My #ongie died today.
He was 96 years young ‒ a pretty amazing feat in this modern age. Yes, to reach almost a century alive is quite a big deal, but I primarily note his lengthy time on Earth because of the zest for life that he had throughout the majority of it.
He was one of the ones who taught me to adventure by inviting me on so many of his own. Like the time I joined his grandfathers’ photography club outing to Death Valley. I met them at a random intersection before we hit the desert, and ông got in my little orange sports car with me to ride the rest of the way. He led me up a sand dune while carrying his camera and tripod, always in that same khaki photographer’s vest with the hundreds of pockets, always with that mischievous gleam in his eye.
We spent the night in a casino-motel, joking, gambling through the night, and splitting a beer before getting some rest to race the sunrise to the dunes. People say it’s the most beautiful place to start the day, he told me with a grin. So we went, because that’s what he did. He found something that sounded delightful or fun, and he found a way to do it.
He also taught me about the beauty of the world and how important it is to meaningfully reflect on that and share it. For as long as I can remember, he’s been a photographer, seeing things that most others might pass by. Like a little weed boasting an even smaller flower, defiantly surviving in a harsh, dry earth. He named this photograph “No hopelessness,” and he loved the stubborn optimism for this life that it portrayed. I loved it too, and the image now hangs in my room to remind me during the darkest days that life will always find a way.
Most of all, he taught me about relishing everything. His motto and his mantra were “To enjoy life and make others enjoy it too.” Whether it was fun times, good food or better company, he delighted in it all. My grandpa truly believed that this was the purpose of life: to feel joy and to inspire others to do the same.
Following him around the world on his adventures and bringing him on mine, I’m sure a lot of this spirit has rubbed off on me. I readily joined because I wanted to spend time with him, see the world as he did. He always had a camera in hand, always found something to appreciate. He knew the beauty of the person behind the picture, an aspect I now see permeating my own storytelling. He saw fragility and complexity in others and in himself, poetically showcasing an old man walking through fall foliage as “two winters” or two older ladies in Vietnam, obviously not in the best physical condition but laughing still and absolutely enjoying their lives.
But beyond a travel partner and journalistic mentor, he was just my grandpa. He lit up making jokes that got the whole room laughing and silly faces that kept all his grandkids obsessed with him. From dressing up like Bob Marley Santa (complete with a paper joint) to faking Kung Fu fights to letting us squish his cheeks as he made cartoonish rainbow-heart eyes, he did anything to get a smile out of us.
I always looked forward to my #DatesWithOngie and truly relish the many years we enjoyed with him. In those, I also got to see a version of my dad as an old man, something I won’t ever actually get to do. For all of this, all the joy and happiness, the laughs and good times, I’ll forever be grateful.
Adventuring in My Tho, Vietnam 
Celebrating Christmas in Bali 
Atop Victoria Peak in Hong Kong 
Modeling outside a sushi restaurant in the East Bay Area 
“VN Passionate” – we turned around and found him doing this to give us a laugh 
Adventuring with Truc Vien, ong’s grandfathers’ photography club, to Death Valley, California 
Tequila shots with ongie for Thanksgiving in Rocklin, California
As we bid goodbye to him today, I kept hearing his cheerful, sing-songy “I love you, too!” in my head, the always-ready reply he had for our “I love you’s” with that disarming smile of his. It filled me up as it always has and always will.
I love you to the moon and the stars and back, ông. Thanks for showing me how to do this thing called life and to have fun doing it. I’ll continue to make mine good and think fondly of you when I do.
Until we meet again, I love you, and I love you, too <3.
Adventure Underpants 