I didn’t expect the journey to Berlin to be linear, and my path back to the States sure as hell wasn’t…but let’s not get ahead of ourselves here. On with the story.

After my nervous breakdown that spring, I decided to stop being scared to take risks. I’ve always been a big dreamer, but never had the confidence or support to take any of my ideas seriously. Well, this time it wasn’t so much confidence but desperation that made me go for it. Either way, my lifelong dreams of living abroad and making music were finally gonna happen.

So a bunch of my relatives live over in Germany. My dad and his siblings had all fled Vietnam and scattered around the world, and we somehow ended up in the suburbs of New Jersey while my cousins ended up with universal health care, tuition-free education, a kickass rail system, and weekends in Amsterdam. Let me tell ya, sitting at a table where everyone flows between German, Vietnamese, and English as I’m reppin’ America with my unilingual skills is slightly humbling.

I was going to stay with my relatives for about a month while I searched for jobs, apartments, and gigs. That way I’d have a safety net for when I got to Berlin.

Well, things didn’t work out according to plan. Let’s backtrack for a minute…

A few months earlier, I was down in San Francisco and met this rad chick at a party (no, no, it’s not what you think—we’ll get to my college phase some other time). We kept in touch, and she later passed on some info about a gig. A friend of a friend, who runs a girly punk label out of LA, was looking for a female DJ to join them on the Vans Warped Tour.

Yes, that Warped Tour. It’s the longest-running touring festival in the country (going 14 years strong now) and draws over 500,000 sweaty emo kids every summer. The gig would pay a daily stipend, along with meals, and you’d travel around the country on a tour bus for 2 months.

I’d emailed the label owner a month earlier, but never heard back. Then, out of nowhere, I got a response. She wanted me to join them on tour. And, of course, I got this offer when I was over 3000 miles away.

A flurry of emails and phone calls were exchanged over the course of a week, and an acute sense of panic overwhelmed me. She needed an answer, but my head was spinning with confusion. I couldn’t sleep, I’d randomly break down crying… My anxiety spurred on a serious bout of homesickness, so I’d scribble in my journal because I had no one to vent to.

I was stuck again… Right as I thought I was finding some direction in life, I was faced with a huge conflict: living in Europe versus DJing around the US. Both would change my life, but in completely different ways. Plus (masochistically), I knew that whichever one I chose, I’d regret not doing the other one.

After losing much sleep and battling a few panic attacks, I agreed to go on tour. I figured that Europe would always be there, but I might not get another chance to do something like this.

Holding my breath, I was back on a plane to JFK with a future full of the unknown.

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