Lenga Nguyen was a woman of remarkable intellect, a sharp and playful wit, and a fierce, protective love for her family. Known to the professional world as a brilliant linguistic expert and to her online community as “Sick Duck,” she navigated life with a unique blend of global sophistication and deeply personal creativity. From her roots in Vietnam to her long career in Montreal, Lenga lived on her own terms, leaving behind a legacy of resilience and a collection of stories that captured her unique perspective on the world.
A Career of Global Impact
Lenga’s professional life was a testament to her mastery of language and her dedication to international service. She spent many years as a high-level translator and interpreter for the United Nations, most notably at the International Civil Aviation Organization (ICAO) in Montreal and the United Nations Environment Programme (UNEP). She also interpreted for Canadian Prime Minister Jean Chrétien and for the Vietnamese president while in North Vietnam. She said she was petrified with fear, but Chrétien and his wife were very nice to her.
Her colleagues knew her as a top-tier professional. Even after her formal retirement, her expertise in French translation was so highly regarded that she was frequently invited back for senior R-III level assignments. Beyond the world of international agencies, she was a sought-after freelancer who could bridge the gap between technical experts and local teams, once notably helping a group of French programmers navigate complex Oracle database systems. She saw her work not just as a job, but as a craft, and she often looked for ways to share her professional opportunities and wisdom with her family.
The Creative Heart of “Sick Duck”
While her days were spent in the precise world of technical translation, Lenga’s evenings often belonged to her creative alter-ego, “Sick Duck.” Through her blog and her email (under the alias sick.kwanyin@gmail.com), she explored her inner world with a voice that was both skeptical and deeply spiritual.
Lenga was a gifted storyteller. In her writing, such as the story “The Possession,” she explored complex themes of memory, the “bardo,” and the cultural rituals of her heritage. She had a wonderful ability to look at the world with a critical eye, often using humor to deconstruct the supernatural or the bureaucratic. While her story “Death is the End” was a work of fiction, it showcased her deep understanding of family dynamics and the sensory-rich memories of the Saigon she once knew—smoke, incense, and the “vibrating and roaring” energy of life.
Her online persona revealed other sides of her personality. She forwarded articles about science and politics with commentary—debunking creationism when Scott Adams defended it, sharing fascinating pieces about Sherlock Holmes and Asperger's. She had a particular delight in mocking scam emails, once forwarding a Nigerian prince letter with gleeful sarcasm: “Je suis riche! Riche!!!!!!!! Il ne me reste plus qu'à envoyer à cette femme si généreuse mon numéro de compte bancaire avec le mot de passe!!!!” (I'm rich! Rich! All I have to do now is send this generous woman my bank account number with the password!)
She forwarded jokes—so many jokes. Marriage counselor jokes, jokes about getting old and elaborate email chains with punchlines.
A Devoted Mother and Matriarch
Above all else, Lenga was a mother. Her two sons—Nebu Pookins and Forty Nguyen—were the center of her world. She referred to them with a playful affection as her “Booboos,” and her every decision was made with their future security in mind.
She was a pragmatic matriarch who spent years planning how to best take care of her boys. Her relationship with her ex-husband, Earl Wong, remained a significant part of her life; he served as a constant in the family, acting as a partner in navigating the challenges of their children's futures.
Lenga’s circle of love extended to her niece, Sam (Sami) Nguyen. During Lenga’s many adventures abroad, Sam was her trusted confidante at home, looking after her beloved pets and ensuring her household remained a sanctuary.
As a mother, Lenga showed her love through meticulous attention to detail. She was the family's organizer-in-chief, remembering every birthday, coordinating Christmas shopping with multi-email updates, planning elaborate birthday celebrations for others even as she requested "no fuss" for her own. She sent detailed travel itineraries with hotel addresses and flight numbers, reminding her sons to "Print both and keep them preciously on you when travelling." Before one son's trip to Japan, she wrote: "You have to be at the airport 3 hours before departure time, but if you leave the house at 5:00 or 5:15, it only takes 20 min to get to the airport because there is no trafic, so you'll still be ok."
Her approach to Christmas captured her practical philosophy: “I wish to remind you that our usual practice is to wait till after Christmas to buy costly items and to give cheaper fun items for Christmas. Please note however that present giving is not an obligation and that no one should feel pressured if they don't have the time or the money.”
When her mother, Ba Mai, died in January 2009, Lenga became the organizer of grief. She sent detailed instructions about the funeral home visits, the white bandanas her sons should wear, the traditional 49-day mourning period. “You are supposed to wear them at all times when you are in public,” she explained. “The purpose is to show to others that you are in mourning, and that you should be excused if you don't greet them as usual.” Even in grief, she was taking care of the details, making sure her sons understood the cultural expectations, the proper way to honor their grandmother.
An Adventurous Spirit: The “Blue Hair Chick”
Lenga never lost her sense of adventure. In her sixties, she was still trekking through the world, most notably taking a journey to the world-renowned Son Doong cave in Vietnam.
One of the most characteristic stories of Lenga’s resilience occurred during a 2014 trip to Saigon. After being robbed, she didn't focus on the loss; instead, she delighted in the fact that she became a local celebrity known as the “blue hair chick.” She recounted with a laugh how strangers offered her help and how her “uncle from Paris” used his theatrical charm to help her navigate the local bureaucracy to recover her documents. She met life’s hurdles with a story and a smile, never letting a setback dampen her curiosity.
Her travel stories often had a quality of bemused exasperation with chaos. In 2010, she wrote about a disastrous trip to Vung Tau: “We made the mistake of asking Uncle Four to organize the trip and it was a fiasco. He had some friends who had a so-called hotel, so he booked us there. But it wasn't really a hotel...” What followed was a cascade of mishaps—the “hotel” that turned out to be someone's barely converted house, the rooms that weren't ready, the general sense that Uncle Four's friends had wildly oversold their hospitality capabilities. The whole thing became one of those travel stories that's miserable in the moment but makes for excellent retelling later.
By 2014, she had accumulated so many adventures that she began one email with a line that had become familiar: “You will not believe what just happened to me, I know you must be tired of reading this line, just as I'm tired of writing it, but this is the most incredible action-packed holiday I ever had.”
Personal Passions and Simple Joys
Lenga was a lifelong learner. Her intellectual curiosity led her to study Japanese at Dawson College, where she took several sessions of language and conversation classes, a pursuit she took quite seriously.
At home in Montreal, her greatest companions were her dogs. Her corgi, Lamp-or-Chair (also known as Bella), was the light of her life, and she took great care in ensuring the dog had exactly what it needed, from specific chicken-and-rice meals to its favorite treats. In her later years, her “petit chien blanc,” Banh Mi, became her constant shadow, providing her with comfort and companionship through her final chapter.
Her humor extended to herself. When a CT scan revealed she didn't have the brain tumor she'd secretly feared for six months (a fear prompted by mysterious loss of taste and persistent headaches), she wrote: “In the words of the wise Schwartzenegger: ..'It is not a tumehr!!!!' So now I have no more excuses for all the stupid things I say or do....”
She was practical about health, forwarding miracle drink recipes (carrot, beet root and apple) and articles about diabetes reversal, treating her own medical appointments and body's limitations as just another set of logistics to be managed.
Resilience in the Final Years
Lenga’s final years were a testament to her strength. When faced with complex financial challenges involving the CRA and her UN pension, she met them with the support of her family and friends. Though she faced periods of health-related memory loss, she never lost her essential spirit. By the end of 2023, she had regained her stability and was found by those close to her to be in good spirits, remaining the “precious love” of her family.
Even as stroke and dementia gradually took their toll, the woman who had been so sharp—forwarding articles, making jokes, planning every detail—remained present in the love and care she had built around her.
Final Wishes
True to her pragmatic nature, Lenga left clear and unsentimental instructions for her passing. She didn't want a fuss; she wanted to be remembered for the life she lived, not the rituals of death. She asked to be cremated or for her body to be donated to science, always thinking of how she could be of use.
A Legacy of Love and Language
Lenga Nguyen was a woman who spoke many languages, but her most profound language was the one of care for her sons, devotion to her friends, and an unyielding zest for the next great story. She navigated between worlds—Vietnamese and Canadian, technical and creative, practical and mystical. She chose the online handle “Sick Kwanyin” after the Buddhist bodhisattva of compassion, a name that captured her particular blend of the irreverent and the spiritual.
Her legacy lives on in the people she shaped through steady, unglamorous, essential work of paying attention to the details of their lives. In the forwarded articles and health warnings. In the carefully planned birthday celebrations. In the travel itineraries with every detail specified. In the simple phrase “Hi my two booboos”—typed hundreds of times, meaning: I see you, I'm here, I'm paying attention, I love you.
She will be deeply missed, but her voice lives on in the stories she wrote and the lives she touched.
