In Memory of Viet

A Story of Brotherly Love, Loss, and Finding Purpose

A Bond Since Birth

Viet and I knew each other our entire lives. Our mothers met in Vietnam, and when both families fled authoritarianism and eventually settled in America, that bond remained. We were babies together, children together, young men navigating what it meant to be gay and Vietnamese-American together. He was, in many ways, a brother to me.

He was the first person I came out to. The first person who knew me completely. In a world where so many of us felt we had to hide—hide from our families, hide from our communities, hide from ourselves—Viet was the one person who made me feel I didn't have to.

But Viet Never Got to Be Free

He never came out to his parents. Like so many in our community, he carried the weight of living two lives—the son his parents knew, and the person he truly was.

We told ourselves there would be time. Time to figure it out. Time to find the right moment. Time to build the courage.

We were wrong.

2008: The Year Everything Changed

May 2008 My multidisciplinary note for Law Review on artificial intelligence and jury decision-making was published. Legal scholars called it "the future of IP scholarship." My career was taking off.

October 10, 2008 Viet died suddenly. He was too young. He had his whole life ahead of him. And his parents never knew about the person he loved.

The Moment That Changed Everything

I had to introduce Viet's boyfriend to his parents at the San Jose airport. I stood there watching two worlds collide—two worlds that should have been connected but never were. His parents were grieving the son they thought they knew. His boyfriend was grieving the man he loved completely. And I was standing between them, holding this unbearable secret that no longer mattered because Viet was gone.

In that moment, everything became clear.

What I Learned

"Life is short. We have to live authentically. We have to use whatever skills we have to make real change."

Standing in that airport, I realized that all my academic achievements, all my career success, all the recognition—none of it mattered if I wasn't using my skills to make the world a place where people like Viet could live openly. Where families could be connected instead of fractured by fear. Where no one had to choose between being themselves and being loved.

Viet never got to experience a world where he could be fully himself with his family. Where he could bring his boyfriend home for Tet. Where he could be both Vietnamese and gay without having to split himself in two.

I realized I had two paths: I could keep climbing the corporate ladder, securing patents, making partner. Or I could honor Viet's memory by fighting to build the world he deserved to live in.

Eighteen Years Later: The Seed Grows

That moment in 2008 planted a seed. Over the next eighteen years, I watched it grow.

I continued my work as a patent attorney specializing in AI, but I also threw myself into community organizing. I founded QTAPI Week, creating space for queer and trans Asian Pacific Islander voices. In 2016, I won Miss GAPA. The next year, when the organization was about to shut down, I showed up—honestly, just for the shu mai—and ended up speaking up with ideas to save it. They elected me Chair. We rebranded as the GLBTQ+ Asian Pacific Alliance and revitalized the entire organization.

I learned to build coalitions. I learned to bring different communities together. I learned that change happens when we show up, listen, and do the work.

But I also watched San Francisco—the city that gave me home—become unaffordable for the very communities that make it special. I watched families displaced. I watched artists forced out. I watched the promise my parents believed in—that if you work hard and contribute, you can build a good life—break down.

"Viet never got to be out. I'm fighting so no one has to hide—from their families, from their communities, or from a city that should welcome everyone but has become accessible only to the wealthy few."

Why I'm Running for District 8 Supervisor

Viet's death taught me that life is too short to wait. Too short to accept injustice. Too short to believe that things can't change.

I'm running because San Francisco should be a place where:

→ Working families can afford childcare and stay in the city they love

→ Artists and cultural workers can thrive, not just survive

→ LGBTQ+ people can be fully out without fear or compromise

→ Immigrant families find sanctuary from both ICE raids and economic displacement

→ AI wealth generated in our city funds the communities that make San Francisco special

As a patent attorney who has worked in AI since 2008, I understand how technology creates wealth. As someone who has organized in LGBTQ+ and AAPI communities for over 20 years, I understand what communities need. I'm uniquely positioned to bridge that gap—to ensure innovation and community both thrive.

For Viet. For Everyone Who Deserves Home.

I can't bring Viet back. I can't give him the life he deserved—one where he could be fully himself with everyone he loved.

But I can fight to make sure the next generation doesn't have to choose between authenticity and belonging. I can fight to make sure San Francisco remains a place where everyone can find home.

No one gets left behind.