Video Vault Unlocked: Scenes From A Biopic by Hung T. Ly
|| Unreleased: clips from a mental video archive. This is the UNLOCK. ||
It begins in the early ’90s.
“Over there!” yells the driver
in a Nissan coupe, pointing up in my direction.
An order prompts the front seat passenger to pull out a handgun.
*Pop* the glass-cracking sound the black tires screeching
It’s the very first time Asian gangsters try to kill me.
Bad aim, coupled with a quick-flight reaction, and the round misses me.
A single bullet cracks the bedroom window. Discharged from a nine-millimeter.
The powerful impact of a potential life-ender.
Learned first-hand what “drive-by” meant
from the incident
The assailants—enemies of my big brother—
return several months later.
Gunfire riddles the walls of two bedrooms. But how can this be? No one hears the
shots. Suppressed with silencers—theory.
Avoided another attempt on my life. The thought of not waking up from a night’s
rest—scary.
The camera’s on sleep mode, identities remain a mystery.
A callous act preserved in anonymous history.
Do the gunners regret what they did?
Attempting to steal the future of an innocent kid.
In ’93 I was only nine.
For over two decades I wished for a chance to return the bullets. I didn’t want
them, they weren’t mine.
Three years later, a twelve-year-old delinquent.
Acceptance and reputation is what’s relevant.
Pocket knives and fist fights, to drinking and smoking. Characteristics of a felon.
I soak up the lyrics of 2Pac’s “Shorty Wanna Be a Thug.” It’s ’96 going on ’97.
Big brother, hauled off to prison.
Lack of positive role models—vulnerable position.
Lock myself in the room—wall of separation.
Bottle everything up—no conversations.
Graduate to junior high. New faces and different crowds. Clique up with dysfunctional
teens, and rejects too.
Introduced to a culture of mean mugs, gang signs, or “where you from?” Instead
of civil smiles, fist dabs, or “how are you?”
Struggling with class assignments, I don’t have a clue.
No respect for authorities, “don’t tell me what to do.”
“Ah-ma” advises me to stay in school, but I won’t listen.
Waiting for the perfect time, I dash across the intersection.
Missed the teacher’s lesson.
End up in Saturday School—detention.
In the early 2000s, vengeful feelings flood my unstable teenage mind.
Anger, hate, fear, hypervigilance. Poisonous side effects from
atrocious acts of mankind.
Lack of control and communication skills, with alcohol abuse.
Ingredients of this ticking time bomb. Running on a short fuse.
Perception operating with clouded lenses. Distorted panorama.
User error, not a faulty camera.
Feel the need to protect myself, I find my own nine-millimeter.
It’s a matter of time, before I pull the trigger.
Sick of being the victim,
so I switch positions, from flight to fight. And recklessly create my
own victims.
“No one can ever hurt me again,” I’m untouchable.
Saw the fear in others’ eyes, I felt incredible.
At nine years plus ten, like my perpetrators, I was a gang member.
My right to freedom rescinded, when the detective said, “We’re going to lock you up forever!”
Eventually,
the resentment caused by these episodes
evaporated. But like a stain,
difficult to erase, the memory remains.
||Archive: this is the END. One vault closes, another begins.||
Author’s Note: Please understand that I am in no way making excuses for or glorifying my actions, seeking pity, or blaming others for how my life turned out. Today, I can honestly accept full responsibility for making the choice to assume the role of a criminal, which ultimately caused me to be locked away for public safety. This new way of living has allowed me to become more open-minded, empathetic, and optimistic.
In order to remain on the path of recovery and to become a prosocial member of the human race, my lens undergoes daily maintenance. It’s my intention to capture a clearer and brighter unseen future.
This piece is dedicated to all crime victims who have lost their lives or suffered physical and mental pain from the misdeeds of others—as well as the victimizers who have broken the cycle of violence and are actively making amends to society for their actions.
HUNG T. LY is a 37-year-old Chinese American from South Sacramento, California. He enjoys watching documentaries, cooking shows, and comic book based shows or movies. He is passionate about film production and plans to live his dream as a cinematographer, documenting real lives and events. HUNG uses his freedom making an honest living, pursuing higher education, reestablishing or creating relationships, and volunteering his free time for the benefit of his community. He credits his success to the unconditional support from family, friends, and advocacy groups like the Asian Prisoner Support Committee (APSC).