My name is Pho, Kim Chi Pho. Those familiar with Asian cuisine often joke that my name embodies two world-famous dishes. On one side, kimchi, the fiery Korean fermented cabbage with the unmistakable aroma of chili. On the other, phở, the beloved Vietnamese beef noodle soup. This culinary coincidence feels like a sign that Mother Nature blessed me at birth with a rare gift. And humbly speaking… I’m quite capable in the kitchen. But what I do best is spring rolls. I was even ni

Professor Trinh once told me that Guan Yin (觀音), the goddess of mercy and compassion, holds a portrait of my ngin ngin, my paternal grandmother Professor Trinh once told me that The tree has no core. It exists neither in its leaves or branches, Nor in its roots or trunk. “Think of a ginger root Where each part is its core.” My exes said to me Stop asking yourself if you’re real, Or if the world is real, That you’ll be ok And just live your life. But I can’t just live when I d

I was born in Tan Thanh, a coastal village that thrived on the bounty of the sea. But as the war uprooted our lives, my family sought refuge in Go Cong, a peaceful town just ten kilometres away. Before that fateful day of April 30, 1975, my parents received gifts of fresh fish, prawns, clams, mussels, etc. from friends and family who still fished the waters of Tan Thanh. This connection to the sea ignited a lifelong love for its treasures. However, after the fall of South, th

(A fragmented recollection of a day visiting Vietnam. I write this in the hopes of it reaching out to others that have migrated, adapted, and now living within the gray area of what once was and now is) Dad, Linh and Lam walking to the market (Monarch butterflies migrate south to escape the cold of the winter. Humans are not so different. We migrate to escape the cold of war, poverty, and injustice. We take boats. We take planes. And some of us, even on foot. We leave behind