Creative writing for grief and loss: Drinking (rice) wine

 Drinking (rice ) wine is a name of Bui Giang’s last poem (at least I was informed by the internet).

I found his poem awhile back. The poem got my attention at once. Since then, it continues to draw me in time to time for a few years now. I wanted to create art about it. For unclear reason, this poem is overwhelmingly profound. I developed a personal connection reading it repeatedly before understanding the underlying meaning between lines. The fact that he wrote it before he passed away chilled my bone.

The poem was written in Vietnamese. In general, poem has metaphors and hidden layers of meanings. In contrast, this poem is obviously  straight forward black and white that functions like a good slap onto my face every  time I read it.

Line after line.

As the result, I decided to quilt the poem in black and white for the group show the end of this year. I started last month with a lot of anxiety. I was afraid that I could not finish it on time for the deadline.  I ended up finished half of this poem in one quilt, mean I need to start another quit to finish off the poem. 

My anxiety showed in both uneven hand embroidery and zic zac machine sewing weaving each others.  After managing to sew all the texts filling up the quilt, my anxiety is fading away a little bit that allowed me to stay calm and process what is going on. Turned out the anxiety was never about the fear of missing the deadline, the anxious feeling stemmed from something much deeper inside me. The yearn to re-connection with my father.

 

Uống xong ly rượu cuối cùng

Bỗng nhiên chợt nhớ đã từng đầu tiên

Uống như uống nước ngọc tuyền

Từ đầu tiên mộng tới phiền muộn sau

Uống xong ly rượu cùng nhau

Hẹn rằng mai sẽ quên nhau muôn đời

Em còn ở lại vui chơi

Suốt năm suốt tháng suốt nơi lan tràn

Riêng anh về suốt suối vàng

Trùng phùng Lý Bạch nghênh ngang Tản Đà

Em còn ở với sơn hà

Anh còn mất hút gần xa mất hoài.

This is my raw version of English translation.

Drink up the last glass of rice wine

Suddenly ( I ) remember the first time (I) used to drink

The wine tasted like alkaline water

From the first dream to the latter sadness

Drink up the last wine together

I promised tomorrow we will forget each other forever

You stay back to indulge life

Whole day whole month endless every where

As for my part, I will return to the underworld golden stream

To be reunion with Ly Bach and swagger with Tan Da.

You stay back on this land

I will get lost near and far forever.

note: Ly Bach was one of the most famous Chinese poets/ Tan Da was the same famous Vietnamese poet both passed away long time before Bui Giang   I think this is a best line, the soul of the poem. Death is equalizer. The courage to face death?  Too deep here ! I  will come back and explore further. 

My word to word basic translation is not even near anything Bui Giang’s poem but this is a first attempt for me to explore this poem in both English and Vietnamese.

The theme for my quilts is reconnection to my father. He passed away 08/10/1994. Over 30 years ago, three of us went to his funeral. We did not cry. I felt numb and guilty because I could not cry.  I mourned my father in public but secretly grieving him with numbness and callousness. 

                                 

      This is one page of my diary 1994 expressed before and after my father passes away.

 I don't feel sorry for my 23 year old young lady who used such harsh words to describe true and dark feeling toward the death of her father because I knew that she was truthful to her flesh and bone writing things like that.

 However I am looking forward for my 54 year old lady who could think differently at this moment and ready to process true grief and loss which happened 3 decades ago. My intend is to let go the upsetting past so I can move on grieving my father with love and  peace. 

In 2024, finally I did creative writing workshop for grief and lost, I developed a deepen connection with my father. I started to wish I had talk to him. I met him in my dream once time. He wanted to reconcile with my mother. I wished I had ask him about his two trips from North to the South Vietnam to cover the Vietnam/ American War. I wished I had known him more about his life and his marriage to my mother. I wish I had known his side of the story. 

Bui Giang’s poem served like a key to open up my forever yearn talking to my father. I would like to have a drink with my father. I would like to truly had a last wine to say goodbye to my father. I cried missing him first time in my life last year. I wrote about it.

Quilting project for this show will be focused to explore my true grief and loss of my father who passed away 30 years ago. Like every one else, my father is deserved to be grieved with love. 

Eventually. 

 Another note to calm my anxiety : The tittle as Drinking ( rice ) wine is to distingue from rice distilled wine apart with grape or other fermented wine . I would assumed that the poet would implied that he drink rice wine ( rượu đế in Vietnamese ) as well I would imagine me drink rượu đế with my father. 

Hoa Mắc Cỡ -Touch Me Not plant/ Creative writing

 Last Tuesday I had art group as normal. One artist painted an image of a plant with tiny greenish leaves and pink flowers on the paper. I asked her what plant it was. 

She gently explained to me that was a plant that when touched, the leaves would sensitively be enclosed and moved inward. Instantly,  I knew exactly what the plant was. 

My eyes were opened as well as my heart.

I asked her later, where did you see that plant? Here in Seattle?

She said, “No. I do not know if Seattle has this kind of plant. I see it from my memory.”

She said the name of the plant in English is Touch Me Not.

The Vietnamese name of this plant is Mắc Cỡ ( mắc cỡ is shy. )

All of my childhood memories with my father flooded back at once.

After that Tuesday, I have been crying periodically missing my father for the first time.

We drove to Utah from Las Vegas last weekend for Bánh Xèo’s big swimming meet of the year at the Utech campus, St. Goerge. The drive was roughly 2 hours long. Nguyên played YouTube music randomly to keep us entertained. One tune called Tennessee, a theme song from Pearl Habor, was on. When I listen to this piece, I always feel empowered, epic, sad, and beautiful. I always love this kind of music. 

I remember the first time I realized that Tennessee was the name of the Navy USS battleship that got hit by two bombs during the attack in 1945 when I went to visit the Pearl Habor Museum in Hawaii last year, 2023.

I told Nguyen, “Did you go to the memorial graveyard when you came to Pearl Habor Museum last year?”.

He said “No”.

I told him. That was a beautiful, and powerful white memorial in the middle of the deep blue water of Oahu built on top of a resting Arizona Navy Ship. The theme of the memorial design is called Tree of Life.

Tree of Life at Pearl Habor Memorial, Honolulu 2023

With the image of the white abstract sculpture of Tree of Life simply standing up in the middle of the blue sky in mind and a theme song still on, I burst out crying.

I told Nguyen. Out of the blue. That I missed my father. Crying my eyes out, I gazed out to look at the endless horizontal ranges of reddish gigantic mountains and rocks as we were driving. 

The Touch Me Not plant that the artist painted last Tuesday stirred unexpected emotions and sadness in me as I slowly remembered that Mắc Cỡ plant from my childhood.

When I was 5 or 6 years old, I remember my father used to pick me up at an elementary school named Ấp Bắc, several blocks away from his radio station company. He rode me and my little 2-year-old brother home on the back seat of his bicycle. His bicycle was yellowish brown, race type designed for males.

I remember Sai Gon streets in the late afternoon were quiet and empty. Typically, Sai Gon always has tall hollong ( cánh dầu) trees along the streets, that have huge shades to keep us cool from the tropical heat. I remember the hollong seeds or flowers had two wing petals, reddish and brownish in color. When they fell from the tree, they spun beautifully in the air before slowly hitting the ground. 

My dad would pick some for us to take home to play with. Along the street, there would be kids or teenagers sitting down next to the tall tamarind tree to sell sweet brownish-long tamarind fruits. My father would buy the fruits for us to snack on. The fruit was then wrapped carefully with newspaper before being handed to him. I remember my father was always amazed at how polite the customer service in Sai Gon was. He told my mother that, "they wrapped the fruit with newspaper and nicely hand them to me. I know the kids did not have a store and they picked the fruits on the ground. I am touched by how they respect the products and their customers. they will be successful in life.' 

People in Sai Gon mostly biked to commute back there. Along the street, there would be a lot of Touch Me Not Mắc Cỡ plants humbly grew from the cracks of grey cement pavement. He would stop the bike, and let me and my little brother down so we could touch and view the plants shyly move inward.

 He would say, “Be careful. Do not touch the thorns. Just the leaves.” Both of us would be careful and gently touch the leaves with our fingers to see the leaves react with our curiosity and enthusiasm. 

The childhood joy was pure and simple. The memory came back with my father in the middle of it. He was small/ He was quiet and gentle. He was caring and lovely.

The memory came vividly for the last several days. Those tiny, invisible plants on the pavement 45 years ago came back strongly.  In my mind, the image of the green plants/tall trees and his bike stays solid and huge like Utah's red mountains and rocks.

I saw my father for the first time.

I miss him for the first time.

Crying my heart out does not do justice to how I miss my father.

Me and Nguyên drove to Utah to fulfill our parenting duty to our child. We came to Utah to enjoy our child’s performance as a successful swimmer who belongs to the varsity team of Hawaii University.  We were proud. Other parents came to Utah last weekend to do the same. All children went to universities and continued to perform well at one of the most important swim meets of the college year.

We came to see them swim. We came to cheer them up. We came to hold them in our arms. 

I witnessed parents hugging their children dearly in the lobby when we had a break between races. I witnessed the full-grown healthy kid burst out crying in his mother's arms. I witnessed the athletes flashing the water, roaring their hearts out at the block ready to compete, being eager to win the races. Yet, they cried uncontrollably when they saw their beloved parents whenever the family saw each other. I witnessed a big guy who almost collapsed slouching his long back and crying in front of his petite mother. He tried to hold back his emotions while listening to his mother’s comforting voice. This was compelling to see the human's vulnerability revealed in such rawness, and truthfulness, unfiltered in front of my eyes.

My daughter, Bánh Xèo, in a dark green Hawaii uniform, walked toward me when I was on the swim deck to do timing for Friday night’s races.  We hugged each other. She cried, hiding her face on my chest. Her shoulders were strong and powerful. Yet, I could feel her gut and stomach breathing and sobbing quietly as she said, “I was exhausted. I could not sleep. I told the coach that I would pull it through this meet.”

My heart was softening and squeezed as I felt her concerns and worries.

I whispered to her ears,” Everything will be fine. We are here for you, baby.” 

She smiled. Her face was bright, sweet, and warm. We kissed each other. I had a long kiss on her cheek. 

In my mind. I kissed her for her.

For me.

And for my father.  

My father would never have such a lovely moment with me and my siblings when he was alive. He did not have a chance to do his parenting to us like I was doing to my daughter.

Angels sent the image of my childhood’s Mắc Cỡ plant via the artist from my art class? 

If I miss my father that much for the last 7 days, it must be some lovely memories which I am trying to recollect.  

By now, the image of the Touch Me Not Mắc Cỡ plant on the cracks of the pavement in Sai Gon Street zoomed out 200% as a magnificent Tree of Life to fill my vague memory with pure love that I am growing for my father. 

Some sketches of Hoa Mắc Cỡ over old book I did after writing this post.