I remember

Dear Tieu:

It's likely that I will never send these musings to you, but I want to write them down for myself and for Youme. The message along with the accompanying journey entry below brings back so many complicated memories, most of which are feelings of sadness.

How is it possible for one to yearn so much for an alternate past and future. I often wonder what life would be like if I hadn't been adopted, or perhaps if I'd been adopted by your mother instead of mine. Would my life have turned out differently? Perhaps I would still be in Vietnam. Would I be more care free? Would I still have been blessed to be married and given the gift of a beautiful daughter? Would i have named her Song? Would I be where I am today? Would I still be alive? So many what ifs'. More questions than answers.

All of the questions above cause feelings to weld up in my chest that I can't quite express in to words. My inability to articulate the tightness in my chest when I read that your mom was "bonding with the wrong child." Was I really the wrong child? Am I still the wrong child? How can I allow myself to fully heal from my past in order to let Song benefit from my experiences? Does it really matter? Am I too sensitive? More questions.

All I know is that when I arrived at the hotel in Hanoi, I immediately knew that something was terribly wrong. Supposedly I had been given the decision whether or not to go with my new parents. In reality, I knew the matter was out of my hands. In reality, I know that the situation had more to do with the financial transactions that took place behind the scenes. My age allowed me to leave the country. Was I bought and payed for with U.S. dollars? Does it matter?

My futile attempts to break out of the hotel room was so despicable. The door knob was almost beyond my reach. The door had been locked and chained. I was a prisoner of North America and the U.S. 

I remember curling myself inside a wardrobe and crying myself to sleep. For the next few days, the wardrobe would be my place of refuge. The tight space allowed me to feel like I was surrounded by a sense of solid foundation. In the wardrobe, I knew where I was. I knew that nothing would hurt me. I knew I was close to home. 

With each passing day the memories hurt a bit less, but in the end, I am still left with a feeling of emptiness. In the future, what will I tell Song when she asks about my parents? Questions like these keep my mind spinning at night. I no longer yell and scream in Vietnamese during my sleeping moments. Have I been fully assimilated?

 

***

From: tealgreen <tealgreen83@yahoo.com>

Date: April 28, 2011 2:22:36 PM EDT

To: h.nguyen.ly@gmail.com

Subject: Remember This

 

My mother was so sweet to have typed up her journal of her trip to Vietnam to pick me up for my 20 years. I have copied and pasted one day from her journal below because I thought you might be interested in reading it. You'll understand why I sent this to you at the end. Feel free to share of what you remember from the reading, but please don't feel obligated.

 

4/6/91 Saturday:  Our first night at Bao Khanh had much excitement. Our neighbor partied until after 11:30. Later we opened the windows. The sewer order was bad in the bathroom and Mom had an upset stomach. We also turned the fan on. We heard an electrical pole outside our window making a noise and sparking. Then our light on the wall started turning on from a power surge. This happened a number of times for 1-3 seconds. Early in the morning we unplugged the lamp. About 4:30 a pig started squealing for 15-20 minutes. Voices were heard and the pig was taken away. I was a little concerned about the rat we had seen earlier on our street and our window being open.

 

Cherie was going to talk to Mr. Nhu early about returning to Bangkok. I tried to call Cherie around 8:30. The hotel operator kept saying she is dialing. I went and got bread, bananas, and wash clothes. When I got back Cherie had called and said they wanted to go out to the orphanage. I asked if Mom could use her room for the day. At 9:00 AM they picked us up and we dropped Mom off (she had eaten something from a street café the day before). Mr. Nhu had a map for us. We stopped at Mr Nhu's office to get our passports registered. We headed west and a little north. This was a similar scene as driving from the airport. We did not cross the major bridges. We got to the orphanage around 11:30 PM. Cherie talked most of the way. She pointed out some POW camps from the war. 

 

The two directors of the orphanage brought us very thick and sweet coffee. Cherie asked right away to see my child. We showed them the pictures and they brought in Hai. He stood by me and I held his hand and talked. I had a picture taken of the directors, Hai, and myself. Soon they called us to eat lunch and Hai was ushered out. Cherie mentioned how happy I was to have a daughter. The director said that Hai was a boy. Cherie's mouth dropped. I tried to think what Ken would say if I brought back a boy. Cherie said Tieu's paperwork said 'girl'. The director said that was not Tieu, that was Hai. We got out my pictures again as Cherie though maybe the older girl was Tieu. But they pointed to the younger girl. Cherie was relieved (and so was I). She asked where was Tieu? The director said she and her friend Tam (Tom) were at the blind school in Hanoi learning Braille since the first of the year. Mr. Nhu said we could see her that day. Cherie and I were laughing. I was 'bonding' with the wrong child. We had a nice tour of the orphanage. I saw where Tieu slept. I took lots of movies and pictures. There were 160 persons at the center: 10 younger than 3 years old, 30 from 3-15 years. The rest were adults. It was lovely in the country. A 98 year-old like to shake hands. I gave Hai a matchbox car which he drove around. I went 'vroom' with him.

 

We stopped at another orphanage just two minutes away with 120 kids (no elderly). It had an exercise room. We had tea and bananas. A nineteen year old boy that Cherie and Mr. Nhu had been close to had died. They had used a bomb shell for their dinner bell. Cherie teased Mr. Nhu about these 'gifts' we left during the war.

 

I left my brief case in the car after the first orphanage since it was locked. But at the second orphanage and school for the blind it was not locked and no one bothered it. I was also nervous about not having our passports. But we picked them up on the way to the school for the blind and got there around 3:45.

 

Tieu and about 15 girls were outside with 16 inch hoops with streamers doing exercises. When I saw her, I recognized her at once. Her hair was longer in loose pony tails; but the scar on her face confirmed it. She and her friend Tam each had one ear ring and a string in the other. I held her hands. Tam also wanted to touch me. About 8 girls gathered around. Tam and Tieu pushed the others back a little (not allowing crowding). I touched her hair. She felt my watch and shoes. At times she would withdraw a little. I wondered if the adults were talking about her and her new mother in Vietnamese.

 

Tieu started giggling and Tam followed suit with her head down. I gave her some bells on elastic for her wrist. We went to a music room. About five boys played guitars, drums, and a keyboard. Another young boy sang a lovely song. Tieu sat on my lap. Tam and Cherie were behind us. They brought a chair for Tieu; but she stayed on my lap. I felt like she wanted to please me. I taped my foot and Tieu enjoyed clapping. Another boy playing base sang a couple of songs. I tapped on. Cherie gave $100 for the music program. 

 

We then walked up to Tieu's room. The odor in the breezeway was bad. She walked right up to her bed and I took a couple pictures. Cherie noticed some light perception when the camera flashed. Her eyeballs rolled a little. At one point Tam got Cherie's camera. Tieu then wanted to hold mine for a minute. We went down for tea. Tieu did not hesitate going down the steps. There was a 12" by 14" stained glass window of a girl skipping rope in the parlor.