About BenTime Stories

A man smiling and sitting on a dark blue sofa in a living room with a floral wallpaper, a white and orange pillow, and a black and white striped pillow, in front of a wooden coffee table with plants, a blue vase, and glasses, and a tall lamp with a white globe shade and a white and yellow pot plant.

BenTime Stories is a safe haven for creative expression, self-reflection, and human connection.

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There’s more to your story.

BenTime Stories started as a personal platform for me to explore my innermost thoughts, feelings, and experiences, including the deeper and darker aspects of my life. It was a [square] space where I could freely express my musings and discoveries, and unleash my creativity–ultimately allowing me to delve deeper into my psyche and uncover truths about myself that I may not have otherwise realized.

Eventually this space evolved into a therapeutic practice, inviting others to share their stories and have their voices heard while also exploring shadow elements and bringing forth hidden truths.  The various narratives that emerged through the sharing of this space have awakened and inspired a desire to curate unheard stories to uplift and illustrate the unlived fantasies, wishes, and losses held within the collective unconscious of underrepresented and marginalized communities.  

Close-up of a smiling man with short dark hair and a patterned shirt, standing in front of a blue wall with a white floral pattern.

Nice to meet you, I’m Ben!

I am a licensed psychotherapist and certified public health professional with over fifteen years of experience in health and human services. I currently live and practice out of the Silicon Beach and South Bay in Los Angeles, California.

I also serve as the Senior Manager for Outreach & Engagement with the American Academy of Addiction Psychiatry, helping to amplify SAMHSA’s Opioid Response Network reach and impact to underserved and underrepresented communities.

A few of my favorite things ◇ Love! ◇ Trees ◇ Mushrooms ◇ Breakfast Burritos ◇ Running ◇ Late Night Conversations ◇ Young Adult BL Novels ◇ Mythology ◇ A24 Films ◇ Musical Theatre ◇ Karaoke ◇ Oxytocin ◇

My Background, Credentials, and Training

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Six graduates wearing blue and gold robes holding hands and walking down outdoor brick stairs, smiling and celebrating graduation.
A man dressed in blue academic regalia walking up a staircase at UCLA Luskin School of Public Affairs.
A young man in a graduation gown and sash standing between bookshelves in a library, holding a book with a photo of an elderly man on the cover.
Group of eight diverse young adults in graduation caps and gowns, smiling, celebrating graduation outdoors.

A little more about me (Q &A )

Here are some more questions I’ve answered for other people to get a better sense of who I am as psychotherapist and mental health professional. I also offer free 15 minute consultations to answer specific questions you might have.

Also, if you’re still curious about learning more about me, keep reading below! :)

Before I was a therapist, I was a scientist.

Before I was a scientist, I was an alchemist.

A person standing in front of a large wall mural featuring a rainbow, a phoenix, stars, and moon designs, with text about artistic exchange and cosmic identity.

As BenTime Stories evolved into a sanctuary for other people’s stories, my stories kept brewing offline, and eventually found a new home—a blog I started called Alchemy of Loneliness where I reflect on the lost magic (disenchantment) and loneliness (disconnection) in our modern world.

A collage of various animated and illustrated scenes from Asian cultures, mythology, and fantasy, including traditional dancers, divine figures, mythical creatures, and spiritual symbols.

Life Imitates Art,
Vietnamese Lacquer Painting

Sơn Mài: The Art of the Uncovering

I have always loved the Japanese art of Kintsugi—the act of repairing broken pottery with gold to celebrate the wound. This is a popular metaphor for the hardships of life and imperfections.

But I have often found myself asking:What if you have too many cracks to be pieced back together? What if you have been broken so many times you’ve forgotten your original shape? What if life has required you to develop layer upon layer of "thickness" to cover up the broken mess and unidentifiable shape of you, just to survive, until you no longer know what existed underneath? I not only have asked these questions to myself, but also have encountered these very themes in conversations with others.

This has been the texture of my life as a Queer Asian+American. I have lived through the heavy, compounding layers of acculturation, assimilation, and conformity—layers that covered up my sexuality, my gender, my ethnicity, and my class. For a long time, I felt buried under the "armor" I had to build. Who was I originally?

“I’m looking for the face I had before the World was made.”

—William Butler Yeats, Before The World Was Made

This is the beauty of Vietnamese Lacquer Painting. In Sơn Mài, we do not start with a blank canvas. We start by burying fragments—usually broken eggshells or sand—underneath thick, dark, messy layers of lacquer. In its raw state, this lacquer is toxic. It is a caustic resin that causes rashes and burns; it is a substance that demands respect and caution. For a long time, the art looks like nothing but a hardened, toxic black slab.

The Transformation of the Toxic

Then comes the uncovering. Through a process of gentle, patient grinding, we sand back those layers. We don't "fix" the broken pieces; we work with the mess. We take the very material that was once toxic—the layers of protection and survival that may have once felt like they were poisoning our souls—and we grind them down.

By the time the process is finished, you don’t have the "original" shape or colors back. Instead, you have something entirely new. You have a version of yourself where the brokenness and the messy, darker layers of lacquer have been transformed into a various shades and hues of luminous depth. You have You.

The Beauty of Being Held

Perhaps the most beautiful part of this art is its relationship to touch. Unlike other delicate works that must be kept behind glass, Sơn Mài is meant to be held. The natural oils from human hands do not degrade the lacquer; they enhance it. Over time, the more the painting is touched and held, the more beautiful and durable it becomes.

This is the philosophy I apply to my life and my practice. I believe that our layers of protection and our histories of brokenness do not make us fragile—they make us capable of a deeper kind of beauty. When we lean into the process of uncovering, and when we allow ourselves to be held and touched by life and relationship, the toxic becomes the radiant. We don't just survive. We shine.

Terraced green rice fields in a valley with trees and mountains under a cloudy sky.

Broken Rice

Like the artistry of my ancestors, the kitchen of my ancestors also reminds me that what is broken is not merely insufficient, discarded, and dejected, but that the fragment is where the value lives—broken rice is transformed into a heartwarming meal of nourishment.

The Delicacy of the Fractured (Cơm Tấm) We are the Broken Rice. Traditionally, Cơm Tấm was the rice that shattered during the milling process. Because the grains were broken, they couldn't be sold as "premium" export; they were the "leftovers" that the farmers kept for themselves. It was the food of the working class, born out of necessity and the refusal to let anything go to waste.

But a strange thing happens when you cook with the broken grain. Unlike long-grain rice, which stands independent and firm, Broken Rice is unique. Because the grains are fractured, they have more surface area. They don't just sit next to the flavor—they absorb it. The texture is softer, more complex, and more intimate. It creates a mouthfeel that "perfect" rice can never replicate.

Today, Cơm Tấm is no longer just "poverty food"; it is a national comfort food of Vietnam. It is beloved specifically because of its brokenness. It is the ultimate alchemical proof that what is rejected by the "elite" or the "whole" can actually be the most heartwarming part of the story.

To be broken does not mean you are discarded. It means you are open. I’ve learned that when we embrace our own fractures, we become like that bowl of broken rice: seasoned, deep, and capable of offering true comfort to a world that is also hurting. Your history of being "shattered" is exactly what allows you to absorb the richness of life and extend an empathetic warmth and compassion to others.

Again, this informs my life and practice too. I don’t work to make you "whole" again in a way that erases your history. I believe your fractures are exactly what allow you to absorb the depth of life. We don't strive for the rigid "perfection" of a whole grain; we stay with the fragments of your experience until they become something heartwarming, a source of comfort for someone else. After all, rice can’t be eaten as a single grain; it sticks together like a community.

Alchemy of Appetite and Acceptance

Deconstructing and Appreciating "Too Much"

There is a specific kind of shame in being "too much." Too stinky, too pungent, too loud, too queer. For a long time, I felt this about Nước Mắm (fish sauce), and by extension, about my own identity. To some degree, I still do feel this way about both.

Usually Cơm Tấm is paired with Nước Mắm (fish sauce). Isn’t that funny. Something broken with something very pungent. Its creation is a process of extreme pressure, salt, and time.

I will admit: as a Vietnamese-Chinese American, I still cannot handle the intensity of raw fermented fish or shrimp sauce (Nước Mắm or Mắm Ruốc). I used to hate that pungency; my rejection of this used to be intertwined with my rejection of the culture, and a reflection or clinging to how "Westernized" or acculturated I had become. I wonder if I hated the fish sauce because I hated the parts of myself that were too pungent for our society.

But through time, I’ve come to a deeper appreciation of this flavor—it is the flavor of my people, and therefore, the flavor of me. I began to realize that a society that cherishes something so pungent is a society that knows how to work with the heavy.

Historical Fermentation

But I’ve realized that this pungency is the flavor of resilience. Think of everything buried under the weight of Imperialism, Communism, and Capitalism. Think of the historical wounds of war and the collective aches of a people building a future out of the dust. We learn to hide our emotions; we let them "sulk" and sit in the dark for generations. But in Alchemy, nothing is lost. Like the fish in the barrel, that which is pressured eventually ferments into the savory essence (umami) that sustains a culture.

Deconstructing the "Truth"

I once learned that the Ancient Greeks and Romans cherished a nearly identical substance called Garum. They saw as a delicacy what the modern West often rejects as "stinky." This taught me a vital Alchemical lesson: Norms are temporal; appetites are taught.

All that is to say…I have to confess… I still can’t quite stomach raw shrimp paste or undiluted fish sauce. I suppose what I can’t quite do with the physical, I try extra hard to make up for with the psychic and social. This is the philosophy I bring to my life and my practice. Even if my palate is still "working up to it," my soul recognizes the medicine and can appreciate its unique flavor.

I don’t ask you to be "cured" or perfectly transformed into something bland, flat, and neutral. I ask you to join me in the process of deconstructing the norms that told you your "too-muchness" was a problem. We stay with the messy, fermented truth of your life until we recognize the Gold within.

And as it turns out, perhaps the gold was in the fish sauce all along. :)

Don’t Wait Any Longer.

Start Healing Today.