The construction is coming to an end. Tomorrow they tile the floor.
The workers, their clothes hang from make-shift lines on both balconies. There're 2 women and a baby among the crew. Mother and child and grandchild. The girl's only 22 and her baby's a few months old. He sleeps soundly despite all the noise. I'd never once seen him cry.
The older woman looked at me and observed Girls your age, they're all married and with kids already. I laughed and shook my head. She helps around with light works such as scrubbing and cleaning, or painting the window frames. and along with her daughter, with a small electric stove in one corner of the room upstairs, they feed the crew
The older woman, she has 5 daughters, the oldest is 28 and the youngest 19. Four of them are married and one is a divorcee. She said it's more comfortable being by herself. She can go wherever she wants whenever, do whatever. We have interested suitors but she no longer wants to live with a man...
The crew sleep on the floor, side by side with the dismantled doors and glass panels. The baby sleeps in a hammock in the small room. His mother by his side on the floor, singing him songs. People scattered on the floor and clothes flapping on the line outside the windows. A boy's name embroidered above the right pocket of a white shirt, a shirt from secondary school maybe, burned red under the neon street light.
The girl once asked me will it be just you staying here? I blushed and mumbled no, my friends as well...
It's so big, she smiled and looked around the room, eyes wide.
and I blushed.
ahhh life.
When I woke up at 6 this morning it was pouring. it continued raining until after lunch, and even after it stopped the sky and the air and the houses, everything looked gray.
i dropped by the house in the afternoon. They'd finished raising the floor 30cms. I will be safe from the waters from the street for the next year or two. until they raise the street and the cycle repeats. That area--the streets flood every time it pours, and even when it doesn't pour the streets still flood from the river's rising tide...
They were painting the walls when I entered. For some reason they were painting my bedroom pinkish purple when I'm certain I chose brownish orange. i'm not quite sure how I feel about purple and pink...
purple and pink...
pink and purple.......
oh my.
i dropped by the house in the afternoon. They'd finished raising the floor 30cms. I will be safe from the waters from the street for the next year or two. until they raise the street and the cycle repeats. That area--the streets flood every time it pours, and even when it doesn't pour the streets still flood from the river's rising tide...
They were painting the walls when I entered. For some reason they were painting my bedroom pinkish purple when I'm certain I chose brownish orange. i'm not quite sure how I feel about purple and pink...
purple and pink...
pink and purple.......
oh my.
i really hate it when you're forced to say what you feel and when you finally said it it doesn't sound quite true or right. because in the end you don't really know for sure what it is that you feel about them. there is the outer layer of feeling, the inner in-between layers, then the hidden layers deep deep inside. and as you ransack through the whole pile all you get is confusion. but no, they want an answer. and now that they have one neither side is happy...
when it doesn't rain i like to climb on the roof and let be. on the rooftop you can watch the lights in the neighborhood gradually seep into darkness and the lights from the broadcasting station in the distance blink on and off. you hear the sounds of occasional motorbikes roar from the street. and you smell the wind and see the shadows of the tree in the neighbor's house bow at you from the opposite wall, bobbing up and down.
someone's forgotten laundry billows on the line.
on the rooftop you sit and watch and wait for nothing. your mind concentrates solely on the small details illuminated in the night. and suddenly the sky is all around you and you are floating.
waiting for nothing.
when it doesn't rain i like to climb on the roof and let be. on the rooftop you can watch the lights in the neighborhood gradually seep into darkness and the lights from the broadcasting station in the distance blink on and off. you hear the sounds of occasional motorbikes roar from the street. and you smell the wind and see the shadows of the tree in the neighbor's house bow at you from the opposite wall, bobbing up and down.
someone's forgotten laundry billows on the line.
on the rooftop you sit and watch and wait for nothing. your mind concentrates solely on the small details illuminated in the night. and suddenly the sky is all around you and you are floating.
waiting for nothing.
My brother killed a cockroach and left it at the doorway. dead. we have not been talking for several days it seems. and even though i said i don't care perhaps i do.
yesterday, while cooking i dropped a glass bowl and it shattered into a hundred pieces. or maybe a hundred and one. all over. while pink floyd played comfortably numbed in the background. and for the first time i understood what it meant--to be comfortably numbed.
It is easy to see how people gradually give up and just take the convenient way out.
i read and watch a movie each day to fill up the emptiness. i'm scared of losing myself. of forgetting. of becoming them. not that i'm much different. but you can never be too careful. people are conditioned to change and adapt. but too much adaptation becomes conformation or indifference.
But good writings and good movies, they take you out of your cramped and narrow little shell and give you space. they keep you wondering after the last page, after the credits have scrolled through. and you feel madly alive. madly depressed. delirious with joy. nauseated with excitement. all at once. because it was so beautiful told--all the happy and sad strands of life, and because it had touched something deep inside of you and for a moment filled up the void of existence.
And that dose of life this week was Kieslowski's Dekalog 1. And for that, i cheer to the pirated dvds industry in Vietnam. There are Kiesklowski, Hitchcock, Godard, Renoir, etc. complete collections available at affordable prices. The quality is of course not the best but the fact that they are available is good enough.
I am not religious in any sense and do not think much of the 10 commandments but that is not the point when watching Dekalog. First of all, it is amazing how every shot is so well framed. The colors and the music coil into one beautiful harmony in conveying the mood. and the characters--Kieslowski has a way of bringing out the subtlest details in their faces, their emotions underneath.
I can still see the man by the fire, staring coldly, so coldly outward.
yesterday, while cooking i dropped a glass bowl and it shattered into a hundred pieces. or maybe a hundred and one. all over. while pink floyd played comfortably numbed in the background. and for the first time i understood what it meant--to be comfortably numbed.
It is easy to see how people gradually give up and just take the convenient way out.
i read and watch a movie each day to fill up the emptiness. i'm scared of losing myself. of forgetting. of becoming them. not that i'm much different. but you can never be too careful. people are conditioned to change and adapt. but too much adaptation becomes conformation or indifference.
But good writings and good movies, they take you out of your cramped and narrow little shell and give you space. they keep you wondering after the last page, after the credits have scrolled through. and you feel madly alive. madly depressed. delirious with joy. nauseated with excitement. all at once. because it was so beautiful told--all the happy and sad strands of life, and because it had touched something deep inside of you and for a moment filled up the void of existence.
And that dose of life this week was Kieslowski's Dekalog 1. And for that, i cheer to the pirated dvds industry in Vietnam. There are Kiesklowski, Hitchcock, Godard, Renoir, etc. complete collections available at affordable prices. The quality is of course not the best but the fact that they are available is good enough.
I am not religious in any sense and do not think much of the 10 commandments but that is not the point when watching Dekalog. First of all, it is amazing how every shot is so well framed. The colors and the music coil into one beautiful harmony in conveying the mood. and the characters--Kieslowski has a way of bringing out the subtlest details in their faces, their emotions underneath.
I can still see the man by the fire, staring coldly, so coldly outward.
the day swirls
Life in Vietnam. Life within the family. Life hanging vegetables and cooking T-shirts. I serve everyone boiled rice for dinner and poached veggies for lunch. I patch up parts of different songs and sing them loud. Somewhere a rooster crows along in rhythm. and the dogs howl, out of rhythm. those dogs, they never have any sense of rhythm.
Tomorrow a group of nuns from a nearby temple move in next door. They wear gray and keep to themselves. They will see me swirl on the roof and shake their heads. Poor creature, she's losing it. but I'll keep right on swirling.
Tomorrow I will gather the raindrops and sow them into a long necklace. so long that it'll wind around my neck twice. and when it sparkles the nuns will burst into laughter.
Tomorrow I will line those scrambling cockroaches up and teach them how to march. and they will march in perfect lines when you come. You will be astonished.
Today I am wearing a spring dress. It billows under the fan and I feel like a fresh daffodil. You, you will be walking through the dried autumn leaves, and they will crunch my thoughts under your feet. but you wouldn't understand. you'd simply walk on.
Tomorrow a group of nuns from a nearby temple move in next door. They wear gray and keep to themselves. They will see me swirl on the roof and shake their heads. Poor creature, she's losing it. but I'll keep right on swirling.
Tomorrow I will gather the raindrops and sow them into a long necklace. so long that it'll wind around my neck twice. and when it sparkles the nuns will burst into laughter.
Tomorrow I will line those scrambling cockroaches up and teach them how to march. and they will march in perfect lines when you come. You will be astonished.
Today I am wearing a spring dress. It billows under the fan and I feel like a fresh daffodil. You, you will be walking through the dried autumn leaves, and they will crunch my thoughts under your feet. but you wouldn't understand. you'd simply walk on.
Dear Danang,
I am here, on your sand, staring out into the vast horizon. It has been so long. The sun is sinking, streaking the clouds orange. soon it will be dark.
I am watching the waves licking the shore. I am watching the wind blow the sand on and off my bare feet. I'm listening to you, listening to you sigh.
the lights from the resort are coming to life one by one. they cast orange patches on the sand. It is dark. Time and space seem to have condensed into one infinite moment. there is no one around except me and you, and the night guard. i can sense he is looking at my back, wondering. I wrap my arms around my knees and let you cradle me. it is my dream Danang, to be in your arms like this. to have this intimate moment with you, when you speak to me and me alone. but it doesn't feel right Danang. it doesn't feel quite right.
Two weeks from now I will be walking towards you, just that you are nowhere in sight. the green fence run along the road for kms. What used to take my aunt and uncle but 5 minutes' walk to touch your sand now takes us 20 minutes. and I can't help worrying that what little that's left of the beach will be walled up too.
What is going on Danang? Why are you becoming a coastal city where its people cannot even see the coast? What are they doing to you?
I am angry Danang. I'm angry that they sold you out so completely, that they made an expensive whore out of you. and I'm angry at my own hypocrisy, because when I sat on your white sand in my bikini and sunglasses I really didn't give a damn. i loved it. that you were so clean and spacious. that you were entirely for me for the time being, while I could still afford the 4-star bill.
But those people out there, who grew up breathing the salt in your wind, and woke up to the sound of your waves, when will they earn enough to be able to touch you again? And the people whose houses are demolished, who I will witness holding out with the little that's left as their surroundings disappear and their neighborhoods are mowed down to make space for 5-star resorts. What are they moving for?
I am here, on your sand, staring out into the vast horizon. It has been so long. The sun is sinking, streaking the clouds orange. soon it will be dark.
I am watching the waves licking the shore. I am watching the wind blow the sand on and off my bare feet. I'm listening to you, listening to you sigh.
the lights from the resort are coming to life one by one. they cast orange patches on the sand. It is dark. Time and space seem to have condensed into one infinite moment. there is no one around except me and you, and the night guard. i can sense he is looking at my back, wondering. I wrap my arms around my knees and let you cradle me. it is my dream Danang, to be in your arms like this. to have this intimate moment with you, when you speak to me and me alone. but it doesn't feel right Danang. it doesn't feel quite right.
Two weeks from now I will be walking towards you, just that you are nowhere in sight. the green fence run along the road for kms. What used to take my aunt and uncle but 5 minutes' walk to touch your sand now takes us 20 minutes. and I can't help worrying that what little that's left of the beach will be walled up too.
What is going on Danang? Why are you becoming a coastal city where its people cannot even see the coast? What are they doing to you?
I am angry Danang. I'm angry that they sold you out so completely, that they made an expensive whore out of you. and I'm angry at my own hypocrisy, because when I sat on your white sand in my bikini and sunglasses I really didn't give a damn. i loved it. that you were so clean and spacious. that you were entirely for me for the time being, while I could still afford the 4-star bill.
But those people out there, who grew up breathing the salt in your wind, and woke up to the sound of your waves, when will they earn enough to be able to touch you again? And the people whose houses are demolished, who I will witness holding out with the little that's left as their surroundings disappear and their neighborhoods are mowed down to make space for 5-star resorts. What are they moving for?
Vớt Trăng
Mỗi lần nước triều lên cả bãi cát ngập lút đầu gối. Con ông Đồng không hiểu mắc chứng gì mà cứ đến rằm là lại vác gậy, vác lưới ra bãi biển vớt trăng. Nó thức cả đêm cứ lội cho đến khi nước đến cổ đến cằm không lội được nữa mới thôi. Cứ chọc rồi vớt, chọc rồi vớt. Trăng tan ra từng mảnh, chảy lai láng theo sóng dạt vào bờ.
Khi trăng lên cao và ra xa bờ thằng nhỏ cứ đứng nhìn. Lội không nổi nữa nhưng nó không nỡ về. Cứ đứng nhìn trăng tan thành bọt sóng rồi lại hợp. Tháng nào cũng như tháng nào, có cái ngày như vậy. Vợ chồng ông Đồng đến rằm là lại tất tả lo cúng vái, trong lòng nơm nớp sơ thằng nhỏ bị sóng cuốn ra khơi. Chăng hiểu sao nó lại thế. Ngày thường nó vẫn sinh hoạt nói năng bình thường. Chỉ có ngày rằm là lại ngẩn ra, tay cầm lưới, tay cầm gậy, cười khanh khách chạy theo trăng trên mặt nước. Ai ngăn cũng không được. Ai theo thì bị nó đuổi. Hồi trước ông bà lo quá ngủ không được, cứ đứng từ xa ngóng con. Nhưng riết rồi 5 năm, 10 năm, nó thành cái lệ, ông bà cũng chịu. Thờ cúng thắp nhang vái lạy cầu trời khấn Phật, chỉ biết thế thôi.
Thằng con ông Đồng lội ra giữa nước triều, đến lúc chỉ còn nó, nước, bóng trăng và màn tối của đêm mỏng dính trên vai. Nó nhìn trăng nhoẻn miệng cười, đập mặt nước cho trăng vỡ ra từng mảnh, giơ tay vớt từng miếng xát lên da thấy mùi mặn của muối. Nó chà nghĩ là làm vậy để làm gì, chỉ bổng thấy người nhẹ tênh, lơ lửng lơ lửng. Cứ thế nó vùng vẫy dưới trăng, tắm trong muối và bạc, cảm giác nhẹ lửng lơ. Cái cõi đêm lăng im chứa bao nhiêu thứ mà cái đầu nó không lý giải được. Chỉ thấy sao no cả người, cả dạ, cà hồn. Đập cho trăng tan thành từng mảnh bắn lên mặt lên cổ. Đập thỏa chí. Vớt rồi lại xát mạnh vào da. Mát lạnh. Cứ thế cho hết đêm.
Sáng ra nước rút nó tỉnh dậy trên cát, cái đầu cái thân lại nặng như gạch nung. Nhưng đưa bàn tay lên lật qua lật lại dưới nắng sớm sao vẫn còn lấp lánh ánh bạc.
Khi trăng lên cao và ra xa bờ thằng nhỏ cứ đứng nhìn. Lội không nổi nữa nhưng nó không nỡ về. Cứ đứng nhìn trăng tan thành bọt sóng rồi lại hợp. Tháng nào cũng như tháng nào, có cái ngày như vậy. Vợ chồng ông Đồng đến rằm là lại tất tả lo cúng vái, trong lòng nơm nớp sơ thằng nhỏ bị sóng cuốn ra khơi. Chăng hiểu sao nó lại thế. Ngày thường nó vẫn sinh hoạt nói năng bình thường. Chỉ có ngày rằm là lại ngẩn ra, tay cầm lưới, tay cầm gậy, cười khanh khách chạy theo trăng trên mặt nước. Ai ngăn cũng không được. Ai theo thì bị nó đuổi. Hồi trước ông bà lo quá ngủ không được, cứ đứng từ xa ngóng con. Nhưng riết rồi 5 năm, 10 năm, nó thành cái lệ, ông bà cũng chịu. Thờ cúng thắp nhang vái lạy cầu trời khấn Phật, chỉ biết thế thôi.
Thằng con ông Đồng lội ra giữa nước triều, đến lúc chỉ còn nó, nước, bóng trăng và màn tối của đêm mỏng dính trên vai. Nó nhìn trăng nhoẻn miệng cười, đập mặt nước cho trăng vỡ ra từng mảnh, giơ tay vớt từng miếng xát lên da thấy mùi mặn của muối. Nó chà nghĩ là làm vậy để làm gì, chỉ bổng thấy người nhẹ tênh, lơ lửng lơ lửng. Cứ thế nó vùng vẫy dưới trăng, tắm trong muối và bạc, cảm giác nhẹ lửng lơ. Cái cõi đêm lăng im chứa bao nhiêu thứ mà cái đầu nó không lý giải được. Chỉ thấy sao no cả người, cả dạ, cà hồn. Đập cho trăng tan thành từng mảnh bắn lên mặt lên cổ. Đập thỏa chí. Vớt rồi lại xát mạnh vào da. Mát lạnh. Cứ thế cho hết đêm.
Sáng ra nước rút nó tỉnh dậy trên cát, cái đầu cái thân lại nặng như gạch nung. Nhưng đưa bàn tay lên lật qua lật lại dưới nắng sớm sao vẫn còn lấp lánh ánh bạc.
September 21, 2008
We climb out the window
and perch on the sill,
giggling like high school delinquents.
The smoke rises and the vodka sinks
and the ship sways to the sound of the night
moon melting on the water.
And the shadows of the surrounding cliffs
cast over us
a soft indigo shade of security
of peace and happiness
and we're back in a space where we're content to be, to be happy
and self sufficient.
Where your company
wraps mine and mine embraces yours
and there is nothing to worry about
no other place we wish to be
no person from another time
who we wish had continued loving us.
Just you and me.
Though we know tomorrow
even if we hold hands and splash head first into the water
it will be once again your world
apart from mine
But tonight,
we melt with moonshine and fire water.
and perch on the sill,
giggling like high school delinquents.
The smoke rises and the vodka sinks
and the ship sways to the sound of the night
moon melting on the water.
And the shadows of the surrounding cliffs
cast over us
a soft indigo shade of security
of peace and happiness
and we're back in a space where we're content to be, to be happy
and self sufficient.
Where your company
wraps mine and mine embraces yours
and there is nothing to worry about
no other place we wish to be
no person from another time
who we wish had continued loving us.
Just you and me.
Though we know tomorrow
even if we hold hands and splash head first into the water
it will be once again your world
apart from mine
But tonight,
we melt with moonshine and fire water.
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