Amy Do Nguyet Anh

(originally posted on 7/7/2013) Statistics is probably the most dreaded course among my science/engineering friends. It is known to be boring, difficult and tedious. But many, many programs require it, from business, economics, finance to biology, physics, engineering. It is no surprise that stats is required among so many majors. Statistics illuminate an inherent and unavoidable part of life: uncertainty. When I started reading "How Randomness Rules our Lives" by Leonard Mlodinow about a year ago, I started to become more aware of how probability is useful to my many practical needs, and how random our universe is. If there is one most significant thing I learned from being a teenager, through both my academic and personal life, it would be that certainty is non-existence. Simplest things like measuring contains such much uncertainty that correcting for the error becomes its own subject of study. But in life, are we ever certain about any decisions we make? Maybe w...

(originally posted on 3/2/2013) I bid stability goodbye as I push myself forward. The snow is powdery and crispy as the winter sun. My feet are shaking; my fingers sore from unintentionally clutching the pole for so long. I look down. I see that white thin trail spread in front of my vision, intertwining with the dark green land of mystery that I cannot explore just yet. But my eyes are not enough to keep me going forward; my ears are open for the sound of the wind gushing around me, signalling a safe turn. I want to stop, but I keep going forward. I let go of myself and leap. Leap ahead. My body is moving faster than myself. I see the world open up, swallowing me into its own physical laws. I don't want to stop, though my brain is screaming for control. My feet bounce unexpected as I hit a mogul and a shot of electricity spikes up my spine. I kiss the ground again. It pushes me forward even faster. My tummy jumps. Friction is lost, but I don't want to slow down. Frozen f...

(originally posted on 2/5/2012) When a girl turns 19, she free falls. (void) { Step outside the house, put on heels, a short dress; Find someone (male or female); Do her hair in a sexy; Wish herself the best of luck; Then free fall (let go); } Not a woman nor a girl. (answer?) { Count the number of times she falls in love; Record the length of time she is in love; Measure the days she misses someone; Paint her blue days, and wash her grey days; Look through her playlist, highlight the love songs; Read her books, find her dreams; And you will know if she is a woman, or a girl; } Does she cry at night, does she smile? Does she look out the window and listen to the Weeknd? She asks for cocktails instead of a shot, or does she forget her night? What does she wake up with? A spoonful of happiness, a dose of drowsiness, a pile of work, a sharp thought of someone she loves? The beauty of 19 is the free fall. The algorithm...

(originally posted on 5/26/11) Three years ago, one night back from Orchard on an MRT where I sat on a reserved seat next to the doors, I got lost in my thoughts and unintentionally placed my hands on the glass frame right next to me. Through the transparent wall between my hand and the people on the other side, I saw how close, yet how far, I am to a stranger. What if, I thought, there was another hand placed right there next to mine, so it seems like we were touching, yet separated by a cold and solid material. So when I placed my hand on the window glass to say goodbye to you today, I was surprised at how different the feeling was compared to my imagination back then. Yes I can feel the cold glass wet with raindrops, a startling contrast to how your hand really feels like, but your sleepy smile transcending through the glaring glass touched my heart like the warmth of your lips on my neck, erasing all physical senses around me. Is it the glass that allowed such feeling to ...

(originally posted on 3/20/2011) " And the sun is pouring in through the window and right onto your skin and I've never seen a portrait quite so picturesque ." - Chase Coy, Picturesque. We walk hand in hand along 4th avenue toward the west. the sun set beams with soft layers of purple, blue and gold. before saying goodbye to you, the sun stops for a while, looks into your eyes and blows gently onto your face a kiss of new, warm, spring sunlight. then, before I had time to chase after her, she winks and fades sneakily into that distant horizon. looks like the sun is back in the city and I'm going to have to share you with her for the next half a year, darling. i wish you could wear my kiss on your cheeks all the time too; i wish i could embrace you all day like she can; i wish i was the sparkle in your eyes like she is. I think she misses you after such long months of snow and rain. the sun's been absent while i took my chance to hold your hand. whe...

(Originally posted on 10/1/2009) ( Footsteps in snow. S orry, can't find the photo taken by Wayne R. Bilenduke that was printed in my book. Alternative photo.) I think this is by far the story I have to spend the longest time reading. Mr. Guraliuk was right, this is a very sleep-inducing "short" story. "It goes on and on and on and on… like forever". But, paradoxically, that's what makes it such a brilliant short story. When you read Sinclair Ross's lines, you feel cold. You can imagine the coldness of hard window glass pressing against your fingers as you look out to the freezing white snow-covered endless landscape and long for the person you love to arrive. You can feel your eyelids heavy as you watch the time go by; your heart heavy with sadness and loneliness but still not letting go of that weak hope, the only hope that keeps you still alive amidst the brutal coldness of winter. Of course if you've never been through a cold, white and l...