Tag: Poem

“The journey matters more than the destination.” – Tony Fahkry

Posted on by Emilyn in Life, My Journal (My Life), Photography, Prose

It’s been a line, perhaps a bit over said, repeated over and over, at least a million times, for reassurance caught between tangled messes and the highest of climaxes:

“The journey matters more than the destination.”

They had told me of the destination before, and for so long it was just an idea. Perhaps it was a notion that was persuaded by the people that we surround ourselves with, and it would give us prosperity in its different variations of success.  They had told me of the wealth, the favor, the eminence of the comfort it’d bring me. Like a higher being, it was something so magnificent, so devilishly charming, yet defiant it would be an extraordinary endeavor. Yet, I couldn’t possibly believe of settling for a destination.

I once thought about the happiness that it would bring into my life, if I had reached this place. Knowing that the journey would hurt more than a destination could try to make up for, but they had told me day in and day out that through the pain and the tears that it take to get there: that it would be incredible; that I would feel invincible.

They spoke of it like a promise land of wishes granted, and a billion stars, but I could only think about where I could possibly go from there, and one destination became distant, and soon a faint sight.

I have re-thought of my failures, and my moments of happiness in my journey, that they are the same, and I have counted the times I have walked, and each steps I have taken and realized that they count the same. I stand in the same place, the same endeavor, the same destination, still reaching to all my ambitions and aspirations, no matter how far they may be. My feet planted in every step no matter how difficult it becomes, and I cannot imagine a different path.

I cannot count how many times  I’ve told myself that I have to be the person that gets up more times that I have fallen, but each time, I think is a new beginning, and before I am able to arch my back in defeat, I hold my head up, and suit up for the journey, and like I have heard a million times before, “The journey matters more than the destination.”

    –          Emilyn Nguyen, Wise Words: “The journey matters more than the destination.” – Tony Fahkry

Lillian

Posted on by Emilyn in Poetry

Lily, you grow delicately like the dreams in your undefiled mind,
internally defiant of your ambition to the people; kind, and graceful;
Loving all; Ivies and cattails envy you when you bloom lonely on single:
Lilypads, refusing to accept anything that you deserve. You must realize,
in time you deserve to be called by something so beautiful, and stop,
answering to everything but your full –
Name.

–              Emilyn Nguyen, Lillian

Seasonal Change

Posted on by Emilyn in Poetry

Days pass in a timely fashion:
Slowly by daytime intervals, fast in a scale of seasons.

Moments happening without hurry,
quickly turning into memories –
with the quick approach of a future.

The world spins tilted,
in sections of dry lands, wet clouds, white blankets, misty fog.

Our minds are open, and our hearts are given.

Full view of and in full view:
sealed memories,
bottled ocean water,
brilliant minds,
endless miracles –
in a year of given time.

There are summers missed,
in a Secret Garden hidden under one tree:
barefoot dancing in our summer dresses,
talking of big dreams with bright eyes,
feeling like moments were timeless,
and nothing could change.

Yet leaves fall,
slanted, never straight;
unless, “it’s the way you look at it.”

A view of covered backs,
packed with essentials:
pencils, pens, paper,
dried flowers, devious secrets,
strengths, weaknesses –
of yours and mine.

to hibernate
and dream,
of a season
left behind.

To what we know best:
there is time,
a countdown,
an event,
a time,

to wait for,
to tell us:
when to return back – and start again.

–              Emilyn Nguyen, Seasonal Change

Fearless and Free

Posted on by Emilyn in Prose

In a crowd of people one day, I hope my voice is heard –

loudly,

clearly,

boldly – and most importantly, I hope that my voice is listened to. Even in the shyness of my quiet breath or the contemplation my mind holds within its self to speak. I hope I can escape my mind, and speak as free as I hope to run one day. Yet, hoping is less fortunate than happening, and when the event occurs, I know my words will be fearless. They will

be enunciated,

articulated,

and vocalized without the permission and pondering of doubt but certainty and confidence.

Today, my voice will be heard both fearlessly and free.

–            Emilyn Nguyen, Fearless and Free

 

18

Posted on by Emilyn in Life

“Today feels the same as yesterday, and meeting you in the mirror is no different from any other day,” you wrote, but today you turned eighteen, and all of a sudden you felt like you heard “happy birthday” for the first time. You have always told yourself that each day is for growing up, and each year you said that “Maybe things would be different this time around – this year around,” but eighteen years have now passed, and your journals have accumulated lessons learned, and broken promises to yourself; all of which have built you.

It’s quite simple: I see it in everything you do, everything you say, everything that you work for. The time is now, and it is always now that you always deserve to be celebrated, each coming year; all that you learn, all that you have accomplished deserves to be celebrated. All that has happened this year, and all the years reminiscing leading up to 18.

18 Things I Learned Since Turning 18:

  1. Your most prized possession: Time. The future is a lot closer than it seems. Time in minutes or hour intervals passes by so quickly, seize each moment.
  2. Simplicity is Key. The smallest of things lead to the greatest.
  3. Believe in what you think is Impossible. Hard work can get you anywhere if you put your mind to it.
  4. Don’t forget your roots. Never forget where you came from. It raised you, no matter how bad you think of it, it’s made you how you are to change it or believe in it. Spend Time with your Family. Hug your mom. Talk to your dad. They care you about you more than any one else in this world. They only want what is best for you. Listen to what they have to say, their advice is one of a kind.
  5. Compliment Everyone. It’s they’re – everyone’s – weakness. Their weaknesses will disintegrate as their strengths rise with your words.
  6. Don’t miss a Chance to Tell Someone You Appreciate Them. The sweetest things in life usually come from the acts of others, even the smallest of actions make the biggest of difference. Tell them how much they mean to you. Pass it on.
  7. Kill Everyone with Kindness. Always be Kind: For, “Kindness makes the world go round.”
  8. Everyone is Different – including you. Don’t worry about what other people think. Learn to love yourself, your knick and knacks, each and every part of your self, and your personality. Learning to love and accept yourself will let you learn to love and accept other people just as they are.
  9. Take Chances. You’re going to regret all of the chances you didn’t more than the mistakes that you made doing all of the things you took a chance doing.
  10. It’s true when they say that “Actions Speak Louder than Words.”
  11. You never regret finishing a book. Sneak some lines in between when you go to bed and when you fall asleep, you’ll always have something to take out of it.
  12. Believe in True Friendship. You may think that you’re being left out now, but let time tell. If they don’t put an effort in staying in your life, then don’t put yourself down trying to. Time is valuable. Don’t waste your time on people that will make an impact on your life – positively. Spend it with people who will make a different, who care about your happiness, who care about what you want, and will help you achieve it.
  13. Forgive Yourself. Don’t linger upon what cannot be changed. Don’t be so hard on yourself. Stop overthinking.
  14. Don’t Be Afraid of Change. Change is completely inevitable. Don’t be afraid to face your fears. All that is wonderful takes courage. Accept change’s spontaneity, and its challenge of self-doubt and temptation, but don’t give up no matter how hard it gets.
  15. Write Everything Down – in your little brown leather journal. Write your goals down. Write down what you did today. Write down the things worth remembering and the things that you could have done better. Write lists. Write stories. Write poetry and prose. Write down all that is worth remembering, and all that will not be worth remembering… Write the world – your world. Someday, someone will have wanted to read it too. Nothing is better than reading – especially not a great story.
  16. Never settle. Life is too short to never feel alive as often as possible.

                –                   Emilyn Nguyen, 18

Sun and Shine

Posted on by Emilyn in Poetry

I once thought that
anything I could touch,
I could
change,
and yet
everything I could see,
I could have a
different perspective –
nothing more
but than like the
Sun.

You can be right:
anything you can touch,
you can change.
Whether the metaphorical,
the symbolic told you
that you could not transform,
you can transmit: light.
Sometimes, you may not be right,
But tonight your point is
everything you will see,
everything you concede,
all you have yet to do is
believe that you can
Shine.

             –                Emilyn Nguyen, Sun and Shine

Written on the Horizons

Posted on by Emilyn in Poetry, Prose

There are bad jokes I have, and I still tend to mess them up – they become twisted in my tongue, spoken to broken horizons. You foresee it daily, yet laughter exhibited. Nervous laughter perhaps, but your feet are grounded next to mine. I only trust yours to be.

Footsteps beating down hallways
Trivial remarks exhaled through airy breaths:
Bells ringing hourly,
What has time brought us next?

Twenty-Four hours, a bar of chocolate, bad jokes and lemon black tea. I always trust you to be outside my window with sugar cubes when I need, but there is a fore ground that is stepping further towards the horizons of school grounds. I never saw that motion coming. I must contain the fears of the both of us, but no – there must be another way.

Sun setting in the distance;
Clouds dissipating in the sky
The waves of heat are lingering,
What forth comes us all?

A Disposition. I speak in widths, heights, and lengths alone to reach your air – aura so high, so bright, so – artistically, intricately incomplete. It is hard to stop walking towards where the rain touches my skin under the clouds, where it feels comfortable, yet drift away, where I am called to choose my own form, and I wish to shape myself evenly between your persona, and waves of words to enjoy the view of a distorted horizon of what I sought to be between the chocolate and empty beginnings.

Tongue tied on long forsaken thoughts:
Fear trembling in my legs
Leaving the past
Dreading the present
A projected future closing in

I’m left stuck in between a distorted view in which I don’t know if it’s my eyes as they swell up with tears, or the fear of my ambitions. There is a sight – light of hope that I can choose from. Promises slipping between my fingers.

Warm embraces turn to shivers down my spine
Letting go of everything that was mine:
Comfort, friends, familiarity
Replaced with independence and a teen’s recognition of –
Morality.

Morality:
Loose ends of family strings and heart strings, and grey areas of right and wrong. If horizons stretch too wide to be read; right is deeply held in my thoughts to be let go.

Losing sight of the horizons,
Night seeping into my eyes
Stars twinkle and shine where my future lies
Fingers unlocking, feet stepping forward
Goodbye to the sun and hello to the stars.

I can hear a pair of laughter
fading into the distance:
Both of hysterical sadness,
and inescapable bad jokes.

–        Emilyn Nguyen and Claire Teal, Written on the Horizons

Written in the Horizons is written with one of my closest friends, Claire Teal (CT). Inspired to write a “Call-and-Response” type of piece, we strove to write in the perspective of two people, through prose and poems. She took on the role of the character who wrote the poems of this piece, as displayed aligned to the right of this piece. As you can [hopefully] decipher; as the characters progress, they are influenced by each other. We hoped to portray their growth throughout the piece. I am so humbled to be able to work with her on this piece. She is a talented poet with a successful Instagram platform where she shares the majority of her work.  I highly recommending checking out her work. Her poetry ranges in an impeccable range of genre. Many times, I find them close to the heart, capturing the beauty of poetry in aspects of love, happiness, and even darkness. Her links are posted below. Huge thank you to her for working with me on Written in the Horizons!

Claire Teal: 

Twitter: https://twitter.com/remrkable_

Instagram: https://instagram.com/commouvere/

Grandfather’s Grays

Posted on by Emilyn in Poetry

He says that in his roots,
his grandfather told him:
pride was sky head high.

Soaring upon elevated clouds,
accentuated white – blue skies.
Never to leave time out in the sun to dry.

In the strings of our kite,
you’re starting to cut the strings to the memories,
and while speaking to each other in blank hands gestures,
glaring eyes: “Don’t let go.”

The wind tastes of empty jars
blurry rings of tree trunks,
meaningless life left behind –
meaning gave up hope,
tying hope to your heart strings so we’d laugh –
in pride and play, willing to free your hand to hold mine.

It’s been more than sixty days,
foolishly, by sixty nights outstretched,

Language bonded whispered in the wind,
we should never be left with blistering knuckles hanging onto the strands,
distinguishing old men to my father,
his grays dripping from the eaves,
then promise not to stay, too afraid so you call it sacrifice:

No war for a boy turned man.

Sixteen bordering Eighteen to be drafted,
swallowing blood.
You tell to me from your roots,
“It’s okay, if we don’t know what we’re doing.”

You love everybody too hard – too easily,
so even if you pretend – each dead body changes you,
apologizing endlessly – it becomes a habit.

Be judgmental to yourself, better safe than sorry.
but forgiving to others – always – in guerrilla warfare.

You remember their names – all of them.

All of those love letters –
You were talking about them,
describing what their hands looked like.

Good men with guns.

Good men, and bad men: the same.

You shot them, and the bad men stopped showing up in my dreams.
You shot them, and the bad men never stopped to show up in your dreams

In shame.

You never had thought to be fighting for your life again after Vietnam,
Your grays made history, realize that your own company counts too.

No war for a man turned boy.

Covered in the debris of war,
my father tells me your heart beat is slowly safe.

For you, the honey hasn’t been sweet for years,
your teeth rotting to gravel enamel.

They changed you, your black hair to gray.
My mother doesn’t know that half of it, she doesn’t believe it.

Tell me, that’s why she says you turned your back,
I’ll understand, but you say,
“She doesn’t want to believe that all we’ve buried was found.”

It’s okay, we are all trying to forget the ones we lost.

You’ve been renting out your body for whiles now,
And it’s still not home, now that you’ve escaped, forfeited, you’ve lost.

Your roots are the making of your growth,
the world counting its patience peace,
elderly quickly, at your bones;
stiff and brittle: eroding like stone, bleeding, drying blood
defining bravery as my shoulders shrug, throats burning:

No war for a man turned hero.

You’re going to bite your tongue while reading this,
I won’t let you swallow the blood this time.

Be a boy turned man turned my father’s father turned my grandfather.

I see your eyes when I look into the mirror –Damn it.

You admit you won’t be home – you’ve won –

no hands can hurt you now, save you now.

The memories are running gray, and the colors are disappearing slowly and all at once.

No war for the man turned gray.

From the clouds,
guided by the whispering wind,
I entered and have spotted land.

I confessed that,
“I do not know what I’m doing.”

You’re not here to save me – this time.

I am saved,
it is by my own weak hands –
debris under my fingertips –
twenty taking off four, as sixteen –
lie to protect the soul of a grandfather’s tragedy.

Now my hair turning gray,

No war for the roots faded gray.

No war for the roots faded away.

– Emilyn Nguyen, Grandfather’s Grays

 

 

 

 

 

 

My Graduation Speech: How to Define Time

Posted on by Emilyn in Life, Prose

I graduated! These last four years, I have been blessed with tears of happiness, and sadness; laughter of hysterical stress, and genuine jokes and puns; memories of pristine classrooms, tests, and white papers  in line with energetic hallways crowded with people I have learned to love; moments of delusional sleep deprivation, and mostly wisdom  — at least we hoped. As we all departed our separate ways walking across the stage to the lives that were waiting for us, I was so honored, and extremely humbled to be the salutatorian student speaker for our graduation class of 2015!

 

Thank you administrators, faculty, staff, family, and friends for joining us here today to celebrate the graduating class of 2015!

To the Class of 2015,

Through all the time that we have spent at here Greece Athena — this is approximately our 1,465th day – this is the first day, however, I am able to say: We Made It!

We have made it through:
The times spent fighting through the crowded hallways.
The times procrastinating on homework.
The times of inedible food at the cafeteria.
The times consumed by long hours of theatre rehearsals, and sports practices.
The times spent fighting senioritis.
And
The times opposing the bitter-sweetness of this last moment at Greece Athena High School.

I realize that there are a myriad of ways to talk about and define time; there are the memories of the past, the moments of the present, and the impression of the highly anticipated future. It is difficult to distinguish the time we have spent here for we have counted our time foolishly in class periods and weeks – counting down the days until our eventual freedom.

It is difficult to define time, without reflecting on the years prior to 2015: our beginning as oblivious freshmen, roaming deer-in-headlights; our sophomore year, stuck in between; followed by the rigor of junior year building our confidence to become the class we are today.

It is difficult to define time without the people who made sure we didn’t waste a second of it; the people that we all owe a great deal of gratitude to:

Our parents: for our foundation, for supporting us in our endless endeavors, for dragging us out of bed every morning and driving us to school; for encouraging us, giving us space to grow, for keeping us fed and clothed, and so loved – these are only a few of the ways they have supported us;

Our friends: for the laughter, tears and companionship;

Our teachers: for building our middle ground and sharing their time and knowledge with us; for demanding excellence from us no matter what challenge was presented;

Our coaches and mentors: for advising and inspiring us, for teaching us the importance of being disciplined and putting effort whether we win or we lose.

It is difficult to define time without these individuals and all they have put toward our development as they sought to teach us the value of time.

Though it is difficult to define time, it is clear that time evolves. Today we reflect on our past as well as contemplate the endeavors and challenges we have ahead of us. Through an evolution, anything is possible. In reference to time, Enute Johnson once stated, “Don’t worry about being on time, be in time.” Because when you are “in” time, you can accept and experience a much larger slice of life as it unfolds.” I realize that we feel that time has both flown by, dragged on, and now at the end of these four years, we have run out of time. As we look back, time seems to have gone by too quickly, when we looked toward the future, it seemed to go by too slow. It is important to remember that time is created by us. As we embark on new experiences and take on new challenges, let’s remember to define the moment; it holds promise and hope. Let’s take our time and take in our time.

Before Mr. Richardson begins to count down the seconds left of this speech,
5…
4…
3…
2…

I leave you with not the bell, but the time you have left define. In time, everything eventually ends. Endings are unfortunately inevitable. As much as I have looked forward to this day, I have always disliked endings. Today is when our time here comes to a close. Today, we leave all that we are accustomed to; all that is comfortable. We have, however, memories that will stay still and people who have become a part of us. They are our solid ground; our time spent; our future, our present and our past. This moment in time is frozen, and soon my words will linger in the air, and the clock will continue to keep ticking. I am proud and so honored to be a part of this class. In our caps, gowns, and soon, holding our diplomas, there is so much for us to proceed to do with this education and the time we have spent with each other.

 

Catching Light

Posted on by Emilyn in Prose

Resting by the open grass field behind our house, her hands are rested on the tips of the grass blades, running her hand through them, much like our mother brushed our hair; gently with finesse, plaiting our locks into a tightly woven braid, pulling the strands I was twirling at my fingertips, and securing them away with the last of loose ends. When my sister starts speak, I am caught by surprise, there is a beauty in her that I have never noticed before. Her voice is familiar but her tone is held captive by solitude at the back of her throat. She points to our neighbor’s stalks of sunflowers faced away from us. “Did you know that sunflowers grow towards the sun? They’re beautiful. Aren’t they?” I don’t respond. I only smile at her, and continue to gaze into the empty air.

The sun’s rays are direct today; there are little clouds, and no haze except the glare from the sunlight hitting my glasses I notice the streaks from the light, wondering if my sister notices them too. She doesn’t wear glasses. Her eyes are too delicate, and beautiful to have anything cover them. She possessed recessive traits, much like our mother, but she has my father’s nose. No wonder she has a quirk for smelling problems, bugging into trouble. They always did, but it’s evident that she has the braveness of my father despite her delicate eyes, and tendencies. She is beautiful – so beautiful. I smile as I watch her immerse herself into the setting.

The sunlight that shines on her does well; does her justice; does mother justice; does father justice. I smile at the thought of mother standing and hovering over us. I imagine her hair getting caught in the wind, and the sunlight catching on her, exposing the roots of her dark hair as a light brown, her eyes become speckled with green, and yellow. In the light, her beauty persists – endlessly – I see her in my sister.

I thought light travels too fast to be caught, but how lovely it would be to have it in a jar – along with a sunflower, my mother’s gold rings, and my sister’s favorite trinkets. It would be beautiful – cherished. When I tell her about this jar, she grins, and tells me that I should leave some of my lemon cookies in it too. “They’re so sweet!” She says. I laugh, “…and yellow! My favorite color!” she adds.

“I know. Mine too,” I think to myself. They’re as sweet as you – just as bright as you, “… like the sun!” she interrupts. Yes, you are the sun. I smile, brushing the grass at my fingertips, looking at my sister in awe of her gentleness, kindness, and beauty. The sun hits her drowning her a little, and I see my mother. “What are you looking at?” She asks.

“Nothing,” I respond. She shrugs, and begins dancing, spinning, twirling in the grass, singing songs, I cannot understand, with carelessness. She clasps her hands like she’s trying to catch the light, dancing with nothing but the beat of her heart. Her laugh contagiously latches on me as we end up rolling in the grass in laughter. Looking towards the sky, she faces the sun, and her eyes are squinted because of her smile. It’s so big, and wide, her happiness makes my stomach flutter. I am happy for her.

Resting by the open grass field behind our house, my arms are reached toward the sky, my fingers trying to pinch the sun, with one eye closed; catching the light for her, when she already had. “Remember when we used to hide here, spinning in our dresses until our hearts gave out, and the light left us, only to return the next dy. Now we’ve decided our ambitions, spinning our minds – never stopping – until we’re wrapped in light,” I say. Lying on the grass alone, looking up at the sun, seeing her. I am happy for her.

–          Emilyn Nguyen, Catching Light