Mekong stories stream through me.

And for the most part I forget to transport them onto paper or another medium where I can remember them. But sometimes by happenstance they come across my mind and I am forced to reflect on them. For work today I have to find quotes from our program, from what people have said to me under their tin roofs as the sweat drips down our faces, as children swim in the muddy rivers of the Mekong, and as life moves on unaffected by my presence in their homes.

This reminds me of a grandma who sat in her home when I walked in. She welcomed us. Everything we saw was probably everything she had. Her eyes were not teary because she was crying but they were teary because of her declining health condition. Her grandchild was a scholarship recipient of my organization. We were visiting in one of our bi annual house visits we make to check up on the family and the recipient. A young boy who seemed to be her grandson lingered in the background going about his business. The young girl was skinny, enough to squeeze between me and the driver on the motorbike. She listened to her grandma, and she went to help us get gas for our motorbike without a complaint. The sun was scorching but I suppose she was used to it. Everything I saw was everything they had. She rented out the other half of the house and lived in one half. Tin lined the walls and roof. Rust draped where it could. There was a tv to my right, near the pots and pans. The grandmother sat on her bed. And as the girl went away for a bit, she told us that the girl was not really her grand daughter, but she didn't have parents, so she took care of her.

This must of slipped my mind as I recall it sitting in my air conditioned office with my wireless keyboard and mouse. Necessities that suddenly seem unnecessary. What a small fact that I let register in the back of my mind. Secrets kept from someone just to let them live an unknowing life. Her tears were real regardless of what caused them.