole imaginative, colorful world behind them. We could tell that her brain exploded with creativity and that she had a wicked sense of humor, to boot. But we just couldn’t touch it.

The same corny jokes made us laugh, probably for different reasons, and I knew her laughs were genuine because of her so-called lack of empathy.

But we never knew what to name it.

Sure, in retrospect, it’s always easy to pinpoint the exact time and place. To be able to identify the precise moment in which we knew—ah-ha! Ami has autism. And yeah, we did know that she was a little quirky, but we just thought it was Ami being Ami.

During check-ups with Doctors, they reassured us, “Oh, she’ll grow out of it,” or “Well, keep an eye on it, but it’s probably just a phase,” and through our naivete, we went along.

Just to be completely clear, I do not blame them. Not one iota of me faults them for not pushing us on getting her evaluated when we could see she wasn’t holding our gazes anymore. I never felt filled with contempt for the doctors when Ami didn’t reach her milestones. I wasn’t upset when she wasn’t “growing out of it.”

I even joked when I noticed her lining things up for the first time, probably when she was about a year old, “Oh! I wonder if Ami is autistic?” but laughed it off and said, “Even if she were, it wouldn’t change how much I love her!”

For a little while after Ami’s first birthday we made bets on when she would start talking. I had said 13 months, someone else said 14 months, and so on. And as each month came and went, we had forgotten that we even made bets at all. Ami was just not going to talk and we weren’t going to pressure her into doing something that she wasn’t ready to do.

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All of our family members loved Ami. On A.J.’s side, she was the first grand-baby among all of his cousins. Ami was also the first grandchild of my parents. She was sweetly quiet and liked to watch people around her, even as all of our cousins swooned over her. When taking her to family gatherings, she would always opt to being in the corner by herself and that was fine. I just alluded it to her being shy and that our families were loud–which, they are, and that’s what makes me love them–and that she would just want to play by herself or go to someone she was comfortable or familiar with such as an Uncle or me and A.J.

It wasn’t until I was pregnant with our second daughter and I was home on bed rest due to complications that we started to understand she wasn’t going to grow out of this any time soon.

I will have to say here that A.J. was amazing at helping to break down this barrier. He made it a personal goal to chip away at the wall that prevented us from being able to connect with our daughter through speech. With Ami’s love for letters, words, and writing, he used one of the little magnetic boards to prompt her with questions, like: Do you want water? And then he started writing: “I want water.” And Ami read it. She then walked to her cup and gave it to A.J. Ami wanted water.

Thinking it was a fluke he did it again. Do you want to eat? He then wrote: “I want to eat.” She read it. Word-for-word. And she got up to the kitchen and sat down at her chair and waited patiently for a peanut butter sandwich.

It worked! And after enough practice, it was no longer necessary to write the words to get her to speak.

Asking Ami a question and then writing down an appropriate response worked for her and we could finally hear her voice. Her sweetly, shy voice that was once locked up inside of her had been unlocked. We were far from having conversations with her but she was finally able to say words that we understood and she was able to get a response that gave her something she wanted in return.

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Eventually we ended up with using a notepad so that we could write down sentences upon sentences of familiar words that we used for everyday interactions. We started to write down questions so that she could prompt us and then we would respond such as: “Can I have an apple, please?” She would flip through the pages of the notebook and read sentences–sometimes in context, other times just for fun. “Can I have ice cream?” “Can I watch Sesame Street?” “I want an ice cube.”

We finally were breaking through the wall. We could see our daughter on the other side. We were able to be present to her needs.

And so the first time she came running into the room and asked, “Can I have french fries, please?” without needing a book to read, I couldn’t help myself but cry.

Tears of joy. Of pain. Of anxiety. Of happiness!

Everyday is such a struggle for her, and that with each tiny step forward it is a world of effort. Through the tireless, endless hours of patience I could see these little improvements, and was reassured that we were doing the right thing.

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So when Ami’s 4th-year checkup comes and we take her into the doctor, he was very clearly concerned. We took Ami in on a Friday and her doctor tells us that if we don’t hear from him by Tuesday to call, but he called us that Saturday to let us know that he thinks our daughter has autism.

This is the first time any doctor has linked those two words together–Ami and autism–and it just hit me like a ton of bricks. Ami might have autism? How could that be? Was it something I did? Did I not give her the right vaccinations? Did I give her the vaccinations too early? Too late? Was it because of my diet during pregnancy? Was I a bad mother?

I was wracked with grief and disbelief for a week before I was able to snap out of it. My daughter needed me. She needed me to schedule appointments. She needed me to get her assessed.

Ami’s pediatrician provided a referral to the only children’s hospital in the area that could perform the evaluation. As with anything that is specialized and is the only place in a large metropolitan area, there was a wait list. A LONG wait list. The first appointment was more than three months away.

It was a long several months, with several meetings and reviews, but then the diagnosis day came. September 30th.

We shuffle up to the doctor’s office. She is already waiting for us in the lobby and greets us with a very warm smile. I assume she’s done this so many times before. Let the parents feel at ease so that the realization of what they will be having to discuss will smooth over easier.

The doctor sits us down and hands A.J. and I our own reports. Single-spaced, printed front and back, 10 pages altogether. She lets us read through before talking about it. This process feels kind of clinical. I read things such as “Ami is really cute” and wonder what that may have to do with the analysis. I read things about how Ami was “not compliant with [tests]” and laugh at things such as Ami loving to sing the “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star” song that was pre-programmed in one of the toys.

It was Ami written out on a sheet of paper and I couldn’t help but feel both anxious and overwhelmed. I knew that this wasn’t going to be the last time she was going to be written up in this manner and I was sad that for the rest of Ami’s life she was going to be labeled and prescribed, diagnosed and held under a microscope.

But what does this all mean? Well, to simply put it, it’s just a way to describe a certain set of Ami’s quirky behaviors. It’s not a terminal illness. It’s not a death sentence. There is no need to offer condolences. She’s not going anywhere. She’s here to stay.

Now begins our long, long, LONG journey of being able to get the exact help Ami needs. We have a piece of paper so that people will look at our daughter and help her. The most important thing there is for Ami is that we’re here. We’re present and we want to help her. We will never leave her side.

My daughter is autistic and that’s okay!

Culture – Hmong Postpartum Superstitions/Traditions

This is my second installment of Hmong Superstitions, with this one focusing specifically on after the baby is born.

Hmong Superstitions

  1. Hmong Superstitions – Pregnancy
  2. Hmong Superstitions – Postpartum

It’s interesting how traditions start out as superstitions after generation upon generation of passed down folktales. Many of the topics I will be discussing will seem like second nature to those who are Hmong and I hope to further discuss their role in an Americanized society. Continue reading

Endless Trail to Freedom

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As most everyone gathers into the living room after the New Year’s meal, the clanking of dishes being washed by aunts drowns out the buzzing of the heater. On the back porch, the older uncles huff into semi-long PVC pipes and puff circles into the cold air. A circle of metal chairs are arranged and the married and widowed relatives sit side-by-side conversing in the sing-song language of Hmong. Continue reading

Culture – Hmong Pregnancy Superstitions

Renee Ya wearing a traditional White Hmong outfit
I am planning on doing a couple of culture pieces as reflections of my heritage, Hmong. You can read a extremely light-version of my ancestry by going to the Hmong Wikipedia entry.

Hmong Superstitions

  1. Hmong Superstitions – Pregnancy
  2. Hmong Superstitions – Postpartum

In this feature, I will talk about Hmong pregnancy superstitions.
Continue reading

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