Tam heard the news that his mother almost died and that his father was seriously wounded when the enemy took him away. He cried and could not stop: what could I say to him? The heartfelt words hurt him more. There are those who bring up their own sorrows to stop the sadness, but I cannot. So many times I have seen this, yet my heart is still full of sorrow and fears seeing it again. Thuan also tried to say something to him, he looked at me only once but I understood that he wanted to tell me that one year ago this circumstance was his, repeated again a few months later.
Oh God! Love for him also came with tears like that. I felt sorry for him because his family had died and I brought the love of a family to him to warm his heart.
February 20, 1970. I watched her a long time, a girl with a strong body, long hair down to her dress, brown skin and big eyes with a sad smile on her face. When did this sadness appear, from the time her love stopped or from the time her smile destroyed that love? I admire her with the regard of a person standing inside looking out at someone walking in the rain on a cold, wind-blown road… who must keep on because she hasn’t gotten to a stopping-place. It appears that she envies me, not because her love has been lost, but because I am loved by most people. It doesn’t matter, because this is not a romantic love, but it is one with a heavy strength. Life is like that, so complicated: even though you want to live very simply you cannot.
February 21, 1970. Once more I came close to death: a few helicopters and HU-1As circled and fired for close to an hour. Their target was only 10 meters away so deafening bullets and fire struck all around us. We all stayed in the trenches not knowing when we would be struck. We seemed to look at death, but then it all passed away. They didn’t find their targets so after firing for awhile the enemy left. We hurried away from the area, looking back at the beautiful forest trees and our building. My heart ached like it had stopped: after two months of the strength and passion of the ten of us to build this place with our hands and minds, all the cold and raining days with the hill slippery as poured oil we had still smiled and sang as we carried the big lumber to build the place. All the noondays when no-one wanted to nap, leaving their bowls of rice and hurrying with knives, busy to decorate our own place… so much work and effort now like sand poured in the South China Sea… what can I say? When will the wounded soldiers have a place to rest? When will we have a life like before? I am so sorry for my comrades who worked so hard all those difficult days.
February 22, 1970. For all the nights sleeping in the forest… the roof is green trees, the moon is very naughty looking straight down through the leaves at my face, half in laughter and half seeming to understand a cadre of the Revolution in her hard times.
I awoke at midnight unable to sleep. I looked at the moon and thought a lot. Three years in the fire-and-smoke-filled battlefield and I have grown up, lying here I worry for the wounded with no place to be cured. Lying here I worry for the clinic now unfinished after having spent so much strength and effort, my worry that of a person responsible to the Party. And for me, what is the matter? I have already given my youth to the Country so even if I am lost what is worth worrying about? Anyway, I will still die, so must live worthily each day. Honor is precious jade without price so don’t let anyone walk over it no matter how much power they have.
February 24, 1970. I feel like blaming him, why did he do something like that? I only want him to not make the mistake which Le made before and which Met made these last few days.
Please be careful, you with your lively heart filled with strength.
Tonight three of us sat and talked, my heart nervous with sorrow: it may be the last night we are together. Everyone knows this is true, naturally. What can I say? I can only answer that even in the explosions of fire and bombs; even in the heat of burning or boiling I will keep always our true affections. This way we must travel has too many thorns; any other way, including our way together, will be the same. Don’t think that I am mad at you or blame you like today and that I don’t cherish you. Because I care for you so much, I want you to have perfect happiness. I read your diary and know that your care for me more than anyone else, but why do you have something to hide from me? That makes me very angry at you: I want to be very generous regarding your weakness, but I cannot. I have to say that that is also a challenge for you: if you put the love of me first then it is all right; if not then forget about it all… it’s up to you. I always keep the self-respect of the petty bourgeoise and cannot be any different.
