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    LAG

    Sleep-deprived minister, thinker, and creator. I'm really good at starting things but never finishing them. There is a folder on my laptop full of unfinished writings. I'll try to post more but it's really sporadic. This personal blog is more than just self-expression but for making connections. I hope there's something here for you. If you want to discuss, please reach out. I don't smile in photos but I promise I'm a nice person as long as you can handle my sarcasm.

    People seem to be very concern about my singleness. It's not something that needs to be discussed again in a public space like on this blog. There are marriage evangelists out there who take up a lot of space on the internet so I figure it doesn't hurt to counter all of that with another post on the uninteresting topic of my non-dating, unmarried life. If you're looking for encouragements and biblical affirmations for the gift of singleness, you won't find it here. There are already a bunch of twenty-somethings writing about that. It doesn't take a lot to find those blogs and articles. I'm in my early thirties and my views haven't changed much from the last time I wrote about my singleness. It's just that IDGF about it the way I did when I was 20. Instead, these are my honest words—laced with kindness—for those who have asked about my relationship status and anyone who cared enough to read this.

    First things first, thank you, friends, for your genuine concern for me. I don't agree with your methods but I received the message that you care about me and are willing to invest in my future in some way. Thank you to the one who prays for my future marriage and husband. I'm grateful that I make it into your prayers. Thank you to the ones who want to see me with a good person and even offered suggestions. I'm sorry that I don't have a "type" to help you narrow down the most eligible bachelor. Most important of all, thank you for also showing interest in other areas of my life that isn't my relationship status. This is why we're still friends.

    Next, the best way to care for me is to spend quality time with me. Yes, I get lonely sometimes because it's harder to make friendships than it is to date. In the five years I lived in this city, I haven't succeeded in making any close friends here. I'm coping but don't mistake it for strength and independence. I still need you. 

    Finally, I'm not trying to get married and you must respect my decision. If I marry, I marry. If I don't, I don't. A lot of people think they have enough marriage experience to convince me how wonderful marriage can be. Even if they have the experience, most have not experienced non-dating singleness long enough to make comparisons to marriage. We all know a pastor or leader that got married when he was 22 and somehow always gets to teach or say something about singleness. Disillusionment is real and we don't need anymore people around us to offer false hope about singleness and marriage. Both are good and both are extremely difficult in their own ways.

     Ten years ago, you could call me foolish for thinking this way. Along the way, I decided that I didn't care to spend any more time on wondering whether marriage is part of my future. I have other longings in my life and I didn't want to keep waiting around for something that was no longer a priority. Someone once asked me if I pray about my future husband or about my struggles as a single woman. They were shocked to learn that I don't. I would never pray about a future husband. That's a really strange concept to me. As for the struggles I face as a single woman, most of it are not directly attributed to my marital status as single. I consider loneliness and dealing with sexuality to be things most people struggle with, married or not. Any pain from being unmarried is intensified by the lack of support by those around me. Just because I embraced singleness, it doesn't mean that the world will suddenly change to include me.

    All I know is that in this moment and in this season of my life, this is what I prefer. Who knows what I'll want in a year or two from now. If you're still worried about me, let me assure you that I do occasional check-ins with myself to make sure I'm still okay about living this way. They usually go like this:

    "La, do you still like being unmarried?"

    "Yeah, it's hard but I enjoy it a lot. I think I'll make it through this season. Ask me again in a couple of months."

    In case you're wondering, I'm doing okay, but I don't mind a phone call or a text message telling me you're thinking about me.
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    posted by . Thursday, November 14, 2019 .
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    posted by . Thursday, January 25, 2018 . / / / /


    I think pho and I need to go on a break. Not a breakup. A break.

    Pho is a delicacy. The hours of preparation and waiting for the broth to reach peak flavor was always worth it for all the deliciousness that pho is known for. We ate pho on occasion. Sometimes it was for a special event or a large family gathering. As a kid, whenever we had pho, it was up to me to choose the garnishes and condiments on my own. No one taught me how to dress my pho, so I resorted to observing how the older women across the table did it. I didn't know what to do. I started with a little bit of everything and experimented with different amounts and combinations. Sometimes I tried to be brave and add more chili to show that I could handle the spiciness. That was fun and sometimes a struggle. When it came to eating, we ate in two stages. The first stage is quick as we somehow always dipped our spoon into someone else's bowl to sample how they customized their soup and make comments about each other's personal pho. In the second stage of our pho-eating ritual, we eat our own bowl of pho undisturbed except for the occasional sounds of enjoyment and satisfaction to the bowl of goodness in front of us. We probably weren't even aware that we did this. But growing up, with every bowl of pho, I wrestled with my insecurities about it. Do I even like pho that much? Then one day, something happened like a rite of passage. I was finally satisfied with my pho. After so many bowls, I created the one that I liked. Sour and salty, followed by a little bit of spicy and sweet. To me, this was a sign of growing up. I knew what I wanted and how to achieve it. Success!

    Coming of age with pho was an experience. It taught me to savor the moment, but there was so much more for me to learn.

    My experience with pho crescendoed in college. Pho's popularity skyrocketed everywhere. It was becoming the next trendy food. People told me about how much they enjoy pho. It was exciting that others loved what I loved, but I was proud with hesitation. In the midst of an identity crisis, I was in search of who I was as a Hmong American. Pho isn't Hmong food, so it didn't feel like my own to share with others. What is Hmong food anyway? (This question is for another day!)

    Focusing on my experiences and identity as a Hmong American woman, my relationship with pho changed. Eating pho was different; a new experience. I learned about the origin of pho in Vietnam and wondered how it intersected with my people's history. How did we come to enjoy this dish? The Hmong identity and narrative are just as mysterious as the origins of pho. As strangers in every land, we are resourceful without compromising who we are. We assimilated while resisting losing ourselves. So as we continue to recreate ourselves while holding onto our authentic selves, who are we? I imagine that is how pho found a place in our kitchens. We learned to enjoy pho in our own way. In other words, pho done in the Hmong way is Hmong food. When I eat pho, it is a reminder of our complex identity. Pho is a gift to my community.

    But pho is beginning to feel like fast food. It's available in many places, and I tend to eat it alone now. Maybe that is a new normal now, but for me, that's not my relationship with pho. I want it to be an experience I can savor. That is why I need a break from pho, so I don't lose the value and meaning behind eating pho. Then, my love will grow.
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    posted by . Sunday, June 19, 2016 . / /

    It’s Father’s Day. I usually don’t celebrate these special holidays but all the social media posts about people’s dads makes me want to show the world how cool my dad is also. To be fair, he isn’t someone I would consider to be cool. For a long time, I had a hard time talking about my dad because I never understood him. It took some reflecting for me to begin to see him in a new way. I started this journey two years ago when a simple blog post I was writing about photography turned into a redemption of my memories of him. There are random memories I have of my dad that seem meaningless yet these memories help me to see my dad in new ways. Here is another moment I shared with my dad that has become precious to me.

    Learning How To Ride A Bike
    I remember that one time when I chased an old man who stole my bike. No, it wasn't that dramatic but it did look something like that. Riding a bike was not an easy skill for me to learn. My past experiences with bikes involved a lot of blood and tears so I wasn't thrilled about it. When it was finally time for me to learn, I needed to overcome my fear of falling. It wasn’t Dad who taught me how to ride a bike, my siblings did. The only time he was ever involved was when he came outside to observe my efforts to learn. He watched me get on and fall down over and over again until he finally decided it was a good idea to show me how to do it. He picked up my bike and got on while I tried to push him off. I knew what I was doing and didn’t need him to show me. I protested but he didn’t care. He sped off on my bike as I chased him down the block in an attempt to stop him. Like a child, he laughed with joy, oblivious to the sound of my voice yelling at him. After a few houses down, out of breath, I gave up and returned home to wait for him.

    I don’t remember what happened after he turned around and gave the bike back to me. I learned how to ride a bike whether my dad making me look like a fool had anything to do with it or not. That was never the point. When I think about this moment, one thing stands out to me. Dad laughed.

    We know him as a man who spoke with a thunderous voice. He showed little emotion but his anger was fierce. This image of him as an old man enjoying a short bike ride while teasing his daughter gives new perspective to what kind of person he was. It's unclear what his intentions were but this is one of those rare occasions where I think Dad was simply playing with me.

    Dad was always so serious but he was fun too...sometimes in a cruel way.

    August 2010
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    posted by . Saturday, June 27, 2015 . / /


    A few days ago I posted a blog post titled The Hmong Girl's Guide to Avoid Living WithThe In-Laws. If you read it, you know that it was just a fun expression of the struggles of living within two cultures. The post blew up quite a bit on social media and it was shared around Facebook more than I anticipated. I wished I was able to engage with people as they responded to it. Many people enjoyed it while a few others took my words the wrong way. This is a follow-up to that post.

    My mom only knew one way to raise up daughters. It was the way she was raised and the way her mom was raised. Hmong girls were taught to cook, clean and care for the family. There is one path for Hmong girls and that was a path to serve and care for your husband, in-laws and children. Though others might disagree, this is how I interpreted it growing up. Even in our rebellion, my mom tried to teach us these values. 

    Two of my aunts used to try to pair us up with someone as early as our teenage years. How many girls are pursuing marriage at that age? One aunt once told me she would buy me a car if I married her son. I declined. The other aunt gave us advice on the importance of looks and appearance to facilitate catching a husband. I never believed in their flattery even though I used to believe marriage and building a family was the end goal. My entire world--culture, church, and society--tells me that there is fulfillment in marriage. Only my mom never taught this to me. My mom wasn't in a hurry to see us married. If she is concerned about our singleness then she has never voiced it. She tried to raise us to be good daughters but she never encouraged dating. Her advice growing up was simple:

    “Value your education."

    "Don’t date.”

    These words sound prohibitive but these words have given me more freedom as a single woman. My mom came from a place where girls did not have the same privileges and opportunities as boys. In the U.S., we had what she never had, an education. She coveted our education and lived that dream through us. I didn't mind because her expectations were realistic. We were expected to learn and use what we learned. If we dated, she didn't stop us. She taught us to be cautious.

    To be honest, I wonder why she raised us this way. Since my childhood, I have witnessed her joys and her struggles as a Hmong woman because she has only known to walk a path bounded by culture and saving face. Her life was constantly being pulled by expectations and duty. Sometimes I hear her groaning and I wonder what she longs for. My mom is no where near perfect but I am thankful for her effort to provide for us another path that strays from the expected path of a Hmong daughter. She believed our education gave us independence and the tools to navigate this strange new world.  It’s not that she never wants us to marry or date—she has made allusions to our future weddings before—she just wanted us to have the freedom to choose our own way.

    Her advice mobilized me to choose a different journey. I'm grateful that she doesn't expect or pressure me to pursue marriage. I'm grateful that she has taught me the values of service and hospitality, two Hmong cultural gifts that are relevant in all areas of our lives, not just in our own home or marriage.  

    My mom's advice is not the cause of my current status. It granted me the freedom to be single. I'm single today because I can be.





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    posted by . Wednesday, June 24, 2015 . / /


    Update: I wrote a new blog post (GraspingFreedom: A few thoughts on the expectations for marriage) to follow-up on this one. It's more personal and more thoughtful than this one. Enjoy!

    My mom is a snob when it comes to eating good rice. She wakes up every morning to cook fresh rice and refuses to use an electric rice cooker.  She made sure my sisters and I knew how to properly steam rice. It is not as complicated as it seems but I always remember it being the hardest skill to master. Every time I finished cooking, I gave her some rice to taste. Sometimes my rice was too mushy and sometimes it was too hard. There were rare occasions when my rice came out perfectly and my mom would smile with satisfaction. She had an expectation for us to prepare rice well so, for a while, I longed for her approval whenever I cooked.

    For my mom, preparing perfect rice was the beginning of preparing for a good life with your in-laws after marriage. She never said it that way, but that’s just what I think she meant.

    Growing up my sisters and I had our moments of rebellion and didn’t always help my mom in the kitchen. Every time we rebelled, we heard the same question from her, “How are you going to cook for your in-laws in the future?”

    We had responses prepared for this. We talked about never getting married or refusing to live with our in-laws even if it defies tradition. I think my mom laughed at us every time we said those words because our retaliation was unrealistic to her.

    Mom does know best. Apparently the expectations of elders have a stronger pull on us than we think. I’ll write about that another day. For now, I’ll share my teenage thoughts on the idea of living with my future in-laws.

    When I was a teenager, it was the norm for newlyweds to live with family before moving out to live on their own. To avoid any conflict about where to live, I created a guide on how to avoid living with the in-laws.

    DISCLOSURE: This is just for fun. I came up with these scenarios as an angsty 17-year-old. I’m not married so I have no real experiences to share. Don’t take any of this seriously but I won’t stop you if you want to use this guide.

    The Hmong Girl’s Guide To Avoid Living With the In-Laws

    1. Don’t get married young
    This is as straightforward as it’s going to get. If you’re young, you will be dependent on them. Get married when you are grown adults making your own money and paying your own bills.

    2. Get a job in a different city far, far away.
    In this situation, they can’t make a good case for you to stay. Don’t make the mistake of living in a nearby city. You wouldn’t be able to use distance as an excuse not to visit. You need to be at least a 2 hour drive away if you only want to see them on the holidays. 

    3. Sacrifice a sister
    In-laws will not mind having more than one daughter-in-law living under their roof but there’s a chance they won’t try so hard if they already have one. Make sure there’s already a daughter-in-law living with them. If there isn’t, then wait for one of the other brothers to get married first. Keep in mind that if you have to wait for another brother to marry first, you are either too young to marry or you’re marrying the oldest son. Please refer back to #1 on this list and take that advice or read ahead and consider your options in #4.

    4. Don’t marry the oldest or youngest son. DON’T EVER MARRY THE ONLY SON OF A FAMILY!
    You might get lucky and dodge living with them now, but you will be stuck with them later! The oldest son is expected to be reliable. If you’re married to him then you get sucked into all their problems. The youngest son gets spoiled and you will reap the benefits for a little while but it’s customary to live with them. You’re just asking for it if you marry the only son in the family. Your first preference should be the forgotten middle son.

    5. Don’t marry a Hmong guy
    I guess I was wrong. This is as straightforward as #1. There’s nothing wrong with Hmong guys so there’s no need to get all worked up here. It’s too bad you can’t choose your parents.

    6. Independant family culture
    You’re a lucky girl when his parents would rather have you all out of the house than staying with them. It’s a bonus when they’re also in good health and they have no major issues needing your attention. Hang on to this guy.

    Did I miss anything?

    The times are changing and it seems like a lot of people won’t need to manipulate their way out of living with their in-laws anymore. If any of this is relevant to you, well I hope you had a good laugh. Have a happy marriage folks!

    For the record, I do want to like my future in-laws if that day ever comes.





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