BORN A POET
On my first birthday, my parents placed twelve objects in front of me, each representing a different future. This ceremony is part-tradition, part-superstition, but the idea of selecting your fate as an unknowing infant reminds me that existing as Vietnamese is inherently poetic. During my ceremony, I picked the pen. Interpret that how you will, but I’ve always known that I was a poet, even before I knew this story.