Journal
August 17, 2026
“When Humans Are Such Gossips”
This morning, M came over to our place to hang out. We ended up talking about his experience at an event the other day. There were two things that caught our attention.
At the end of the event, M was interviewed for some documentation. But the funny thing was that, during the interview, he was basically expected to say things according to the script and requirements of that team.
So what kind of interview is that?
From what I gathered, the interview was meant to support some kind of fundraising effort or something. And M wasn't allowed to say that she had joined because a friend introduced her. Instead, she had to frame it as though she was interested in environmental issues or something like that.
Hmm... what is that supposed to be?
→ This made me realize how much of fundraising, money-making, and project work in reality can be quite performative. I don't know exactly how they actually operate, what their deeper intentions are, or what the context was. But controlling the output, steering someone's story in the direction you want, and using another person for your own purposes doesn't feel healthy to me at all.
Whatever the circumstances, that is still an act of inauthenticity. In the long run, this kind of behavior can corrupt that initial, wholesome intention—if it was ever really there in the first place. It also cultivates a tendency to be careless about principles, to disregard boundaries, and to devalue one's own standards.
M also told us that some people around here have apparently "judged" us as some kind of spiritual, religious, meditation-practicing bunch.
We were just like... what?
We've never even worked with or interacted with those people before. And yet they've already formed that impression of us.
How strange.
Now that I think about it, every now and then we still hear people saying all sorts of things about us. For example, some people say we're dreamy and impractical because we often talk about ideals, dreams, and things like that.
Then there are others who say we're too money-oriented because we dare to charge people for the programs we organize.
And then there are people who think we're just talking nonsense.
Even though they may not fully understand what we're doing, or may not have interacted with us enough to really have enough information to form an opinion.
And many of those opinions come with some degree of judgment, hostility, or even contempt.
Meanwhile, we haven't actually done anything to hurt or offend anyone.
That made me realize something: people are naturally very quick to judge and evaluate one another. That's just human nature. So why bother exhausting ourselves worrying about it?
Perhaps the only thing we can do is be mindful of our actions, our words, and the way we conduct ourselves. Don't give people too many reasons to talk badly about you, and that's enough.
So don't be foolish enough to try to please everyone.
If something feels right and reasonable to us, then do it. Don't get pulled around by what other people say. Nine people will have ten different opinions; at some point you won't even know whether you're dealing with saints or devils.
As long as we ourselves are clear, that's enough.
And if we're not clear yet, then we can slowly find our way through it—try, make mistakes, learn from them, and minimize the consequences.
Being Given Chili Soy Sauce at Lunch, and a Lesson in Communication
Stopping by a familiar restaurant for lunch
Every time I eat here, I usually order an extra portion of sa tế to go with my food. Usually, sa tế is made with chili and tastes great when eaten with other dishes.
The problem is that the sa tế at this restaurant is basically a mixture of minced lemongrass and a little oil. It's not like the kind of sa tế I'm familiar with. So it doesn't really satisfy my taste buds.
Today I ran into the cook and suddenly remembered this. So I asked her, "Do you have chili sa tế?"
She went, "Oh, you eat spicy food?"
Then she said she'd bring out this sauce that she absolutely loves and had brought all the way from Huế.
I happily thanked her and waited excitedly for this precious chili sauce to arrive.
This time, I was quite surprised.
The sa tế I was given looked more like fish sauce with sliced chili peppers floating in it. And it tasted sour, almost like pickled vegetables.
[Skip...]
After I finished eating, she asked me what the sa tế looked like.
I told her, "This is the first time I've ever had sa tế that tasted this sour."
She looked surprised and asked, "Really? When you were in Huế, you never ate this?"
So I explained the kind of sa tế I usually eat.
She then explained what this beloved sauce of hers actually was. She told me that whenever she went back to Huế, this was the one thing she always bought.
And then I completely forgot what she called it.
What followed was a really sweet little conversation [I'm too lazy to tell the whole story] about this sauce.
She even told me how it was made.
Her children love it too. Every now and then during meals, they would scoop some out and happily slurp it up.
As for her, sometimes all she needs is a bowl of this sauce with a few extra seasonings, and she can eat an entire bowl of rice with it. She says it's delicious.
She told me that adding some chili and eating it with boiled water spinach is absolutely amazing.
Every time she goes back to her hometown, she buys two huge bags of it to bring home for the whole family.
Alright then. Tomorrow I'll go back there and eat it again, and I'll ask her more carefully about what exactly this stuff is.
I'll try to remember how it's made.
And if I can, I'll listen to more stories about it.
What touched me was the story of a family, and even the eating habits of an entire place, being told so casually through a simple dish.
It wasn't just food anymore.
It contained a whole memory, a way of life, a family habit.
The way she enthusiastically told me about this strange sauce made me feel warm inside. It was clearly something very important to her, and to her family too.
It's simple and humble, but it's enough to make her happy.
And I suddenly realized that she must value me quite a lot to tell me about this sauce.
Just a few dozen minutes earlier, I had thought it was way too sour and didn't taste that good.
Yet she didn't just tell me the story. She generously scooped out a whole bowl for me so I could eat as much as I wanted.
Haha.
Suddenly I'm really curious.
Curious about the story behind it, the memories, and the whole way of life hidden behind that little bowl of sauce.
Tomorrow, I'll definitely ask her for some more.
And I'm sure I'll receive that sauce with a completely different mindset!!!
At least, that's what I think.
This experience also helped me realize something else:
Without conversation, sharing, and connection through ordinary everyday things, happening naturally like this, it would take me forever to discover so many interesting stories.
And it would take me just as long to build meaningful relationships like these.
Of course, when communication doesn't work and people don't understand each other, there is certainly a problem.
But when we're skillful enough to talk, and know how to listen, these everyday interactions become wonderful opportunities to understand other people a little more deeply.