My First Tết in Seattle: A Weekend I'll Never Forget

A reflection from Linh Nguyễn, a Vietnamese-American calligrapher based in Seattle on her first experience at Tết in Seattle.

The booth we almost didn't know how to fill — and somehow, it became the most beautiful space in the room. With ba and má by my side. 🧧

It's taken me a few days to sit with everything that happened last weekend. To let it settle. To find the words — which feels a little ironic, given that words are exactly what I was there to give.

Last weekend, I vended at Tết in Seattle for the very first time. And it wasn't just me — it was my mom, my dad, my partner, and the doggie too.

Because if you know anything about Tết, you know it was never meant to be celebrated alone.

In the weeks leading up to the event, I kept going back and forth on one thing: do I show up with pre-made products, or do I keep it almost entirely live calligraphy?

Part of me worried about the logistics. What if people took too long choosing their words? What if others walked away because there was nothing to browse while they waited? The practical side of my brain said: *have inventory, make more sales, cover your bases.*

But another part of me - the part that actually started doing this - just wanted to keep it honest.

Live calligraphy is the art in its truest form. It's slower. It's imperfect in the best way. People might leave because they can't wait. I'd probably make less money. But I'd stay true to why I do this in the first place.

I went with mostly live calligraphy. And I don't regret it for a single second.

Ba and I, heads down, in the work. This is what I chose — slower, imperfect, real. Live calligraphy in its truest form. 🖌️

The night before the event, my mom and I stopped by the venue to check out the booth. I had no real decoration plan. We literally just brought a single foldable table and showed up to see what we were working with.

The booth was bigger than my setup at the San Diego Tết event last year.

I panicked.

I stood there looking at all that empty space with absolutely no idea how I was going to fill it, let alone make it feel like *me*. I barely slept that night. My mind was running through every possible way it could go wrong.

I ended up arriving at the venue at 7 AM — four hours before the market even opened — just so I could have enough time to figure it out.

What happened next is something I'll always be grateful for.

My dad, my mom, and my partner each took a corner of the booth and just... handled it. One by one, piece by piece, the space started coming together. None of us had a master plan. We were just a family problem-solving in real time, the way families do.

And somehow, by the time doors opened, the booth looked more beautiful than anything I could have designed on my own.

None of us had a master plan. We just each took a corner — and somehow, it all came together. I wouldn't have wanted it any other way. 🧧

I don't think I ate much over the two days. But I was never really hungry.

There's a kind of nourishment that comes from being fully present in something meaningful — and that's the only way I can describe what this weekend felt like.

Watching people walk up to the booth. Seeing them read through the words. Hearing their reactions as my dad and I wrote live — the gasps, the laughs, the quiet moments of someone just sitting with a word that landed somewhere deep.

Every single interaction fed something in me that food couldn't touch.

Every interaction, every person who stopped — it fed something in me that food couldn't touch. This is why I do this. 🧡

Out of everything this weekend, there is one interaction I will carry with me for a long time.

A girl and her partner walked by the booth. She slowed down but didn't stop — she wasn't sure if she wanted anything. I told her she didn't have to buy anything. I just offered to let her draw a card and pick her prosperity word for the year. No pressure.

I just love watching people receive their word.

She agreed. She reached in and pulled her card.

The word was *phước* — blessing.

She paused. Something shifted in her face. I thought maybe I should say more about the word, explain its meaning, so I started to. She was quiet for a moment.

Then she looked at me and said, *I'm sorry, I'm really emotional right now. One of my family members just passed away — and their name was Phước.*

I felt my eyes fill up.

Out of 45 non-repeating words in that deck — 45 — she pulled the one that carried her person's name.

I didn't say much. I reached out and held her hand. We just looked at each other for a moment. I told her: *I'm so sorry for your loss. It feels like they're watching over you.*

I wrote the word for her.

When she left, I turned to my mom, who had been sitting beside me the whole time. She looked at me and said she had goosebumps watching us.

I think about that moment a lot. I made those cards. I chose those words. And I am still, every single time, in complete awe of how they find the people who need them.

I made those cards. I chose those words. And I am still, every single time, in complete awe of how they find the people who need them.

I couldn't have been more thankful for my family. Each of them showed up in the most *them* way possible — and I mean that with my whole heart.

My dad spent the weekend writing red envelopes honoring people's names, pouring the same care and intention into each one.

My mom had her hair dryer ready every single time I finished a piece, drying the ink faster so customers didn't have to wait. She didn't miss a single one.

My partner made sure I drank water throughout the day — because left to my own devices, I absolutely would not have — and quietly captured the whole weekend in photos and videos, preserving moments I was too in the flow to stop and save myself.

I wouldn't have gotten through the weekend without each of them. Not a chance.

To the friends who came out from my old tech days — seeing familiar faces in that crowd, hearing your encouragement, meant more than you know. It's a funny, full-circle feeling when the people who knew you in one chapter of your life show up to cheer you on in another. You reminded me that changing paths doesn't mean leaving people behind.

To the sweet vendors I got to vend alongside — thank you for making the weekend feel like community in the truest sense. Getting to exchange art, support each other's work, and share space with other AAPI female artists in Seattle was something I didn't know I needed as much as I did.

That kind of sisterhood — the kind that shows up in the middle of a busy market, between booths and business cards — doesn't go unnoticed. It stays with you.

To all the amazing staff, volunteers, and organizations that make this weekend possible - I can’t thank you enough.

To everyone who stopped by, drew a card, let me write for you, or simply paused long enough to watch — you gave me far more than I gave you.

Every single person who received a word this weekend, I hope it finds you well throughout the year. I hope it means something when you need it to.

I am so thankful for this weekend. More than I know how to say.

Chúc Mừng Năm Mới. 🧧

Ba and I. Two calligraphers. One booth. The best weekend. 🧧

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*If this resonated with you, I'd love for you to explore more of my work — from live calligraphy events to custom pieces — at [linhnguyen.art]. And if you're in Seattle and want to experience the prosperity word deck in person, keep an eye on my Event section for upcoming markets.*