A few months ago I mentioned how great it is to take the frenetic journey to work every day. Well, that feeling was shattered on Thursday evening in a heart-twrenching twist of fate that has left me hollowed, a shell, half the man I used to be, constantly wrestling with existential questions and not finding any answers. I’ve been wearing white since Thursday evening in mourning; as is the custom in Vietnam. I wander around in a stupor, an unbelieving daze, eyes glazed over, every free moment I catch myself thinking about my baby, the glint of her body in the morning, the purr she’d give me, the wonderful carefree feeling we’d share when we were together. It’s tough losing the one you love. My green Honda Future was stolen out of the ghetto in Le Thanh Ton that night. The night my baby went away. If anyone has seen my baby, tell her I love her, and everything happens with a reason. It was just not meant to be.
By the way, if I don’t post again in the next few days, you’ll be sad to know that Mr Hung from Kim’s Café, where I rented the bike, has beaten me to a horrible death with his walking stick, leaving me to have my fleshed slowly picked off my bones by the Pham Ngu Lao rat mafia. I’m off to negotiate compensation now. Wish me luck. Vaya con Dios.
