“You”
I’ve always known – you are by my side.
Your image – quiet yet persistent – has never faded. Like the bracelet you once made for me from a melted plastic ruler, clumsy but heartfelt. It’s the only keepsake left. Once tucked in the drawer of my old school desk, it’s dulled with time, yet still carries the warmth of a childhood long gone, a childhood that will never return.
I remember the day you left so clearly.
It was a dry sunny day. The village roads lay quiet under the shade of blooming chinaberry trees. Dad drove you off on his rattling old motorbike, up the stony hill road with a soft breeze blowing. I didn’t dare take my eyes off your figure as it slowly vanished in the dusty horizon. Hiding under the guava tree, I looked out toward the road you disappeared on. My heart ached gently, my eyes stung, watching your thin shoulders fade behind the bamboo grove. In silence, I whispered: “Take care of yourself, bro”
Time passed slowly, like the chill of long winter days.
I taught myself how to make a Yahoo chat account – just to stay in touch with you. Every time your face appeared through the grainy webcam, looking healthier, fuller, joy welled up inside me like warmth from a distant sun. These fragile digital threads bound us closer, across thousands of kilometers.
When we were little, you used to bathe me in a brass basin. You were the stern but gentle big brother. That well water, cold and pure, I will never forget. I used to splash you until your clothes were soaked. You’d yell in mock anger, and I’d giggle uncontrollably, blissfully.
You always reminded me to hang the mosquito net carefully at night, and tuck in the corners well – our house was near the forest, after all. But I was stubborn, always kicking it loose in my sleep. You must have been annoyed, but you never scolded. On some nights, you’d wake up, bitten, only to see the net fluttering in the air, and my little legs already hanging out beneath it.
You taught me how to ride a bicycle.
You were the first to teach me how to balance. I was most terrified the moment you let go. You looked at me with anxious trust as I pedaled away, carefree, shouting over my shoulder, “Don’t let go!” But sometimes, you’d stay silent. I’d turn around – and you’d already be far behind. Then I’d fall. Hard.
You rushed over, scooped me up, heart aching as you saw my knees scraped and bleeding.
Even now, whenever I ride a bike, each gentle sway feels like a reminder of you, I think of you with an ache too deep for words.
“Why did you let go?”
“Because only then could you ride on your own.”
Now I understand.
Even when, once more… you let go.
Only this time, it was forever.
I welcomed you home in tears. But not the tears of reunion.
The family received you in unbearable grief – as if their hearts had been cut open. And no one can truly comfort someone who has just lost a beloved family member. You not returning to our home, but returning to the earth.
It rained heavily that day, as if the sky cried with us. The tents flapped helplessly in the wind.
The villagers lined up in long, silent rows.
Your funeral was the largest our village had ever seen.
There is no pain greater than white-haired parents burying their black-haired child.
Your grave rests high on the slope, overlooking golden rice fields, calm and eternal. You sleep there, but you are never forgotten.
You were kind, gentle, and good man – loved by everyone, from the elders to the village children.
But I still can’t help asking: Why you?
Why must the good ones go so soon, while those with cruel hearts live on without consequence?
Is life so unfair? Why did your story have to end halfway?
A future full of promise, a sky still wide open, was waiting for you. Now, it’s just a name on the wind, full of sorrow and longing.
I don’t dare imagine your final moments – the pain, the loneliness, the words left unsaid in your fading breath.
Now, I walk the rest of your life for you. I promise myself to live truly, to live happily.
To do the things that bring me joy.
Isn’t that what you were searching for?
True happiness, for you, was never for yourself – but for others.
For family to be taken care of – that was your happiness. You sacrificed everything for it.
You no longer run behind me, like when you taught me to ride.
Now, you stand further back… but I know you’re still there, watching every step I take, quietly.
And in that moment, I realize – I was never alone.
(Excerpt from a Novel “You” – Ha Kim, Vinh Phuc, 8/7/2004)
