Exercise # 4 / Creative writing

 Writing things about the moment everything changes using time, senses, location, and emotion.

This is the first time I tell the story of Ba Minh, a long-time and close friend of my mother. Ba is father in Vietnamese and Minh is his name. I have been writing this blog for a long time. I have been covering so many things that happened to me from the past until now. I have known Ba Minh since I was 7 years old. He was an important figure in my family but I edited him out from every single entry. Thinking about you painting a picture of your family and erasing one person completely all the time. No wonder I always feel that I have a big empty hole inside my chest. Never whole! 

Today I decided I would tell my story that included Ba Minh. It is not easy but is a must! 

If you do not know where to start, begin in the middle. (Andrea Cagan)

8 years ago, in 2015, I got a message on Facebook from my Vietnamese friend, Nhung, “Chau, Ba Minh passed away. Please let your sister and brother know.” Looking at the day she told me when Ba Minh died, I was confused. I asked her, “May 12 or May 13?” 

She confirmed, “May 13”.

I got mad suddenly.

May 13. That is my sister’s birthday. How dare he? That was what I thought. I told Nhung that I would inform my sister and brother. I did not. Two days later Nhung followed up with me asking if I had let my siblings know yet. She texted, “They will bring him to the burial site tomorrow. He will be buried at An Binh (peace in English) cemetery”. I said that I would.  Again, I did not.

I remember feeling my blood boiling up for a few days after I received the news, and I did not know why. I just knew that I got so mad and angry. I had been doing meditation for a while up to that point.  These couple of days everything inside me fell into chaos. I kept it cool. I kept the information to myself for a while. I felt mad and then felt sick inside the stomach but eventually, guilt was too overwhelming to bear.

After a few months, one day, both my husband and I drove to Sewer Park at Lake Washington for a walk with my dog, Happie. Suddenly, out of the blue, I disclosed to my husband that Ba Minh died on May 13, and I did not inform my sister and brother.

 I busted out crying with my guilt. My siblings should have known so they could show their respect to the dead at the funeral. They love Ba Minh very much. I used to love him very much.  Because of my anger, ill intention, and madness, I did not allow that to happen.

For the first time in my life, I told my husband that I hated him. My husband kept driving to the park, silent. He let me cry and asked why I hated him. I cried out, shaking uncontrollably then managed to share that “he kissed me on my mouth with his tongue. That nasty guy now I think about it.” My husband stayed quiet, but I could hear his long sigh.

Finally, after 1 hr. 30 minutes of walking the loop mostly in silence, my husband told me,” When you are ready you should tell your siblings.”

I do not remember when I managed to call my brother and sister to do so. Both gently asked me why I announced the news that late. They could have come to the funeral. I told them that his passing was on my little sister’s birthday. I did not want to share.

My siblings apparently were more mature than me. Right away that weekend, both came to the An Binh cemetery to pay the proper visit to Ba Minh at his fresh grave site. I guess it was several months old by that time.

 After that, they shared that it was hard to locate the burial site in the cemetery, but they did and placed fruit offerings and burning incense for Ba Minh.  They also burnt one incense on my behalf. I stayed silent.

The day Nhung told me that Ba Minh passed on May 13 was the moment that changed everything upside down. I felt cold but the ground underneath was shaking. For years, people have been gossiping here and there that my sister does not share the same father with me and my brother. There were so many hints and clues to prove that my little sister was Ba Minh’s daughter, the result of my mother having an affair with him. The affair was one of the reasons that my parents got divorced. I would never allow myself to believe that.

When she was alive, my mother constantly reminded me that the three of us came from the same parents. I faithfully and blindly believed that. I love my little sister dearly and would never ever allow that truth to be revealed in my mind.  My brother and a little sister suggested things that they would know the truth and I would shut both down.

I remember someone raised it up; I would snap my eyes at them violently to stare him/her down as well. I remember chasing one lady down and out of my apartment when she tried to blackmail us, threatening to reveal the truth. I was 8 months pregnant with my son. I almost put both me and my baby in danger by running down from my apartment on the fourth floor on foot, yelling and screaming, and kicking on her moped. In my mind, I knew that I could stab that lady to death if I had a knife in my hand.

My father, my mother and now Ba Minh died. No one could tell us anything. Everyone kept silent to ignore the big elephant in the room. The fact that he died on May 13 the same day as my sister’s birthday triggered my madness and anger toward him for the very first time was the last clue the universe sent to me to reveal the truth.

Today I realized that I grieved Ba Minh’s passing with hate and anger. No dead person would deserve that treatment. Grief is love (David Kessler)

 For the exercise, I will write a letter to Ba Minh to share all of my feelings for him.

I will continue to remind myself that I will be gentle to myself and to Ba Minh

Exercise #3/ creative writing

 Write about a challenge you faced and your reaction to it. 

I could write about so many challenges I face. Life is suffering. Managing to stay and feel alive every day is challenging. However, the writing block was like a rock in front of me. Nothing came out. 

Then I decided to come inward and listen to my heart. I knew I always felt something there if I tried to listen. 

Since the last few days I have been unpacking my past and writing about my memory of my brother and sister. I miss them so badly. My anxiety is high. My mood is down. Feeling and emotion are mixed up and out of control. 

I got home from work and texted my sister. I asked if the three of us could take a trip together so we could spread our mother’s ashes. My sister said, “Mother‘s urn is at the pagoda. Let Mother be there to listen to every Buddhist chanting and pray is a good thing.” 

I said, “I just want the three of us to spend time together for a couple days."

She said this year won’t work because the children will be busy preparing for school exams. 

Yes, I remember they mentioned that my nephew will go to university and two nieces will take entry exams to high schools. 

She then told me that 2025 would be better when they will have more free time. The conversation ended. It always ends like that but today, it left me with a hole inside my heart. My eyes teared up. 

Can I say my challenge was I miss them very much and I could not say so. I could not say that I was crying, because they would ask why. They would be worried about me. 

I took my notebook out and started writing while shaking and crying. I found myself in the middle of my dinner alone, eating, crying, writing, drinking, and listening to Pitbull’s 3 to tango, it takes three to tango. The music helped to remind me that I am not in the past anymore. But the lyrics make sense at this moment. It takes three to tango. For some reason, I did not know why.

My husband was not home so I had the freedom to cry and yell out loud. I was pleased that I was alone. No one would want to see me like that last night. 

Things came out as I wrote. 

I miss the time we were all together when we were little. When my mother was hospitalized for straight 6 months because of her leukemia, we stayed at home by ourselves. 

At night, I slept with my sister and brother side by side. My sister was barely two years old. She was tiny. She was sick a lot.   She was supposed to sleep with my mother, and she could not. She was supposed to be taken care of by her parents and she was not. 

She slept with me and had to touch my arm so she could fall to sleep. I was a 12-year-old. I was a child myself. I remember that many times I got sick and tired of it. I wanted to stay up a little bit later to do homework. 

She called me from the bed, “Chau, please come to bed. I cannot sleep.” 

I felt sick and tired of it. But I had to go to bed so she could sleep. 

In my mind, I wished I was not a big sister. I wanted to be alone. I wanted to have no adult responsibility to take care of my two little siblings. 

 I did. I moved to the US so I could live my own life. 

Guilt is what I have over time. I left my mother, sister, and brother in Vietnam. 

After my mother died, I could not come back home for the funeral because I could not afford the ticket at the time. 

Guilt! 

A few weeks after she passed away, I had a dream. In the dream I saw my mother in her 40s with her short curly hair. Her shirt was brown. She wore wooden shoes. She loved to wear high heels with flare pants. She was with my 7-year-old brother and 2- year- old sister. My brother wore a short T shirt and a short same dark purple color. My sister wore a white dress that my mother sewn for her. Both of my siblings wore brown sandals. Three of them stood there looking at me. The background appeared from the dream was a vast ground of white snow with no horizon. I thought their clothes were not good for this snowy weather. Then I heard my mother say, "We are waiting for you,  Chau.” 

I heard myself answer, “I love to come with you mom. I am sorry I have to come back to class. I have to go to school.” 

Then I woke up, and cried my eyes out for the rest of the night. 

Guilt! 

Guilt has been eating my soul up! 

Guilt cut a big hole inside my chest! 

Guilt makes me feel so sad! 

Overcoming my inappropriate guilt is my challenge. Writing it out crying is my reaction to it.