My Saigon

I don't remember the full content of the letter, but the crooked, muddy handwriting would always have sentences like "A few uncles and aunts in Saigon sent gifts to their children, including coconut candy and rambutan." Every month, the letter sent to my father would mention the gifts he received, and how he had gone from being a construction worker to a master worker. He bragged that he no longer had to carry cement, carry mortar, or mix mortar, but could build.

Một thoáng Sài Gòn của ba qua góc nhìn của con gái — A glimpse of Dad's Saigon through his daughter's eyes

Every time he returned to his hometown, my father brought back many gifts, such as candies, rambutans, new clothes. There were years when my father brought back a brand new set of porcelain bowls. He kept them carefully in the cupboard as a precious item, telling my mother to only take them out when there was a death anniversary. There was also an early black and white TV and some coconut candy packages that every time my sisters and I ate them, we would laugh and say: " Coconut candy is very hard, Dad, it sticks to our teeth so much!" My father kept repeating that it was a gift from some uncles and aunts in Saigon. I didn't know who they were, where they lived, and had never met them. But in my eyes, "the uncles and aunts in Saigon" were very kind!

When I was 12 years old, I first went to Saigon. My father drove me from the bus station to the boarding house where he lived - on a motorbike with only half of its fairing still on, the front lights swaying as if they were flying in the wind. I sat on the back of the motorbike, smiling, my eyes shining brightly when I discovered something interesting. Every now and then my father would pat my hand and say: "There's the supermarket, son!", "There's the park, son!"

I have never seen a place with as many lights as here or maybe my little feet have not walked all their lives. Even the town where I live is not as bright as this. I used to hate the flashing lights because they made me feel dazzled. But the moment I sat on the motorbike, with my father driving on the crowded streets, I suddenly realized that the lights of Saigon were extremely warm. The lights soothed my father's thin shoulders, soothed the heart of the wanderer who was working to build a small dream for me!

Trải nghiệm tên Water Bus Sài Gòn — Experience with Saigon water bus

On the trip to Saigon, I did not get to go to Dam Sen as I had dreamed of, but spent most of the remaining time staying at my father's construction site. I sat in a roughly built hut, on wooden planks, my father spread out a mat for me to sit on and work. In the evening, my father would take me to an alley, to a row of shabby boarding houses exposed to the sun and rain. My father spoke to a woman in a strange voice that I could not understand. Then my father took me to eat "hot dzít lả". I ate and giggled. Here, people do not say "about" but "about", people do not say "what happened" like in my hometown. There were many other strange things that I cannot remember.

Now that I am an adult, I have the opportunity to visit Saigon again. This trip is completely different from the first time. I see a bustling and brilliant Saigon but also a miserable Saigon with the lives of those who are far from home. Especially when I look up at the construction sites, my heart aches every time. Was it true that nearly 20 years ago, my father was also there - up there, laying each brick, carrying each bucket of mortar?

My father said Saigon is very big. But I see Saigon as small as my father's back.

My father said that Saigon people are very generous, but I think that's still lacking. They are also friendly and lovable.

More than 15 years have passed, and my father has not returned to Saigon again. Old age and relationships have kept him in his homeland. Yet he still follows the news from that faraway land. I remember the afternoons when my father sat on the porch, sipping wine and telling us stories from the South. There was a time when I thought Saigon was my father's hometown. My father never told me how brilliant Saigon was, but from his eyes and smile, I saw how beautiful Saigon was.

My father loves Saigon differently than I do. A person who has spent nearly a decade in Saigon is different from an innocent girl who doesn’t understand anything. A person who has lived there for nearly half of his life is different from a girl who came just to fulfill her dream of going to Dam Sen.

My father loved Saigon as if it were his second home. The warm-hearted land and generous people at that time gave him a place to sleep and work. They gave him a new backpack to replace the old one, and a new uniform to replace the worn-out shirt.

As for me, I love Saigon because that land tolerated my father, embraced him in its heart. Saigon nurtured the dreams of us - the children thousands of kilometers away.

Saigon gave my father friends, Saigon gave us gifts. Even though I had never met them, never known them, every time I heard my father mention the two words "the uncles and aunts in Saigon", I felt extremely fond of them.

Many times I think, if it weren't for my father's Saigon, we wouldn't be where we are now.

My Saigon, my Saigon!