Six Wondrous Days

On Day One when your parents went out –

            We discovered Photo Booth and had fun taking pictures, just the two of us.

            In your first aqua class you kicked your little legs like a little dragon would.

You turned three (months) on Day Two –

You posed and cooed at Picture People to our hearts’ delight.

We celebrated with candles and cakes at lovely Zilker Park before the night.

On Day Three Mommy went to town with Grandpa Ông –

            I fed you Mommy’s milk from a bottle and we went on a walk.

            You cried at the stroller so Daddy carried you in the sack.

On Day Four I watched you while Mommy played music at Koenig Lane –

            We went to the nursery where I rocked you to sleep before Mommy came.

            We watched the peacocks spread their feathers later at Mayfield the Camp.

On Day Five Grandpa Ông took you down a slide –

            We went to the library where you were so content on Mommy’s thigh.

            You didn't play with the other babies or the toys on the floor. Neither did I.

On Day Sixth it was my last chance to carry you on our hike –

            At Town Lake I did a silly dance so you would not cry.

            This was after we played at the pool of Barton Springs under clear sky.

Then it was all too soon when we said goodbye –

            You sat in the dreaded car seat once again to take us to our flight.

            We will miss you, Sweet Nhỏ Con Rồng! You bring us smiles.

‘Round the Carousel

dedicated to Tâm Thành

April 2013

I dream of the day when the flowers bloom

Their pink petals dance in the breeze

The summer sun will shine its brilliant rays

On the path where together we will stroll

How beautiful, the blue lake’s water  

How colorful, the carousel we ride

The horses of all shapes and sizes

Go ‘round and ‘round as we hold tight

To the memories of the precious times

We spent with each other our lives entwined

The circle goes ‘round and ‘round with no end

As forever the love of our friendship stands

Ta mơ ngày hoa nở

Nụ hồng trong gió mát

Nắng rực rỡ trên bờ

Ta cùng nhau sánh vai

Hồ thơ bao cảnh đẹp

Bên con ngựa kéo quân

Đủ mầu đủ sắc phong

Ngựa gỗ vẫn chạy vòng

Những kỷ niệm thân yêu

Quay vòng theo ngựa gỗ

Một vòng tròn bất diệt

Như tình bạn không quên

Thương tặng Tâm Thành

Mãi mãi

Tháng tư 2013

Trưng Vương

Old Trưng Vương

Trưng Vương, my old high school

Evoking such sweet memories

Of friends and teachers dear

Whom I still long to see

Time will make the heart forget

The breezy puppy loves

The joyous carefree days

The sorrows one lived through

But my love for Trưng Vương stays

For its fragrance’s still sweet

Even as time marches on and

As Earth turns its colored wheel

Oh how I miss seeing you

I’d wait ‘till the end of time

Let me hear from you dear friends

No matter from how far away

When we finally meet again

What happiness we’re granted

Time will be given freely

As we share life-long stories

Friends of the same school

Though not of the same class

Bring joy to my heart

As though I’ve known you for long

One day I hope we will

Under the roof of old Trưng Vương

Gather from all over the world and

Laugh around a circle - one large embrace

Tình Trưng Vương

Tình Trưng Vương dào dạt

Hương Trưng Vương ngọt ngào

Thầy cô ta vẫn nhớ

Bạn xưa lòng ước mong

Thời gian rồi mờ nhạt

Những chuyện tình mông lung

Những đê mê thoáng chốc

Những sầu cay đời người

Tình Trưng Vương vẵn thắm

Hương Trưng Vương vẫn nồng

Dù thời gian đi mãi

Hay không gian trở màu

Xa nhau bao thương nhớ

Mong nhau bao đợi chờ

Lòng vẫn mãi hoài mong

Tin bạn đường từ xa

Ngày nao ta hội ngộ

Hân hoan mừng đón chào

Trải qua bao tâm sự

Vui buồn ta thủ thê

Bạn Trưng Vương đầm ấm

Dù không cùng lớp xưa

Gặp nhau sao thân thiết

Lòng ta sao rộn rào

Ta mong có ngày về

Họp mặt cả bốn phương

Dưới mái trường yêu dấu

Hàn huyên mình có nhau 

The Hand Squeeze

We met the winter of my sophomore year in college. I was a newbie to everything and anything America, including taking an inter-state train and ordering a dinner on it. But there I was, alone, sitting in the dome car of an Amtrak train leaving Chicago and heading south to Florida. I was en route to an adventure, greater in scope than I could have imagined, but at the time I thought confined to seeing my aunt and cousins in Ocala.

I was sitting at a window seat. In my memories, the window was to my left. The seat next to mine was vacant. It was vacant for several hours until he showed up.

Young, tall, and thin, he came with notebooks in hand. He sat at the vacant seat next to mine. He might have said a greeting. He asked me where I was from. My answer took him aback. He did not expect “Vietnam.” Later he said he only knew Vietnam as in “The Vietnam War.” Also later he said he had traveled far and was tired that day and did not want to engage in conversations. He wanted to find a “quiet” spot to sit and was happy to find a seat next to mine as I looked like someone who would be quiet and would leave him alone. I don’t blame him for thinking so. I am petite. I wore a pair of black shoes with red socks and dressed in hand-me-down clothes with no jewelry or cosmetic. I looked like a little girl.

I was reading. The book was “The Once and Future King,” one that I had borrowed from a boyfriend whom I was willing to leave behind to go embark on a new educational opportunity. As it was only the second year of my immigrating into this country, I was weak in English. As I read, I took notes of new words. Among the unfamiliar words were “decent” and “self-serving." Those two were the ones that made into memories and written records. I asked him for help and he readily obliged.

Was it that I wanted to return a favor? Was it stupidity? Was it drunkenness? (Not caused by alcohol.) Was it fate? Whatever it was, it happened. I leaned over, seeing that he was working on math problems, to ask if he wanted help. How dreadful. How presumptuous. How unlike me, a shy and cautious person. If it happened today, I’d have buried my embarrassment elsewhere. It must have been fate. Not only was he not recoiled from it, he was charmed, he was enchanted, he was intrigued, he was lured into a spell, one that I unknowingly and innocently casted and he willingly entered. He was a graduate student in mathematics. I was a sophomore in college, majoring in biology. No, he did not need help, but if he did, I was not one to provide it, even if I knew enough math to be hired under the work study program to tutor other students.

“How old are you?” and “Could I see what an Illinois driver license looks like?” He inquired. A savvy person would have known the second question was not really small talk. It must have been stupidity. I dutifully showed him my driver license. Satisfied, he engaged in large and small talks. He was relaxed and easy to talk to. I played a trick on him, a trick I learned from Marge. Marge worked at the community college I attended, in the center where I tutored. She took me under her wing and helped me adjust to life in the United States. She once told me to put on a sweater before going out. Her son thought that would offend me. He was embarrassed when she treated me like a little kid. Little did he know I liked being taken care of. Inside I was still a little girl. Marge taught me the trick of putting down the first four counting numbers on one side of a piece of paper, showing it to someone, and asking the person to pick one number without revealing it. After he chose a number, I flipped the piece of paper over. I had written on the other side “Why 3?” I had played this trick a few times and it never failed. It did not fail that day either. He was amazed. He thought I was magic. He didn’t tell me so at the time, but I read his diary much later. I assume I was magic because of the choosing-a-number trick, but I never really confirmed it. Sometimes it’s best to let our imagination run. Besides, he might have forgotten. To keep the magic alive, I don’t play the game anymore. There are always exceptions.

He gave me a Cracker Jack box. I spilled the content, thus earned the “clumsy” label from him. I concurred with the label to play along, but did not consider myself a clumsy person. It bothered me a little bit that he thought I was clumsy, even if he was just teasing.

Maybe we talked math. Maybe we talked about my boyfriend. Maybe we talked about my coming over to America. Maybe he asked for my driver license after my dumping the Cracker Jack content. Maybe it does not matter that I do not remember what we talked about or the order of events on the train. It must have been drunkenness. I was not the shy girl I really was. And I was glad he was with me. I had no idea what I’d have done for dinner. He took me to the dining car. As I followed him around a corner, I was somewhat self-conscious of our height difference. I ordered a prime rib. His treat. It was to be my Christmas present for Christmas was just a few days away. I normally liked fatty cuts of meat, but my prime rib was too fatty, I thought. Being diplomatic I was not, I let him know. He still remembers this.

We went back to the dome car after dinner. Now my memories have him sitting next to the window and me at the aisle, on the right side of the train. We must have spent the whole day together. He leaned back and closed his eyes. I thought he was forward when he told me to put my head on his shoulders. He must not have behaved his usual ways either because I don’t really think of him as a forward person. I wanted to be with him then, but I was not about to put my head on a stranger’s shoulders. I felt awkward and did not want to go to sleep next to him, with or without my head on his shoulders. As he fell asleep, I slunk back to my assigned seat.

We got back to each other the next day. At some point we were at the area of my assigned seat. The lady who sat next to me referred to him as my boyfriend. I tried to correct her to no avail. She offered her seat to him.

He gave me his address. It was not a time of cell phones, emails, or instant messages. To correspond, we’d have to write and send letters by putting stamps on envelopes. It was I who would have to write first if I wanted to maintain our friendship. I was about to transfer to a university and I did not have an address.

He was going to Tampa to spend Christmas with his maternal grandmother. I was going to Ocala to see my aunt and cousins. Our train split. I was the one who had to get off. As I was getting off, I gave him a hand squeeze. Touch is in my nature.

As I stood on the platform, he took a photo of me.

I stood and watched the train that carried him leave, craving for him to turn his head once more my way.

I was the one who wrote first. He said in his first letter that he’d be “honored” to be my boyfriend. It was flattering. But my then-boyfriend followed me to the university. And I was still self-conscious about our height difference. But my heart leapt whenever I got a letter from him. For Valentine’s Day, he sent me a stamped, unwrapped baseball. He wrote on it in pink letters “Be my valentine.” He put a 28-cent stamp on it and the post office delivered. I still have it.

It was several months before I parted with my then-boyfriend. It was not because of him. But my heart was free and open.

I finally gave him the “honor” he asked for.

Three years later, we tied the knots. He said our fate was sealed with the hand squeeze three years earlier. But perhaps our fate was sealed when I had to take the chemistry final at the end of the first half of my sophomore year. For you see, my cousin drove his roommate and my sister to Ocala to spend Christmas with his family. I wanted very badly to go with them, but I had to stay behind to take the chemistry final. If I had been a better student, I probably could have taken the final early and be done with it.

And as fate had it, I was not a better student.

My Head Had Spoken

My father passed away seven years ago this month. I spoke these words at his funeral. I miss him and wish he had a chance to meet his first great-grandson. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There lay my father, asleep or resting, on the hospital ICU bed.  The doctor spoke.  She wanted to know our wishes if his heart ever would fail to beat.  The doctor at the previous hospital prior to his transfer here had asked my brother the same question.  The doctor phrased it in the way such that we knew what she thought we should do, based on her medical expertise, as a doctor to the family of a patient.  My sister thought her speech was slanted.  My older brother who is a medical doctor himself told us that the doctor spoke with statistics and experience.  The odds stacked up against my father, heavily.

My father had suffered a prolonged period of reduced blood flow to his vital organs.  His aneurysm ruptured the day before.  We were warned about all possible complications and consequences, and it was too early to tell the extent of any damages.  

We were told my father’s only chance of survival that day was an operation to relieve the pressure that had built up and interfered with his bodily functions.  We consented.  My mother was exhausted, physically and emotionally, and had delegated the decision making on the five of us.  The operation lasted under two hours.  My father pulled through.  He was stable enough that my mother went home to rest.  His conditions remained stable throughout the evening and the night.

In the morning, the doctor called.  We consented to a dialysis and hurried to the hospital.  Then we were told the blood pressure had gone down between the doctor’s call and our arrival and the dialysis could not be performed.  My medical brother looked at the monitor and thought my father would have about twenty minutes before his heart would stop.  This time, we had to make the hard decision of what to do in the event of a heart failure.  There was no time to waste.  My brother explained to us that we could only resuscitate the heart a few times, but in the end the heart would not come back.  My cousin in Arlington had miraculously arrived at the same moment.  We sent my husband out to get my niece.  We were there, crying together, while trying to figure what would be best for my father.  My sister was not quite ready to let go, but she went with the decision to let my father go in peace.  I definitely thought it was the reasonable thing to do, since we had been warned over and over about brain, liver, and kidney damages even if he was to survive.  But as if being comforted by an unexpected reunion with his wife, his five children, his son-in-law, his niece, and his nephew around him; my father refused to go.  His heart rate became steady, albeit weak, and his blood pressure steadily rose from the low 70’s to the mid 90’s.  At one point, it was 105, the minimum pressure required for dialysis.  With my father’s condition stabilized, some of us went home to rest.

Before we had a chance to come back to the hospital, my father’s condition worsened.  His heart rate became irregular again.  As soon as we heard that the EKG chart went flat, we piled into the cars and hurried to the hospital.  I thought we were too late to be there with him when he left our world, but he was the one with the last word.  I dropped my mother and two brothers off as I went to park.  As soon as my mother walked into the room, my father’s heart danced and the monitor picked up movements.  Then as I walked into the room a few minutes later, the same thing happened.  My sister and my husband were the last two to arrive before my father said goodbye for good.  There is no doubt in our minds that he waited for all of us to arrive.  He went peacefully, surrounded by loved ones. 

It has been six days since we said goodbye.  My head had spoken.  It was best for my father to go.  Then why is my heart so heavy?  I’m more in a daze now than when he was in the hospital.  His image appears frequently in my mind.  It was just three weeks ago that we celebrated Tet together and just two weeks ago that we gathered at my brother’s place for dinner.  My cousin was there at Tet celebration.  He and my father recounted their days in the North of Viet Nam where they were born.  I see my father now with his remembering how many “cay bang” at the village gate.  I could only imagine what it looked like.  Then I see him being somewhat unsteady with his steps, but taking the effort to come to my brother’s place in Falls Church.  I recall the phone calls with him when he thought the pharmacist had given him the wrong medicines, despite me telling him otherwise.  When he finally cleared everything with the pharmacist, he told me “You win,” with a chuckle, his way of saying “You were right.”  I thought he was silly of thinking of that as “winning” or “losing.”  But now his words sound so charming and loving, and I want to hear “You win” from him again.  Lately he didn’t give advice, but sometimes sought it.  I want to receive a phone call from him one more time.  He’d begin with “Ba co cai nay muon noi voi Tran,” which means “There is something I want to talk with you about.”  I would then say “Talk to me.  I have all the time in the world.” 

I’d like to thank all of you for taking time to be with us today.  I wish you all the time in the world to spend with your father, mother, and other family members.  

Aplet

I am holding on to the last piece of aplet

Yearning for time to freeze

Time is cruelly marching by

And will be gone as surely as the last piece of aplet of mine

So how is my very own grandson

The smart strong and good-looking dragon boy

I can imagine him so fresh in my mind

His figure's the same as at the moment I saw him last

I know that is not true at all

For he is growing as boys always do

I need a magic carpet of my own

To sneak a peek at him to satisfy my longing so

To hold him tight and to kiss his cheeks tenderly

To coo when he cries and to laugh when he smiles

To tell him over and over how much he is loved

To watch him grow and be there each day he changes

As far as I know magic carpets don’t fly

Over the lands of Texas or of Virginia

Holding his hands each day is an impossible dream

Seeing his face however yet I may be

Nhỏ Con Rồng it’s his name that I call

Giving me so much joy I’ve never even known

I would feel as he made his first appearance

Into my world when the stars start dancing about

His sweet smile generates much sunshine

His innocent eyes drive through the winter blues

His soft pink skin warms the heart and soul

His wiggling toes make the world go ‘round

So call me each day on Skype if you please

Let me gaze into his beautiful face

Let me hear the gurgling sounds he’s making

I want to say hello to the aplet of my eyes

Feb 11, 2013

Poem for Grandson

This poem is dedicated to Nhỏ Con Rồng, the name I call my grandson, who was born January 19, 2013 in Austin, Texas. The first stanza refers to the night of his birth when I returned to his parents' house while he stayed at the hospital. When I got home to Virginia, the amaryllis my friend Judy gave me had bloomed three large beautiful red flowers. I took it as the sign of welcoming my grandson into the world.

 

Golden Silk Thread

I had not yet gotten home

At the street corner I just turned

And yet I began to miss you so

I’ve loved you since before your birth

Oh the big bright eyes of yours

Are as blue as the dreamy lake’s water

And from your sweet tender red lips

Of young milk the fragrance’s still strong

Sweet dreams tonight my dear little one

Together we will be in the morn’

A magical day was thus spent

A day full of glory we were blessed

As the night lulled me to sleep

I saw your face and innocent smile

My heart’s so filled with love and awe

Could have I been in heaven or not yet?

The day I left you came

To see me off at Austin airport

Now I can’t help but think of you

My love for you is overflowing day by day

On my desk the amaryllis

Has bloomed its large red flowers

I am so sure it is stretching high

To welcome you to this world of ours

Here my love to you I send

As a piece of golden silk thread

I will weave it into a poem

And  your name Nhỏ Con Rồng it dances