Our Writers on Writers series brings together two writers to mutually engage in each other’s work with attention to a particular theme. In this latest installment poet and multimedia artist Diana Khoi Nguyen and director, writer, artist and producer Steve Nguyen discuss their work, growing up in the same town, and family.
Diana Khoi Nguyen: Steve, I think you have earlier memories of intersecting/crossing paths with me—I think I only faintly recall you as a tall, skinny guy in high school, though recently you mentioned that we go back even earlier. What do you recall that you’re willing to share here?
Steve Nguyen: I moved to Rolling Hills Estates (RHE) in the summer of 1993 when I was seven, so my family was in the process of scrambling to look for schools in the area that would take me in while they worked full-time. I enrolled in the summer at Rancho Vista because that was the only school that had a summer program at the time, and that’s how I met you. Once fall rolled around, I had to go to a different school because of where I lived at the time.
DKN: I love that your family was looking for what I am assuming “good” schools for you. My parents weren’t even thinking of schools. Our family moved to RHE in 1990, after my parents finished building their “dream” house across the street from Rancho Vista; it closely coincided with my brother Oliver’s birth in October of that year.
SN: And to preface all of this, our city boasts a heavily affluent Caucasian population combined with conservative Chinese/Japanese/Korean/Indian/Persian residents. So to even see a Vietnamese girl outside of my family with the same name as me during that particular point in time was basically the equivalent of seeing a unicorn or a Pokémon.
But yes, I can recall eight-year-old you vividly. You were taller than me, so that was a bit intimidating. You had a short bob cut up to your ears. But man, you were a tough egg to crack! I remember you never gave me straightforward answers to my questions!
DKN: Ah yes, I remember being one of the few AAPI kids in my class/grade, with the exception of an exchange student from Japan (Takehiro!).
A tough egg!! I don’t remember that at all. What questions did you ask me? Also, I’m not surprised–I had such a difficult home life in those early years leading up to when I fled home the day I turned 18. It was hard to try to be present in school, knowing what home life was like; but I think this is not uncommon for other households, perhaps other Vietnamese American households.
SN: I would ask you stuff like, “When is your birthday?” and you would say, “It happened a month ago,” or “Do you have any brothers or sisters?” and you would be like, “Yep.” Maybe it’s the way I phrased the questions, but you were very guarded and difficult to engage with. Probably because you thought I was annoying at first, but eventually, I broke through to you.
DKN: I think I still answer in this way regarding birthday queries. I was and still am fairly guarded about these seemingly minor things because stuff like birthdays were weaponized in my family growing up—they are still really difficult times for me even now as an adult. I wish I could have been your friend during this time. I know now that I definitely would have benefitted from it.
Were you able to connect to other kids during this time?
SN: I believe I made meaningful connections that carry on to this day. Definitely learned a lot from casually observing others in my surroundings and seeing what was socially acceptable and what was not. Surprisingly, you can learn a lot more from your peers than teachers. I feel like my whole educational journey from elementary to college was really about studying people, not subjects.
DKN: Was this a conscious decision? I don’t know if I ever studied people. I recall myself mostly yearning to be free, to be given permission to pursue the arts, to read books, to play all the sports.
SN: Most people just have tendencies and needs that connect to others seamlessly. If you can align yourself with their best interests without being intrusive or annoying, they’ll generally respond positively. I feel like art and sports have that same effect if you think about it.
Oh, and the way I figured you out was… snacks! I brought snacks from home like those Calbee Shrimp Chips and Super Lemons and shared them with you when I saw you. I think that definitely helped you open up a lot more to me over that particular summer. There are bits of information that I have retained over the years of you, but the most vivid memory that stands out is one day after school, you asked me if I would walk you home. We get no more than ten steps from the curb of the parking lot, and you turn around, and say “Ok, bye.” Turns out you lived right across the street from the school! I was dying laughing on the inside because I thought I was being messed with the whole time, but really wasn’t. I must have stared at your house for a good five minutes after you walked through your door.
Oh yeah, there’s something else you should know. To me, your childhood home doesn’t just tether my memory to you, but it was my dream to have a house like that. I can literally draw it from memory. I lived in a one story, 1,500-square-foot bungalow that I had to share with uncles and grandparents. I’ve never had my own room. So, I made a vow to one day build a house like that for myself. It was a lifelong goal of mine.
DKN: I am so shocked, truly–I feel so seen–I remain a huge lover of snacks! Access the intimate self via food (isn’t that a trope in Asian American culture? Families that say “Have you eaten?” instead of “I love you.”)
The image of us walking away from the school–your accompanying me home moves me, but I’m not sure why. Perhaps because my adult self knows how with retrospection–how meaningful it was to have someone who looked like me/my family members–to spend time with me in a kind way.
I’m so grateful for your sharing of this young Steve’s dream of having a multi-story home. I’m thinking now about how this dream coincided with my parents’ dream of this house: my father drew the architecture plans and together he and my mother built with some hired help on the weekends (when they weren’t working), while my sister and I played in boxes in the dirt. I have such fond memories of this house being built. Remind me to share with you videos my dad shot of the house as it was slowly being built.
SN: I would love to see those videos. I’m kind of envious that you have access to that footage of your past.
The construction process was extremely daunting, but rewarding! Thirty years later, that dream became a reality. I’m fortunate to say that my childhood goal has been fulfilled.
DKN: Steve, this is incredible! How does it feel to now have a house like this to live in it with your own family? I ask because when I yearn for things for years and finally attain them, I often feel such sorrow, as if I miss the yearning more than I appreciate the achievement.
SN: I’m humbled and grateful to be in a position to enjoy the fruits of labor with my loved ones. It started with a crystal-clear determination and gradually grew from there. Life goals are really about working toward an achievable process diligently and finding new ways to expand with the tools that we’re given. If we ever do accomplish them, we have the luxury of sharing those moments with our friends and family.
DKN: Yes, this is true. I learned this very early on, that I could only rely on myself and what I could acquire (knowledge, skills). I think there’s something of an immigrant’s child’s work ethic mixed in there, too.
Okay–so, did you ever want to write a book/become a writer when you were a child? What were your other dreams?
SN: I never thought about getting into children’s publishing, but I always thought it would be cool to write or illustrate a book. As soon as I knew I was going to become a father, there was an unspeakable feeling within me that random ideas started clicking and the opportunity to publish presented itself in due time. That’s usually how most of my artistic endeavors usually come to fruition.
You should totally write a children’s book! I would love to see you tap into that medium.
DKN: It’s funny–as a young child who loved reading, I would often save these pamphlets we got in the mail that advertised children’s book publishing; I saved them in a plastic baggie because it was a secret dream of to write children’s books one day, which I never have done. Poetry was always just a fun thing–something that started during a poetry month unit in third grade (Mrs. Blum’s class!).
During adolescence, poetry became a lifeline for me: I wrote to stay alive, to capture the anguish and turmoil I felt so that my body could feel it perhaps a little less. I never dreamed that I would continue writing in college, let alone spend the next decade plus pursuing it as a way of being and profession.
SN: Through my formative years, I learned one of the hardest lessons in that there is physical and emotional danger when it comes to men-love. If a man doesn’t understand or know how to express what they’re feeling, it could result in potential violence not only for themselves, but for those around them too. Would you echo those sentiments based on your personal experiences?
DKN: Absolutely. I see it now, in a way, with my sister: she’s not violent, but she’s so kind, gentle–she’s always been this way. The aggregate of my mother’s words and actions builds and builds and eventually my sister can’t receive/contain the discomfort anymore and she has an explosive verbal response. It reminds me of a tea kettle that wails and whistles when the water finally comes to a boil. She only started doing this in her late 20s.
Because our family was not versed in describing, let alone sharing our emotions and interiorities with each other, none of us knew how to express our feelings. With my brother Oliver, he would have explosive verbal responses like my sister, except in his adolescence, and years up until his death, he was also violent with my parents. I feared that he might harm my parents (he lived with our parents until his death), or that he would take his own life, or both. I don’t have words really, for this kind of dread. And then for it to culminate with taking his own life, which is a deep tragedy–but there’s relief in it, too, since no one else was “harmed.” But grief leaves a mark on us all.
