“Daffodil“

Photo by Christopher Paul High on Unsplash

My Vietnamese name is Thủy Tiên, which has multiple meanings in the Vietnamese language. This name is predominantly associated with the daffodil flower, yet there are many other legends associated with my name. My parents gave me a Vietnamese name to eternally link my identity to my culture. Daffodils can grow in pots, where a single flower of pink or white blooms above the murky water. In Vietnamese culture, these flowers are considered a good omen and are usually cultivated during the Lunar New Year in order to bring prosperity and success.

If you separate the two words, Thủy means “water” while Tiên means “fairy”. In Vietnamese culture, there is a legend about a water fairy who protected an unfortunate young boy by supplying him with daffodils to sell, which he later named the flowers “Thủy Tiên”. As a child, I loved this name because I was so fascinated by myths and fairy tales of dainty princesses and joyful fairies. My name evokes nostalgia with visions of a five-year-old version of me running throughout my childhood home in a fluffy pink princess dress, topped with a tiara.

Speaking of fairies, as a child, I watched the Nutcracker and was entranced by the Sugar Plum Fairy. Her beautiful grace and poise fascinated me. From then on, I was set on becoming a ballerina. I would wear leotards and tutus and dance throughout the house, twirling and leaping. I dreamt of performing in a show where I starred as the Sugar Plum Fairy, with thousands watching me perform. I begged my parents to learn ballet, but my mom discouraged it because she was a ballerina and the years of dancing on her toes left her with chronic pain. Then, I wanted to play the flute, since it was a pretty instrument fit for a sweet little girl. That didn’t work out either, so my parents and I settled on playing the piano.

Daffodils remind me of my grandmother, who often called me using my Vietnamese name. During one Lunar New Year celebration, my grandmother ushered me to the living room and surprised me. On the small black table was a wide, shining pot with a blooming white flower emerging from the waters.

“Đây là Thủy Tiên, giống tên của con!” my grandmother announced, declaring that this flower was a daffodil, which was my namesake.

There was so much beauty in seeing my grandmother celebrate my name and my heritage with a single flower.

As a teen, I am proud of my name. I know I am not like a fairy legend, but I hope that I do embody kindness and the good traits associated with my name. I don’t even think that I will ever become a fairy or a princess one day, as five-year-old me would have wished. But I love my name because it reminds me of my family, my childhood, my culture, and most importantly…

ME.

“Ballet Fantasy“

Photo by Alexandre Tsuchiya on Unsplash

I set the stage. 

Me, with my beige tutu and my leotard, in first position.

The lights turn on.

I dance, leap, jump, twirl, and whirl.

My tutu swirls in the air as I pirouette. 

The world keeps spinning around and around and around…

I dance with joy, not knowing of the future.

I dance with excitement, hoping to star in a ballet.

I dance with childhood innocence.

Then the music stops.

I am back in my own room.

I am not a ballerina.

I am not a dancer.

I am just a girl

with dreams

of what I could have been.

Reality overtakes

daydreams.

“Mrs. Mary“

Photo by Ronnie George on Unsplash

I went to Mrs. Mary’s house once. She had a small little turtle who endlessly spends its days swimming in a bowl of green water.

She was quite cheerful and sweet. Sometimes in the summers, when I was a young girl, I would go and visit her house with my sisters and my grandmother. We would watch the turtle swim in infinite circles under the scorching sun while my grandmother would chat with Mrs. Mary.  We would see Mrs. Mary exercise throughout the neighborhood, walking briskly with a large hat to protect herself from the sunny rays. Some days, we would wave to her, and she would wave back once she realized who was acknowledging her.

You could tell that it was Mrs. Mary by the way she walked, slowly taking her time and enjoying nature. Her white, short hair and crinkled, kind eyes were some of the characteristics I recall. 

That’s about all I know of her. I only hear the bits and pieces from my grandmother.

Now, as a high school student, I barely see her throughout the neighborhood. The vibrant woman who was once a familiar figure is now a fleeting ghost who rarely appears. They say that she lives alone now and that she is around ninety years old. She barely takes walks anymore due to the frigid weather and her frail health.  My grandmother tells me that Mrs. Mary prefers to be alone and independent.

It’s hard to grow up and see everyone age.

“Deal with God.“

Photo by Marcelo Leal on Unsplash

“Ông Nội có biết con yêu ông không? Con yêu ông nội nhiều.

[“Ong Noi, you know I love you, right? I love you a lot.”]

That’s what I said in the hospital room as I stood over my grandfather.

This past summer, my grandfather suffered a stroke that caused the left half of his body to become paralyzed. I never thought that his situation would be so perilous.

I still remember the scene: 

• A small sterile room, with a wood door to a bathroom in the corner.
• Two chairs placed next to the hospital bed. 
• A bench nearby. 
• A little tray with soft foods of jello and soups for my grandfather to eat. 
• A TV with sceneries of flowers and plains of grass.
• A little radio with violin and piano music playing tunes that should have been calming but were solemn to me.
• A heart monitor with the blaring sounds beeping, which I kept a keen eye on. 
• My grandfather on the bed, silently watching my family with hollow eyes.

I tried to hold back the tears in my eyes, but it was an immense struggle. Teardrops fell from my eyes like raindrops, creating a storm of emotions. I wanted to be strong for my grandfather, but it was hard.

At that moment, I had flashbacks to my childhood memories with my grandfather. My grandfather, happily eating a cheeseburger from IN-N-OUT with my grandmother, my sisters, and me. My grandfather, driving us to church during the weekdays or to Westminster Mall where we bought colorful, chewy candies and soft stuffed animals. My grandfather, who would watch us in his little blue lawn chair from afar as we ran throughout the park. My grandfather, who taught me the most important life lessons and skills. My grandfather, who loved walking with us throughout the neighborhood in the afternoons. My grandfather, who loved us.

These were the times that I enjoyed childhood, not even realizing that time was running out for my grandfather. I was oblivious and spent my days in a carefree manner, not realizing that the clock was ticking. Nothing can retrieve the passing minutes.

That night, I made a deal with God. I lied down on my bed and told God that I wanted my grandfather to regain his health and live at least until I graduated from high school. I prayed every night, hoping that God was hearing my pleas.

My grandfather is thankfully still alive, but he does not talk or move. He is bedridden with a blank expression. When I give him a hug or a kiss, he does not say anything or smile. He is a shell of who he was before, but I know that deep inside, his spirit and love is still there.

I hope God heard my prayer.

“Someday…“

Photo by Greg Rakozy on Unsplash

Someday, I will be miles away, chasing my aspirations and dreams. This is inevitable for me.

I have to leave the people I love to pursue what I want. I want more, more than what is provided here.

But I will come back. I will come back to my home, where my parents are heating up dinner and sitting at the dinner table, happy and not stressed. My mother will be able to have time to watch her favorite television shows on the long couch. My father can tinker with his interests in new technology and crafts. They will not need to experience the late night shifts at the hospital and the hours of stress and work. I will see my sisters again soon, where they are studying for their respective aspirations. They have stuck through thick and thin with me, and I will always stick by them. I will come back to my grandparents, who quietly cook their dinners and sleep through the peaceful darkness of the night. My grandmother will be at the stove, watching the beef on the pan sizzle with the butter popping up like fireworks. My grandfather will be lying on his bed with his own silent thoughts. I will come back for my friends, who have been loyal through my school days. I will visit the neighbors and communities who have made me feel like I belonged. I will repay tenfold those who have built my childhood and taught me everything, once I have found my dream.  

I will eventually revisit the childhood parks where I had sword fights with sticks, the nostalgic schools where I made wonderful friends, and the fields of grass that I ran through without a care in the world. The nostalgic memories of airplanes, pretend campfires, and fashion shows will pass as I grow older. The night drives with my parents or the trips out to fast food restaurants with my grandparents will pass. Time ticks.

I must go because I have more to experience, more to seek from this world. I want to find my dream, my identity, and my soul. It’s out there somewhere.

Maybe, I will become an artist, a lawyer, or a neurologist.  Who knows? Only I can find out.

Someday, I will be gone, just like how everything always comes and goes. I won’t be here on this Earth, because we are not gods who live for eternity.  That is why memories are so special.

But I will return for you, even if we are separated between Heaven and Earth.

I promise to come back for you.

I promise.