November 12, 1968. I don’t know why when I turn back to the old diary, to see Nghia’s old letters and to see again my love for this adopted young brother, I want to see if the same love is still there. Now like then I still care for Nghia, a very deep affection, and believe this love will always remain the same; but the excitement of the first days is fading away. My feelings for Nghia of course will never be lost. I want to know about this because I ask myself if I am a person who likes the new and forgets the old. I now have Thuan, and all my affections seem to be given to him, but compared to Nghia… before I loved Nghia the same way. Just the same, I still miss him when we are far apart, and it is the same when waiting for him when he is far away; and Nghia is the like Thuan in his affections for me in his thoughts and actions. Like the day that we disagreed because Nghia gave me a ring, now the same trouble has arisen with Thuan when he gives me money to buy a ring. It makes me angry to talk about love that way. Love is not given through valuable things, even though that giving shows love. My dear Thuy! How happy it makes you that life gives you all this love; I think not many people are as fortunate as you. Why is love like that? I cannot answer.
November 16, 1968. What can I say about all the feelings of the love that we give each other? Standing beside you, I feel so happy when you hold my hand; I am filled with love and faith. Sometimes I have to look at this and see if we should stop ourselves or not. But no matter how deep and how much we care for each other, it is still love for the Revolution, the pure and clean emotions of people thirsty for love, hearts bleeding because of the war, nothing else. But this wild love of the Revolutionary still feels strange.
November 20, 1968. Said good-bye to you. Every time I say good-bye I feel our love is deeper. Holding you in my heart and kissing your eyes I feel nothing can make us forget those moments we are together.
You ask me many times why I love you. Why? Because of your hard life, your courage in the face of danger and your heart’s hopes for a love when your life is lonely and cold. Of course you are loved by all the comrades, but you still need a real love. I came to you with admiration, belief and a strange affection. I did not say that I loved you more than Nghia and Khiem, but I can tell you that I will care for you truly deeply and forever. You hold my hand and say: “Please believe me, that now and in the future I will love no-one more than you except my dead parents”. I questioned you many times but you have never changed your mind, a devotion I do not think is practical. What can I say? Yes! I believe you, and will try to mirror your high and sacred love for me.
Oh! Young man that I love, you are the flame which brightens the Revolutionaries’ love, a sort of love which before I only understood in a general and abstract way.
November 24, 1968. Life is shown to us in a thousand different ways: love, sadness, hope, and jealousy. People only have one heart filled with blood: in the heart there is a half which contains red blood and a half which contains black blood. So in every brain there are some very bright and beautiful ideas, and then there are some very black and vile thoughts. You must understand that clearly; so please be calm and strong in the face of life.
Late tonight I sit beside the light and think. I don’t want it but sadness appears before my eyes. I wish that some beloved person would stay here and share everything with me. If you were here you would hold my hand, kiss my hand, care for and pity me. Isn’t that right?
November 25, 1968. Too busy, my head aches and I am tired. I don’t wish for anything but to return to my family with the consolation of their love. But a wish is only a wish; reality is reality. The patients’ moans are still very sad in my ears, the task continues to appear before my eyes in every different way, complicated, difficult, and making me angry!
November 26, 1968. It’s my birthday today, with enemy guns sounding from all four directions. I am used to this already, carrying the bag and taking the patients to run and hide. After two years on the battlefield it is nothing.
