September 13, 1969. Dear young man, the more time and distance away from you the closer to you I feel. I miss you and worry about you more than ever. The day when I see you again will feel like a small light in the darkness late at night. I am a traveler on the way, my eyes looking for the light while my heart thirsts and waits for it. Do you realize how I struggle to let you approach me? When I knew that my hopes would not come true, how sad I was. In the thousands and thousands of sorrows and cruelties I cannot forget one thing: when can I see you again? When can I live close to you as in those lovely days from before? Please don’t fall, okay? Please live to let me have a day to hold you once more in the care I have for a young man from the South.
The war is still long, and we are all soldiers on the front lines. Who knows what will be, but we still continue to believe like Simonob* who believed in the poem:
September 14, 1969. My dreams have made me think deeply about this: I feel that I am back in Ha Noi after so many days away; I meet my parents, meet my young sister and live in Ha Noi, but the young Southerner is there. I meet Thuan and he stares at me, his shining eyes very sad. Oh! This is an image from the reality of today’s hardship-filled life.
These days I feel lonely and cannot retreat from the sadness pressing my heart: the clinic cannot banish it… it is still running here today and there tomorrow. My case in hand is heavy, but the worries are still heavier.
September 22, 1969. Time passes so fast: September is almost gone and already autumn returns to the yellow rice fields. Harvest scenes are supposed to be happy because security returns after many days of hard work. But the American pirates threaten those fields, helicopters in early morning circling to drop the troops for their sweeps, artillery firing into the rice paddies… worry and hate replace the happiness of the harvest.
I think suddenly of the films and songs from the Socialist rice fields, and my heart bursts with the question: “when can the South be peaceful, independent, and free?”
A letter from the Southerners arrived, but no letter from him. From other sources I know that he is sick, sad and so very weak. Worry for him makes my heart ache. Whatever I do I still cannot be close to him. God! How can I share his sorrow and hurt? I hope that he gets well so we can meet again. From far away I send so much love to him: can you hear me wonderful young man?
October 10, 1969. I haven’t written in this diary for a long time. Is the conflict gradually taking away the thoughts of one who knows how to think about life? No, I don’t want it to be that way, but the job weighs heavily on me and everyday the sorrow of dead comrades makes me forget personal matters. This diary is not only about my life but is pages of memory of a life bright with the Struggle and full of the sorrow of the courageous Southerners.
Tam Vinh is dead already! My dear Tam, I will never forget the hard working farmer who loved his wife, children and comrades with a very special care. Late at night while I slept he was in the bamboo trying to dig a shelter for me, bailing the water out so that if I needed it tomorrow I would not be so cold. He lent me his own foxhole also, and stayed in a different one filled with water. Are you already dead Vinh? No! You still live! A simple hard working brother that I will admire for the rest of my life.
October 21, 1969. The situation has become almost tense: at Mo Duc* tanks dug up most of the entire village. The civilians ran off, but the cadres were killed by the tanks sweeping through and crushing their personal shelters… I sat and listened to what he told me, and I worried. I could tell that he was also worried: his bright eyes deep with thinking of the brother I love. The more I listened, the more affection I felt even though at the only times we meet we can only say a few words, being surrounded by the job. I know from others that he cares for and worries about me. But how can I tell him about my emotions when we are so far apart? And how can I make him understand that he feels the same way? Tan, you are like my brother, and very close to me, but why do I feel that you are still a stranger? Is there some kind of wall separating us?
October 25, 1969. Maybe it would be hard to imagine that this place is the resting place of the group with the most responsibility in the hamlet. An empty leaking house, it hides a complete artillery shelter. Because of worries that it will be discovered, garbage is left all around. At night the sound of mosquitoes and dirt falling from the wood makes it impossible to sleep well.
