July 22, 1969. A rainy afternoon away from home. Sadness, loneliness and thoughts like rain hiding the sky. I feel that I am to blame… in the fire of the country why is my heart naturally weak? But it is really not that it’s raining, or that the house is not strong enough to shed rain or that the lovely scenery makes me sad, Might it be that these few days after returning to the delta I felt extremely lonely? With all the mornings when the sun came out of the ocean, or the afternoons when the sun set on the far away rice fields and those moonlit nights on the white beach sands… all beautiful scenes but I still didn’t feel happy. How can I be happy when day by day sorrow and death still press into our lives? Yesterday in an operation the enemy came to the village and killed 5 people, and every afternoon bombs fall like rain on the village.
How can I be happy when everyone there worries and misses each other? A short letter arrived full of worry and love. All those people care for me and remind me to be strong, worrying about me constantly. What can I say?
This afternoon a letter came saying that you were preparing to leave for Area 6*. Hearing that, I felt sorrow as if I had received very sad news. You go… and the firm place I lean on here in the South will be lost. That is because no one else cares about me and understands me like you do. Even M does not care for me like this young man. It is strange, but there is really no other love like this affection, like the love between brother and sister, the true care in the family of the Revolution.
July 23. 1969. An American lighter has my name inscribed on it next to the name of a beloved comrade. Dao handed it to me and asked who was it from? I smiled without thinking, and then returned it to him, but when I left I was confused. My dear M! Why did you put my name next to yours? Why? Because of our previous dreams, or because your deep love is still there, or because of a thoughtless reaction? No one really does any thing without meaning. M you are not that kind of person, but dear M! You must tell me why you wrote my name next to that of the Liberation soldier which you always described as “not suitable for a girl medical student”.
July 24, 1969. I met Sang again in the delta. He didn’t think that he would see me so he stood still, happiness and surprise making him speechless. He is preparing to go north, so he invited me to visit. Out of respect I followed him. It was raining hard as we walked across the rice fields filled with water at Pho Van. We wanted to get out of the rain at his friend’s house but it had just been burned by the Americans, with only a piece of metal left to cover the seat of the owner and guests. I felt that it wasn’t convenient for us to stay and asked Sang to leave, but the friend was sad and asked “Why don’t you eat here and then go? Are you worried that the rice will not be cooked completely?” We hadn’t planned to stay and eat and the rice wasn’t well cooked because the rain fell as solid water. The fire grew smaller until only a few pieces of wood were burning in the kitchen, the pot boiling less and less because the fire finally went out and the rain fell into the rice pot. Is there a movie with scenes like this or not? A simple scene but to the people it says a lot about cruel war crimes. In the number of people sheltering from the rain there was a cadre who told the story of when the enemy first came destroying and burning. On that day in the wealthy village only a few homes were burned. New Years came and the landowner took the food offering to worship at a burned door in the middle of his roofless house. He, the cadre, came to visit with all the relatives and saw this scene and became excited. To encourage and cheer the victims he pointed out that now all in the village were the same. So he laughed at the scene this afternoon. “We are not defeated by them. Burn this one and we will build another: it’s not too difficult; just a few pieces of wood will be enough.” Life in war makes people minimize their needs. Life is only fighting and duty: all that is needed is a pot of rice and fish sauce, a piece of nylon stretched across a trench and a yoke inside with enough clothing, rice, potatoes, salt, and fish sauce, all ready to carry away when the enemy comes.
My dear Sang, travel to the North and tell the people who are living in the land of Socialism that in the South there is still sorrow... that only when it is rid of all the American pirates will we really have a life. That is all.
