Life of a Lamb

(A story based on a picture of a soldier’s grave)

13^th February 1942. Tomorrow should have been the day we spent our 13^th Valentine’s Day together. Seating on the side of our bed, alone, I remembered you were still here yesterday. No, it was a year, or 2 years. I couldn’t remember the last time you were by my side. I prayed to God that you would return to my side. “God return him to me, return him to me, return him to me…”

“Hey dearest, I am back,” Harold said.

I could see a blurry figure walking towards me from far with open arms in his uniform. I could only see his figure. I knew that man was Harold. I can still remember his built and the way he walks.

I opened my arms as tears welled up in my eyes. Harold began running towards me. But as he ran, he distant from me further. I couldn’t comprehend.

I saw him in the tie, a gift for our first Valentine’s Day. I could now see his face, clean shaved. He was smiling to me. I tidied his necktie’s knot like what I usually do every morning. He did not say anything to me. So hard I tried to speak but I had no voice. I wanted to tell him how much I love him. I couldn’t.

I felt no gravity. I was rising up in the air like a hot air balloon. I could fly. I tried to return to the ground but I couldn’t.

Suddenly, I saw what happened during the battle. Bullets were flying around me. Soldiers were hiding in their trenches and dare not exit those hiding spots. Soldiers were killed. Blood stained my face and my hands. The fear of death filled the air. I tried to scream but I had no voice. I could hear my scream clearly in my head, but nothing came out of my mouth.

I saw him again. He was there desperately calling for help. I ran towards him. His hands were stretching out towards me. My vision blurred. But I was so close to reaching him. I tripped…

My eyes shot opened out of the blue. Instinctively, my hands reached out to grab your arm. You weren’t there. I was breathing short, heavy breathe. Sweat beads ran down my face. Tears filled my eyes and started blending into my beads of sweat. Where were you?

You were taken away from me. It was hard to know that you have left. I did not know whether it was worth waiting for, for someone who might not return.

14^th February 1942. I was waiting for you. I felt a twitch on my eyelid. Was it you trying to convey a message to me? Did anything bad happen to you. I missed you. Harold, please come back to me.

(Soldier’s Part)

14^th February 1942. (Not done yet)

(Ending)

An officer in full dress knocked on the front door.

We were both waiting. The day has come. 14^th February 1942. This day ended our longing. There was no need to wait anymore. We will see each other in heaven. With love…

That was our very first backpacking trip. We were in Vietnam. Marcus, Derek and I had just graduated from college and hence had a very tight budget for the trip. We had planned a total budget of 1,200 Singapore Dollars for the whole trip.

Every fortnight, we would travel to another district of Vietnam by sleeper buses and sometimes railway trains so as to save on accommodation expenditures. When choosing a guesthouse to spend the night, we would visit guesthouse by guesthouse to compare the prices and the quality of the rooms in order to secure the best one. The average price we paid for each guesthouse was about 150,000 Vietnamese Dong each, or 9 Singapore Dollars. That was probably one of the cheapest rooms anyone could ever find in Vietnam. Even so, we tried to scrimp and bargain whenever possible.

On the sixteenth night of our trip, we were left with about 300 Singapore Dollars, which was supposed to feed us for the remaining five days in Vietnam. We checked in to a guesthouse with a room meant for two but big enough for three. Although we have been staying in low priced guesthouses for the past 2 weeks, this one was in a worst state. Being situated a less developed district of Vietnam could be the reason for the old structures and furniture.

 “The room is so warm. On the air-con!” Marcus exclaimed.

“I tried. It can’t be switched on…” I replied.

“Haiya, doesn’t really matter what. Let’s just spend the night without air-con. It won’t kill us,” Derek said as he took off his shirt and threw it to the corner of the room where he placed his backpack, preparing himself for a bath.

“But we paid the price for the room with air-con. Shall we go down to ask the staff?” I asked.

“I will ask the staff about the air-con,” Marcus replied.

“Alright, I’ll go with you,” I said.

“I will take a bath first then,” Derek said, as he slowly closed the squeaky bathroom door.

“See! Even the door also cannot make it,” Marcus exclaimed with great disappointment.

Marcus and I grabbed our wallets and headed down through the narrow stairway.

“Xin chào,” I greeted the receptionist. I tried my best to use simple phrases I learnt during my stay in Vietnam. Xin chào means hello.

“Xin chào,” he greeted me back with a grin. He was an old man clothed in grey ragged clothing.

“The room upstairs, no air-con,” Marcus said as he pointed up.

“Yes yes, no air-con,” The receptionist said.

I stared at Marcus, confused. I then stood back as I thought it would be better if Marcus do the talking. He had always been the one to do the bargaining.

“Ya ya, you said 130,000 Dong for the room with air-con,” Marcus rephrased.

“Air-con? Yes yes, more 40,000 Dong. The electricity”

“What? Just now you say we pay 130,000 for air-con already, now you want more money?”

“No no, I never!”

“Yes you did!”

The receptionist then murmured to himself in some Vietnamese language, as if he was saying bad things about us.

“Call your boss here, we want to talk to him,” Marcus demanded.

The receptionist seemed not to understand what we were trying to say.

“I say call your boss, your manager here, we want to complain,” Marcus repeated himself.

The receptionist then stared at us, as he slowly took up the phone to make the call. We were not even sure whether he was calling his manager or not. After all, we were in another country and I felt a little uneasy about Marcus trying to blow up the issue.

The receptionist begun to speak in Vietnamese to the person on the line, and he seemed to be explaining the situation that was happening. After about 2 minutes or so, he ended the call and said, “My boss say you all pay 40,000 more for air-con”.

“F***,” Marcus accidently slipped a word of vulgarity after hearing what the receptionist said.

The receptionist became agitated. That word of vulgarity seemed to have an unpleasant blow on him. “F*** you! I never scold you why you scold me.”

Marcus’ F word repeated itself in my mind. Soon enough it became mine, which revealed to me the panicky state I was in. It was such a common word that we have used all day back in college to display our frustration. It had never occurred to me that the receptionist would take it so personally.

 “What? You don’t try to cheat our money here.” Marcus exclaimed.

“I never! You don’t go. I call police.”

My senses prompted me to grab on Marcus’ arm, trying to prevent him from making the situation even messier. I did not want to end up in the police station for 40,000 Dong. 

“Hey, okay, I think you misunderstand us, sorry okay?” I interrupted the conversation. I tried to remain calm, but secretly I was afraid.

The receptionist seemed to calm down when hearing the word sorry. “Okay Okay, what you want?”

“Never mind, it’s just a misunderstanding, sorry. We go up and sleep,” I said as I dragged Marcus away.

As we walked up the stairway, I turned my head back and saw the receptionist staring at us with tears in his eyes.

“Wish you good luck,” the receptionist yelled.

So that was the last thing I heard from the receptionist that night. I wondered why he said that.

It seemed to me that we had really misunderstood him. Probably it was the barrier of language that made us misunderstand the package that came with the price we paid and the differences in culture that caused the commotion. Or maybe that’s what happens when three cheapo Singaporeans try to save 40,000 Dong.

Indeed, 2 toilets may not have made a huge difference to the students at Lo-Ong high school. They may have forgotten bulk of what we taught them during IT classes. However, I believe at least our presence have assured them that somewhere out there, there is someone who knows their existence and is willing to share with them some love(:

-one of the sparklets

fishforpeople:

Psalm 126:5

ARHHH…haha

blackandwtf:

via stevechasmar and turnofthecentury.

travelhighlights:

Scaling The Summit With The Motherland in Your Heart.

By Kevin Cyr

The storm is coming but i don’t mind. People are dying, i close my blinds. All that i know is i’m breathing now. I want to change the world…instead i sleep. I want to believe in more than you and me. But all that i know is i’m breathing. All i can do is keep breathing. All we can do is keep breathing now. All that i know is i’m breathing. All i can do is keep breathing. All we can do is keep breathing now. All we can do is keep breathing All we can do is keep breathing All we can do is keep breathing All we can do is keep breathing. All we can do is keep breathing now.

RAAAAAA