Hồi Ức của Chiến Tranh
I have no memory of the war. Yet, its long lasting effect once dwelled in me, subconsciously; years after the war had ended.
Tucked away somewhere inside my head and/or buried deep down at the far corner of my heart. . . As I grow older, I found myself revisiting it every so often seeking for an understanding, to touch it and to make peace with it.
I carried no grudge then. And that I don’t look back in anger now. There is only love, a love for one self, for my orphanage cousins, for my parents, for my grandparents, for the lost souls and the living of unsettled souls.
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The Atmosphere of Tet
Hương Vị của Tết
Like many other Vietnamese families at the time, our family also tried to flee the country for neighboring countries’ refugee camps in search for resettlement in the United States, a place where many hold out hope to escape poverty, to seek freedom and opportunity for a better future.
Instead of taking the sea route, my parents chose to travel by land. And unlike the timely few, we got caught in Cambodia before making a border crossing into Thailand.
After being accused and labeled as traitors, we were then transported back to Vietnamese Correctional Center, the Chi Hoa Prison (Khám Chí Hòa), where I was kept together with my mother while my father was kept separately at the men quarter, away from us.
