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SÁCH AMAZON


Mua bản sách in

Writing for friends from a tragic time in my life

If we compare each person's life to a long poem with many different short stories, each short story symbolizes sad or happy developments, joy or tragic and painful events that happen in their life. Vietnam, with a long history of war and chaos, perhaps none of us have had to suffer more or less the suffering caused by bombs and bullets, whether in urban or rural areas.

I personally am no exception. Born and raised in the flames of two wars, I have had many sad memories in my life since birth. I witnessed scenes of death and pain caused by bombs and bullets from the age of 3 or 4 until almost the end of my youth. But in the end, fate smiled on me, bringing me luck to Switzerland, a peaceful country, which for more than 600 years had known nothing of war. Living in that peaceful, prosperous atmosphere, sometimes I looked back at the past times in my life. I remembered my childhood friends as well as the friends that I knew because of circumstances. Those who had had a miserable fate because of the uncertainties of the times, they returned to the earth and stone when they were young. My heart suddenly felt heavy with sympathy for them, wanting to spend a little time writing about the happy and sad memories between me and them, like lighting a stick of incense to remember and honor our friendship.

Entering the game, still the silence in life

At the end of 1971, while teaching in Can Tho, I received an order from the Ministry of Defense to interrupt my teaching job to attend the 1/72 reserve officer course in Thu Duc. Holding the enlistment papers in my hand, I was not surprised because I knew for sure that it would come to me after I finished my studies. But I could not hide the feeling of listlessness and sadness when I thought about the future, when I was about to enter a new phase of my life. Especially at that time, the intensity of the war was at the terrifying level of the post-Tet period, the fiery summer....

After finishing all the administrative procedures in Can Tho. Saying goodbye to friends and acquaintances, I went to Saigon with a small bag containing a few personal belongings. I blended into the crowd with people like me, who were preparing to bring my fate into a new phase. We gathered at the Military Affairs Department of the Town, Saigon to do some necessary procedures before being transported to Thu Duc Military School.

I remember that day very clearly, the day when once again the feeling of sadness and loneliness came into my life. Around me were loving arms, caring eyes, and sad clinging of parents, brothers, wives, children, lovers... for them when they left, leaving civilian life. As for me, I still had a silent appearance, alone in the crowd because no one came to see me off or say goodbye. I did not inform anyone in my family or friends about my enlistment, simply because I thought the change in my life was too small for others to care about. I silently pretended to be carefree (even though a little sad) in the noisy farewells of others. But I could not hide the feeling of loneliness and loss that gently arose in my heart when I saw the joy (or condolences) of others.

Finally, all the necessary procedures were completed. I found an open corner in the farm yard. Sitting there, I discreetly watched the caring eyes and entangled hands of the crowd for each other, but also let my heart fly away with dreams that I did not have!

Then when the military vehicles carrying us rolled through the gate of the officer school, we dropped off at the Tao Ngo garden of the military school. The loud shouts, a bit violent, mixed with threats and scolding from the senior leaders. They lined up to greet us, starting a day of joining the army. They were the seniors. Sent to lead but also to wash away, erase the elegant and graceful appearance that remained in the lives of scholars. They taught us how to stand and salute equally in the army. They transformed our carefully curled, wavy hair (some of them still had a hint of cosmetic scent on their hair) into almost bald, sweaty hair that never knew a comb or mirror.

After more than a week of being washed and taught by the leaders how to get used to military life, we were divided into companies with separate farms in the large campus of the military school. I was assigned to company 17, a company that was mostly made up of people who had graduated from university, worked, and held positions in society. Some had been directors, university lecturers, department heads, artists, etc., from agencies and schools sent from all over.

After the period of humiliation, lasting about 4 weeks, we had a bit more freedom as we were allowed to go home on weekends, and were able to organize our own daily activities as well as our studies. Our 17th Company was known as a lazy unit, perhaps because the company had many older people who had held positions before joining the army, so the training was not very serious. But maybe because of the bias of the officers and instructors, we became dependent on them in our studies? In the end, we were divided into smaller units and transferred with other companies in the same class. I was transferred to the 16th Company, a company full of non-commissioned officers from all over the battlefields with good records, so they were promoted to attend the officer course. Most of them were around 20 years old, had a few years of experience on the battlefield, so their physical strength was very good and they were very serious about training. In the first week, I was exhausted to keep up with them at the minimum level, but then all the difficulties passed. The military environment is not easy to collapse when people are forced to integrate into the collective.

Perhaps when I transferred to Company 16, besides the hardships, it was also the time that marked the most happy and sad memories in my life. I was close to the soldiers returning from the battlefield. They told me a lot about the dangers and fears of the war that they had experienced. From them, I sympathized with their sometimes very simple and small dreams during the days of rolling on the battlefield, playing with life and death. Until now, even though time has receded into the past too far, with more than 40 long years, I always remember them. Friends who only passed by in my life but were no less dear, when we parted. Then by some chance, I met them again or other people talked about them, making me absent-minded because they were all stories tinged with tragedy.


A friend who fell asleep in art

Around the end of the course, I had a chance to go to the school library and coincidentally met Mr. Thuan, a lecturer at the Saigon Fine Arts School. He had also transferred from Company 17 to Company 16 like me. In a small, messy room, no different from a garbage house, there were torn and cut pieces of newspaper and all kinds of other things scattered all over the floor. In the middle of the room was a very large rectangular drawing frame with pieces of newspaper of different sizes, shapes, and colors that he had torn or cut under his own artistic vision. Next to the drawing frame, there was a nylon basin containing glue and dozens of colorful paint bottles with large and small paint brushes scattered everywhere. He wore a white rough cloth coat covered with paint, his face, beard, and hair were all dirty, looking like a clown. Standing in front of the canvas, his eyes narrowed, occasionally raising his hand to rub his forehead as if thinking, then he chose a piece of newspaper, smeared some glue on the frame. In my eyes, he did not look like a normal soldier at all, but a painter (a bit nervous) immersing himself in art.

Seeing me enter the room, raising his hand to greet him, he just nodded slightly and then immersed himself in art again. I silently admired his unfinished work with interest. Sometimes I pressed my face close to the painting to read, to look very carefully at the meanings of the words or images on the pieces of newspaper or magazine that he used as objects to create the painting. Perhaps my interest and the way I looked at the painting satisfied him, so he turned to talk to me for a bit.

He explained to me about the theme "Farewell" that he put into the work. The content of the writing and images of the pieces of paper of various shapes that he stuck on the frame, in addition to creating the image of the painting, also carried a deeper meaning for the theme of the work. The son in the work, his feet walked forward but turned his head to look at his old, poor mother, his mouth smiling happily, completely different from the mother's sadness. On the son's shoulder, the ash-gray backpack highlighted the photo of a beautiful girl, along with a piece of newspaper printed with a bright red heart symbolizing that in the luggage of the person leaving, there is still a figure.

Like that, he pointed to each corner of the painting. He read to me the sentences written on the pieces of newspaper or magazine in English and Vietnamese. He explained to me the theme that he wanted to convey in his work. Finally, he said that he was trying to complete this work before the graduation day as an artistic trace that he wanted to leave here. The school agreed to let him attend the minimum training sessions, his main job was to create an art painting for the main hall of the military school.

During the graduation ceremony, a friend told me that he also graduated like everyone else and was sent to the 1st Infantry Division stationed in Quang Tri. As for whether his work "Farewell" was completed on time or not, no one knows and if it was completed, where was it displayed. A few months after graduation, the Quang Tri front became bustling with terrifying battles, broken mountains and broken stele in Quang Tri Citadel, Thach Han River... Although I always pray for his safety, I think that a dreamer who always flies high, lives his life for the art of color like him probably cannot easily escape the tragic haze of war. But who knows (a very small who knows!) in that atmosphere of blood and gunpowder, he encountered a miracle that brought him peace, helping him find a new source of creativity for a unique theme in painting. Isn't that a wonderful discovery of his in art?! I pray that this is true and wish to admire his new work with its tragic potential.

Friend with tattoos and sad songs

Perhaps the friend who is most deeply engraved in my memory and feelings is Mung Van Thong, a Pleiku ethnic minority. Thong came from Vung Tau Military Academy and then studied at Dong De Non-Commissioned Officer course (Nha Trang). After graduating, he was assigned to the 22nd Infantry Division in Kontum. After about 2 years of fighting with many achievements, Thong was promoted to study at Thu Duc officer course. Thanks to that, we had the opportunity to get to know each other.

Thong is 5 years younger than me, so he sees me as an older brother to learn from in many fields. In particular, our sympathy in literature and music has quickly connected our friendship. Thong plays the guitar and sings quite well, many times with his very expressive voice and the way he immerses his emotions in the meaning of the music, Thong has moved me and other friends to tears.

During the lessons at the training ground during the day as well as at night, Thong and I always find opportunities to confide or entertain ourselves with literature and music. It was on these close occasions that Thong was drawn to me by the famous romantic love poems of the pre-war period as well as contemporary poems.

I still remember one day when we were studying tactics in a forest, it was pouring rain. Our individual tents were almost completely useless, everyone was soaked like drowned rats. While waiting for lunch, Thong took off his shirt to wring it out. By chance, I saw on the left side of Thong's chest a tattoo of a knife stabbed into a bleeding heart. Below the tattoo was a line of black letters: "Hate the heartless"! Looking at the tattoo, my memory takes me back to my student days, many times on the street or in the poor alley where my family lived, I also saw tattoos with very silly and strange sentences and drawings on the arms, shoulders or chests of soldiers or gangsters. My student friends and I still considered it a joke, a "reformed opera" performance, exaggerated, low cultural sentiment! For example, a tattoo of a decrepit old woman with the words "Far from home, missing my mother". Or a bleeding heart with the complaint: "Hey, my love! Please don't break my heart!". Or a grave with the tragic inscription "When you die, I will build a grave. When I die, who will bury me?"...etc. and ..etc....

But when I have the opportunity to be close to them, to hear them confide in them about their wounds and sadness hidden in their tattoos, those very "corny" writings, or to witness the fragility of their lives during the war.... I never make fun of that "cai luong" anymore, but on the contrary, my heart is filled with a feeling of affection, hoping to hear them talk about the pain hidden in the "works" on their bodies.

That night, in the personal tent on the training ground, Thong told me about the broken love hidden in the tattoo on his chest. After graduating from the Vung Tau Military Academy, Thong returned to his parents' house in Pleiku for 2 weeks of leave before attending the non-commissioned officer course at Dong De, Nha Trang. Through matchmaking, Thong met and fell in love with a girl in the village. The love was not difficult, the passionate love letters sent by post were the string that tied them together. The girl's visits and care for Thong continued regularly until the end of the course. After graduating, Thong was transferred to the 22nd Infantry Division in Kontum, which was also the time when their love faded, Thong had no idea why. Then the love really ended when his lover silently left the village to get married. Carrying the painful feeling of being betrayed by his lover, Thong wanted to leave a mark on his body as a reminder not to forget the pain of betrayal.

Perhaps Thong's singing talent was the unique thing that was most deeply engraved in the memories of his friends. I remember, that day was the only and most memorable New Year's Eve in my short military service. The order to camp was 100%, we did not have to go to school but still had to divide up to do chores and guard the barracks. At night, my squad was assigned to guard a section of the military school. I don't know if it was because of his love for art or the intention to celebrate spring, Thong brought his guitar and a stack of music to the line. So we had a simple but memorable New Year's Eve full of romantic poetry. With about 4 or 5 people, we gathered together in the guard post. Thong was still the leader, bringing joy and nostalgia for Tet to everyone. Thong sang enthusiastically from one song to another. The image of a dark face mixed with a bit of hardship of a young man from the mountains in green combat uniform. Holding the guitar, his eyes looking out into the dark space outside of the fighting post, Thong seemed to immerse himself in his own singing. I was stunned, admiring the steadfast beauty, full of worldly beauty mixed with Thong's artistic look, passionately.

Thong sang a lot, there were songs that moved us, we could only sit and listen silently. Like the song “Spring Night Watch”: Arouses the loneliness and homesickness of a soldier on the battlefield on New Year’s Eve. The distant sound of gunfire echoes like the sound of firecrackers celebrating spring:

Welcoming New Year’s Eve on a night watch, welcoming spring with distant gunfire. Withered flowers fall on the gun butt, thinking that firecrackers are flying, but instead flowers and leaves are falling.

..........................

Why does spring come to this border? The love of soldiers is no different from everyone else. If spring comes with sorrow everywhere, and this love is hard to ease, then don’t come, spring!

Then the image of a lonely soldier standing absent-mindedly in the rain, an afternoon at the border, not knowing where to go. The coldness and bewilderment when remembering his lover and letting out a sigh, bored with the dream of a mandarin, general, or marquis in the song “Afternoon Rain at the Border”:

Where are you going on an afternoon rain at the border? Why are you still standing and waiting at the river head? Look at the gloomy and cold afternoon forest, waiting for the person to come back happily in the cold, the person to come back alone! Where are you going, my dear, the rain falling this afternoon? The sky remembers the pink color of the clouds. The lonely afternoon forest path, the person looking for home in the warmth of a shirt, evokes a distant feeling...... While the human heart is still attached to the general, the worldly road is still filled with wind and rain, my dear! After the day of graduation, Thong returned to his old unit, the 22nd Infantry Division. I no longer contacted or had any news of Thong until the end of 1973. On my return to Saigon to take care of the documents to go to Japan, I suddenly met a friend who was also in the 16th Company with me and Thong. He and Thong were transferred to the 22nd Division, stationed at the same post near the Laos-Vietnam border. One night around mid-March 1973, the post was attacked and Thong died in battle. The relics Thong left in his backpack were a stack of old letters his girlfriend wrote to him many years ago, a few music books, a guitar, and a book of Nguyen Sa's poems that I wrote for him when I was studying in Thu Duc.

A gift that was never received, a friend without a trace.

Tran Van Chien was a very quiet and discreet member of the squad. Perhaps we had never seen him laugh loudly or speak loudly in any activity. He was the type of person who only knew how to silently smile and stand aside, watching others make noise and get excited rather than join in. What surprised me most was that I didn't know what reason pushed him to join the Airborne Corps, a branch not suitable for a gentle, meek person like him. Chien was 2 years younger than me but already had a family and 2 small children. Chien's father, 2 younger sisters, and Chien's wife all had a good education and worked as teachers in Saigon. Chien's education was miserable, he only finished high school and was mobilized and volunteered to join the Airborne Division.

During my return to Saigon to fight, I visited Chien's house in Tan Dinh area several times. As soon as I entered the house and met Chien's extended family, I could not believe how different Chien's direction was from everyone else in the family. Once sitting together over a cup of coffee, Chien confided:

- My parents' mistake was to orient me too carefully, right from when I was a primary school child. Although my father was a teacher, he forgot one thing, I was a child with a personality, completely different from my younger sisters. I did not want to be arranged by anyone, even if that person was the father I respected. In the end, I followed my friends to leave my parents to find my own excitement.

After completing the officer course, Chien, like the others, returned to the paratroopers where he had served before. Occasionally, he and a few friends from the same unit stopped by Can Tho to visit me. We had the opportunity to sit around a drinking table or a coffee shop on Ninh Kieu wharf to listen to stories about the battlefield. One time around the end of 1973, after a few weekends of wandering around Saigon, I returned to Can Tho. The secretary told me that two paratroopers came to visit me but did not meet me. I only heard about it briefly, because it was very common for friends to come looking for me, they came but did not meet me and then they left. But a few weeks later, I had the opportunity to go to Saigon again, and coincidentally, I met Chien on the street. We went to a coffee shop, and then I found out that the people who came to Can Tho to find me were Chien and the soldier serving me (he called me Robert!). I still remember his smile and his somewhat witty remark: - What bad luck! That day, I was empty-handed and hungry, so I dragged myself to find him, hoping to "freeload" and ask him for money to buy a bus ticket back to Saigon, but I didn't meet him!

Surprised and a little regretful, I said a few words of apology and asked Chiến about how he could have a full stomach when his pocket was empty. Still smiling playfully, on his handsome face, he calmly answered, without any bitterness:

- Well, thanks to Robert, he was so embarrassed that he begged the bus conductors to take him back to Saigon?! As for hunger, I won't die, so why worry!

Hearing you say it, it was like a joke that had passed, but I still had the feeling that it was only because of me that he had to do that unpleasant thing. Putting my hand on Chiến's shoulder, I spoke very slowly:

- Sorry, this time when I return to Can Tho, I will give the secretary a few hundred, whenever you come to visit without me. Without you saying anything, she would automatically give it to you. At least that amount of money was enough to pay for a simple meal and the bus fare back to Saigon...!

Chien smiled (still with his usual smile), promising that he would definitely come to receive that gift! But until the beginning of 1974, I was preparing to leave Vietnam. The gift was still intact, Chien did not come to receive it as promised. Then, busy with the paperwork for my internship, I no longer had the stomach to think about that gift! Much later, in 1988, when I returned to Vietnam to play, I suddenly remembered Chien, and with a lot of effort in asking, I found Chien's family house in Da Kao. The spacious 3-story brick house was still there, but the owner was a complete stranger. Through a few neighbors, they said that in early 1975, Chien went missing on the central battlefield. Chien's wife, children and parents had escaped the country and were currently residing in the US. Then, also returning to Vietnam in 1988, I stopped by Can Tho to meet some acquaintances, including the secretary. She told me that the gift was still unclaimed! I smiled, a little sadly answering her:

- It is a gift that will never be claimed!

A wedding with a honeymoon without a portrait

With many years working and living in Can Tho, I have been to almost all the provinces and towns of the Mekong Delta, but perhaps My Tho is one of the cities I love the most. A city that holds many traces and memories of my years living in Vietnam. Back then, whenever I had the opportunity to return from Can Tho to Saigon for fun or work, I often spent time stopping by My Tho, sometimes just to have lunch or a bowl of noodles in a floating restaurant or to walk along Lac Hong Park near the city center.

My Tho became closer and more charming to me when I met Thanh, a friend in the same squad and also a native of My Tho city. Thanh is 2 or 3 years younger than me. Before studying at Thu Duc, class 1/72, Thanh was a sergeant of the Regional Forces in Sa Dec sub-region, so after graduating, he, like everyone else, had to return to his old unit. Although Sa Dec is closer to Can Tho than My Tho, I have never had the chance to welcome him in Can Tho. On the contrary, I have been to My Tho many times to meet him and visit his family and parents. My relationship with his family is quite good, thanks to them I know a lot about the cultural and historical relics of Tien Giang province. I often give them seeds and fish that I got from Can Tho. That's why I attended Thanh's wedding (I think it was around October 1973?).

It was a rather splendid wedding, with food, drinks, and singing lasting for two days, with friends as well as superiors and subordinates in the Sa Dec sub-region all attending. Perhaps due to military reasons, he was only allowed to take about a week off to take care of the engagement and wedding ceremony. I still remember his superior Captain promised the guests and both families that after the wedding, he would only have to return to the sub-region for about a week, then he would have permission to return to My Tho for a honeymoon with his wife.

About a week after the wedding, on the way back to Saigon, I stopped by My Tho again to bring Thanh's parents some flower and vegetable seeds as I had promised them on the wedding day. From afar, I saw funeral streamers hanging along the porch of Thanh's family's rather majestic house. The feeling of astonishment slowed my steps, I immediately thought of the old appearance of Thanh's parents who had passed away due to some illness. In my mind appeared the proper words of condolence. But when I just stepped through the threshold of the house, looked into the living room, I almost collapsed because I couldn't believe it. The picture of Thanh in his green uniform with the pair of warrant officers on his collar was still shining brightly, placed on the altar with incense smoke!

Thanh's parents said that he had only been back in Sa Dec for a few days, and had finished renting a house near his military base. He planned to return to My Tho a few days later to take his wife on their honeymoon as planned, then take his newlywed wife straight to their newly rented house in Sa Dec. But before a day of leave, his military base was shelled, and unfortunately he died in battle.

A wedding filled with friends, relatives and family. Warm glasses of wine accompanied by wedding gifts, good wishes for the couple mixed with vọng cổ songs, happy wedding songs. All became ironically meaningless in such a short time, less than a week after the wedding. The promise of a honeymoon to have some souvenir photos to mark the most important and beautiful joy of a person's life, In the end, it was just an illusion, a honeymoon without a portrait!

From then on, I never contacted Thanh's family again. I no longer had any reason to visit Thanh's family, Thanh's parents, or bring them flower seeds, plants... as promised. I did not want my visit to deepen Thanh's family's suffering. Let the sadness return to silence and oblivion!

There are misfortunes where death is a relief

Perhaps Hung is the friend with the most tragic fate in the Thu Duc 1/72 SQ class that I know. Hung is 3 years younger than me, a 2nd year student at Saigon Law University, because he failed the final exam, he was called to join the army. Hung also has a hobby of poetry and literature, so we are quite compatible when talking about issues related to journalism and literature. Hung's parents' family is quite well-off in the Ban Co area, whenever the war situation is unstable, we are not allowed to go home on leave because we camp 100%. Hung is always taken care of very carefully by his girlfriend, mother and younger sisters. Thanks to that, a "nun's" child like me has the opportunity to "freeload"!

After graduating, Hung was transferred to the 18th Infantry Division in Long Khanh, from then on we had no more opportunities to meet each other. Sometimes when I had to go to Saigon, I would stop by to ask about Hung through my parents and younger sisters. They told me that Hung had come back to visit his family a few times and brought his girlfriend "Bonard" but was in a hurry and left right away!

About a month before going to Japan, my application for training had some difficulties regarding the military security certificate. While I was in a difficult situation and didn't know who to ask for help, I suddenly remembered that Hung once told me that Hung's father was a captain in the military security sector. With no other choice, I boldly went to Hung's house as a chance to find luck!

But as soon as I entered Hung's house. Before I could say anything, Hung's mother cried and told me that Hung had been seriously injured by a mine and had been in the Cong Hoa military hospital for almost a month. That very day, Hung's family and I went to visit Hung. When I saw Hung's illness and psychological turmoil, I couldn't say a word but could only look at my friend with tears in my eyes. During a military operation, Hung's unit hit a mine that killed 4 people and injured many others. Hung lost both legs up to the groin, and his genitals were also destroyed! When he was taken to the Cong Hoa military hospital, for unknown psychological reasons, Hung insisted that his family force his girlfriend to take care of him and also force his family to arrange a wedding. When I visited him, Hung appeared angry, said very harsh words and chased me away. Not knowing what else to do, his mother and younger sisters gently apologized and let me go home, carrying tears and a feeling of horror still lingering in my memory.

With such a tragic situation, I no longer had the courage to visit Hung or ask for help from Hung's father as planned. Especially at that time, I wanted to go crazy, because I had to take care of so many necessary documents in the remaining month for a departure. After a few months in Japan, a friend told me that after being discharged from the hospital, Hung returned home. He was like an abnormal person, cursing everyone because of his disability complex, especially because his girlfriend never came to visit him again. Then one day, when no one was home, Hung hanged himself!

I was devastated when I heard the sad news, immediately wrote two letters of condolence to Hung's family but never received a reply! I completely sympathized with that silence. With such a great loss, no one had time to think of politeness to reply to me anymore. Sometimes I put myself in Hung's tragic situation, perhaps if I had enough courage, I would also find a way out like Hung. To free myself and my loved ones is the most realistic thing. Prolonging life in misery and suffering is only to torture myself, my parents, and my loved ones.

The next new short stories

At the end of March 1974, my internship file was completed. Holding the plane ticket in my hand, saying a few words of farewell to my parents and siblings, I silently carried my small bag and walked through the airport control area to board the plane. Sitting on the plane, I looked down through the white clouds drifting outside. From an altitude of about 8,000 meters, I saw my homeland was so peaceful, the rolling waves continued to move to the central coast, there was no sign of Vietnam being covered in bombs and death. But I still felt very clearly, that peaceful image was just an illusion created by the distance of space, with 8,000 meters above, in my vision. In reality, Vietnam was still engulfed in war that had reached the peak of death. Because I realized the truth like that, I still did not feel like I was on my way to leave my country.

But a moment later, when I heard the flight attendant of Vietnam Airlines said that the plane was about to enter international space, we were flying over the Paracel Islands where Communist China had used force to occupy! Only then did I truly feel like I was on my way to leave my country. At least, I had been away from Vietnam, which was seething with bombs and bullets, for 3 years, a period of time that was not long but could not be called short for a place where young people still had to use daily units to measure their lives.

I suddenly whispered a goodbye to Vietnam (Good bye Vietnam)! And at that moment, I suddenly heard the epic song of my life just change to a new short piece. Even though I could no longer hear the sound of drums, cymbals, or the discordant trumpets in the song urging troops on the battlefield. But I still hear the shrill sounds of some trumpets and flutes describing a new form of hardship in my life. The story of studying and taking exams returns to me, along with the need to save money to support my parents and my younger siblings calling from home.

But everything was out of calculation, nearly 6 years after leaving my homeland to study in Japan, the situation has changed and I really had to say goodbye to Vietnam and Japan to go to Switzerland. The epic of my life has changed to a new short piece. A short piece of peace and leisure. The echoes of the notes, sometimes soaring high, sometimes falling to the lowest, alternating with each other to describe the rapid changes in the last short piece in my life, no longer exist. It was replaced by the deep, gentle echoes of the violin combined with the soft, melodious flute, expressing the peaceful joy in the pure, peaceful space of Switzerland. In that peaceful short passage, I seemed to suddenly hear the accompanying piano of my wife along with the joyful laughter of my children on a beautiful snowy day in Switzerland.

End

Luu An
(August 2014)