My childhood in Vietnam...
We slept in a bed together, Nga and I. The floor inside was like sidewalk cement. Was there a game we played? I do not recall. The rooms were lit by hurricane lamps and natural light. There was a large hole in the ceiling over the drain. I remember the smell of peach candy.
I yearned for a future in which I could conform to what was expected. There was much to learn. A sense of instability was in the air. It threatened the out there. We clung to each other and tried to sleep. There was only her and me mostly. The light was low and flickered.
I didn't hear sounds of gunfire. Silence and chirping crickets filled the night. There was no threat of violence from without. The town held no hostility. I had only one fear. I recited my Our Father and we attended church.
I learned to leave my mother alone and only spoke when spoken to. In the spaces of my recollection, there were no happy memories.
The walls were barren. Furnishings were sparse. There were no curntains but there was a window seat. Cool air blew in. Afternoon sunlight comes in the open door and falls on the cement floor. What were our values? Survive? There was a hazy cloud of unspoken rules.
There were other houses in which other people lived but I never imagined them. It was never a thing that I pondered.
A bed. Single, mattress wet with urine every morning. I would be beaten because I didn't get up to go to the toilet. Sometimes I would awaken to the wetness. I lay still in my shame. I hated myself for not alerting in time or not catching it at all. I was a humiliation. I tried not to think. Because thinking may be wrong. If I walk the narrow path of unthinking then I may skirt truly existing and that was better than being bad. I shrank into myself growing smaller and smaller. Unthinking was a good way of keeping the hurt out. There was nowhere to run to. There was nowhere to go. How could I excape myself or my body? How could I excape my mother or my family?
