They tell me that her dreams often swirl but never rise. They tell me that as she gets older her imagination will harden. I disagree. I sit on what would be considered the bed. It is made of stiff worn wood, with thin blankets, draped with a mosquito net and a hammock hanging in the corner. The sun peeks through the cracked crevices of the flailing walls. The paint chips beg for my attention except my mind is focused elsewhere. I tell her to sit next to me. She is a 13 year old girl who is about to be interviewed by me. I am considering her for a scholarship and I must assess whether she fits in our criteria. She stares at the familiar dirt floors rather than my outsider eyes. The loose threads of her shirt are suddenly worth noticing - my questions not so much. I see her eyes wander over my interview sheet, her eyes curious at my Viet - English scribbles.
She tells me she will quit school. She's 13. She tells me she will quit school to take care of her two younger siblings. Silently her eyes tell me that she's falling apart inside. Her mom's dripping damp clothes and dirt crusted nails tell me so. She tells me she will quit school without it phasing her and I ask her, "How about you?" Perhaps her tears flood because they were never able to before. Her imagination hardens with each sacrifice. I do not need to look in her eyes to know that she is falling apart inside.
Her mom with sun beaten skin is taken aback by her tears. She did not ask her daughter to drop out of school to work. Instead this 13 year old thought of it all by herself. Self sacrifice.
I once stepped into a hut that teetered on top of a river. It was built with barely space for the bed, a small kitchen, and you could not stand up straight in it. Mind you I am 4' 11" The mother of the young girl had passed away, and the father had amassed a large amount of debt, the same amount that I would of spent in a week on food in America. But the hut. The hut was seeped with memories. The little hut held together by fallen hopes and a father's love for his daughter.
Vietnam taught me how to be human. Vietnam and its people taught me how to live, taught me how to be giving, taught me how the world is so complex. These young girls who live in some of the poorest regions of Vietnam taught this college graduate how to feel and be compassionate. I am extremely humbled and privileged to have met the hundreds of young girls living in the Mekong Delta. Their resilience will live with me always. Their voices, their stories will always remain alive within me.
What will you do? How will you live? What do you choose to see? What do you choose to do? I ask myself this whenever I'm faced with the cemented air of suburb life. I'm sure all my life experiences is going to amass into one big celebration of some sorts, but I can't wait for that. I have to be honest. I have to be myself because that is all I have, all I have is myself. All we have is ourselves.
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Changin' things up. Be creative!
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"Quiet as its kept"
Bluest Eye, Toni Morrison
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