February 24, 1969. The battles resumed the day before yesterday. There is still a very strong spirit, with a deep faith which has waited a long time to pass through the guns. My heart feels very happy, but I also worry; maybe because the task is so heavy, and perhaps for something else. Is it a worry for one of the people I love who will fall with the victory tomorrow? Of course where there are victories there are sacrifices: what can I say?
February 26, 1969. It’s a spring night with a very clear moon; I want to forget all about my emotions and concentrate on my job, but I cannot. I don’t know what will make my heart cool down from love, dreams and hopes. Last year when I heard the enemy searching for us on the ground when lying in a trench, I still told stories from Pavel to Khiem. Between the bombs and the firing I still sat between the stones to write in my diary and to write letters. Now during this busy time I still have a heart burning with life. Really it is not a passion for any individual which disturbs me, but a larger emotion… yet why is it so vital? I miss a niece who I never have met, a young woman who threw herself into duty and hardship yet who all the time thinks of me. How much I miss the young man who went to his duties but whose love is given to me. This morning standing beside the operating table for a young soldier with black eyes and long eyebrows, he made me think of a young brother every time he looked at me. What am I? A girl with a warm heart filled with love, but why am I never soft in the face of the many complications, difficulties and cruelties?
March 3, 1969. Went to visit a patient and returned at midnight. After returning I couldn’t sleep. Late at night the forest is so quiet, no bird sounds, no sounds of falling leaves, or of wind in the tree branches. What do I think about? What do I think about which keeps my eyes open? Looking through the window in the light of the gloomy moon I see many beautiful scenes, also the lovely scenery of Duc Pho, and then a separate scene of sorrow and sadness to come… can I blame myself? Did I hear the soldiers’ moans and the noise of guns firing far away? The battlefield is still here in this season of victory.
March 6, 1969. All those letters filled with love. The more I read them over and over, the more I feel the deep emotions of the sender, and I understand more than ever his love. For him I feel the same as for Nghia, Khiem, and Thuong. This means that there are those who have a higher place in my affections, which is something I have always known. But in every one of his letters he still says: “In my life you are the only one I love”. So what can I say to him now?
March 9, 1969. I saw Tan again and suddenly I felt something was not quite right. What was that? Sadness, loneliness, or self blame… I didn’t really understand, but only felt tense. Tan reminds me of some memories which I tried to forget and which I hadn’t thought about in a long time. Where are you? Tan came back but didn’t bring any news of you. Are we really so far away from each other my dear? Why do I feel that my heart is still bleeding? Why is the wound in my heart so hard to heal?
This afternoon here and there we are all prepared to the greatest degree, and you and I are part of those preparations; both of us are in the struggle, but why do we feel so far apart my dear comrade?
March 11, 1979. All the liberation troops are so worthy of admiration: they are strong and courageous when fighting, and here they are patient and courageous in their sick-beds. This gives the cadre a wonderful strength to withstand everything. Pain makes him cry, but he yet smiles, and still he answers: “It doesn’t matter”. I sit next to him and hold his hot hand when he runs a high fever, listening to his tired breathing. I feel so sorry for him but don’t know what to say. Besides the love of this physician there is the love of a girlfriend from home, but I don’t want to show this in conversation. He would only have to look into my eyes, but he will never know that.
There is the liaison officer with dimpled cheeks, always smiling though his wounded hand hurts.
There is the badly wounded soldier with the broken hand, yet he always smiles with a believing smile.
Today they leave on a military operation again, a victorious military operation. I hope they gain that victory, and I say good-by to the army with the bright black eyes.
