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a space for youth writing on mental health & identity
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a space for youth writing on mental health & identity
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It does not make sense how we reluctantly found our way here, mecca of hearts, heir apparent to True North, past the little brick hut, past the pebbles in the rain, past the scattered hoa mai, lying downtrodden as youthful year do. Especially when we cast
our exoticised gaze upon them from behind these aged gates, coated ineluctably with the corrosive patina of a dozen years. But your lips part in protest-- Không, không! as your clear-seeing fingertips direct our gaze upon the streets, garlanded by their sooty pavements; see how the children still ride pillion upon the leathered humpback Vespas: observe how the festive horns continue to rise with the wind. All I can afford, a pauper, the crumpled năm ngàn dollar bills from torn jeans and windbreakers. Adorned with sighs, no, they are not falling into the zookeeper’s calloused hands. Keep your clean fingers clean, they float, with Pepsi-Cola bottlecaps, stomped into concrete and faded by time. Along with the softshell turtle of old, which we sheltered with grains and the occasional shrimp, until its bite grew hard and demeanour frosty. To which (I recall, but perhaps you were still young.) we remedied without delay, casting it with impunity, flinging this once-cherished old memory into the gaping mouth of Sông Sài Gòn. Sans farewell. And on the way back, perhaps (memory sometimes eludes me) we turned down the street right beside Thảo Cầm Viên, entered the seafood restaurant-- “Ocean Palace”-- asked for a table, walked past the giant tank housing its kin. Comments are closed.
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September 2023
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