I reached home, weary from sleep deprivation, and study exhaustion. Plunging myself on the couch and flinging the bag onto the other side, I was in no mood for anything. I just wanted to sleep. Before I could close my eyes, I remembered something and looked at my watch. It was 12:30p.m., the normal lunch time for my family. The food was all ready on the table, but no one was downstairs, not even my grandfather or grandmother. But there were three bowls, so I assumed I would be eating with my father and mother when they came home.

I sat up and went to bathroom to wash my hands, but returned to the dining table to find myself on the phone chatting with friends and playing mine sweepers. Sooner then I thought, I heard a familiar rumbling sound of engine outside the door. My father emerged through the door, followed by my mother. As usual, my father, onto the same couch where I landed ten minutes before, propped down. His eyes never left the iPad screen. Without having to ask, I knew that they just returned from a health check.

After a while of eating with my mother and waiting for my father to recover his attention from the television and his iPad, I finally had the urge to ask about an important incoming subject. My friends who are graduating this year are planning on a trip and wanted me to come along. It would be the last chance everyone could be together before he or she leaves for colleges.

“Dad, are you listening?”

“Yes, what do you want to ask?”

“All my twelfth-grade friends here in Ho Chi Minh City are leaving next year for colleges. They are inviting me to a Mui Ne trip in July.”

“Okay, what else?” he focused on the dish in front of him.

“The dates are from 12 July to 14 July. The entire grade are going, plus three teachers. We are going for three days and two nights, staying in Blue Shell Resort, a place owned by a guy named Cong in my grade. I would have to miss the SAT class on Friday July 12 morning, but I can arrange to take the class on a different day-”

“What is the schedule?”?
“What do you mean?”?
“What are you doing in Mui Ne? Are you just going to sit around like ducks and doing junk stuff the entire time?”

“No, we won’t do that. I don’t know the exact schedule; they did not tell me. Besides, the reason why I am going on this trip is not that of what we are doing in Mui Ne, but-”

My dad had the most sardonic laugh ever. But he finally looked at me. “Well, how can you go without knowing the schedule?”

“We would probably go visit temples, play games, or swim the entire day-”

“Have the leader send the schedule to me,” his voice was cold. “There is a leader, right? What is the expense for the trip?”

“I can ask as soon as they are talking to me tonight-”?
“Who is the leader? If you don’t know the schedule, how can you go?”

“Is the schedule the most crucial part of a trip?”?
“No, if I don’t know the schedule, how can I decide to say? It is missing! And, you are like that again. You cannot just say or infer the opposite just because I say it. I just need the schedule.”

“Okay, I will get you the schedule, but I am just explaining that-”

“You should learn how to listen. You cannot just squabble back every line I say. Listening is a vital part of a conversation. If you cannot listen, then how can you get what you want to?”

“I am listening. I agree to everything you say. It’s just that I want you to understand me and my reasons as well. And yes, I will get you the schedule and the lacking information.”

“I cannot comprehend how you have gone to America and have not learnt a proper way to plan a trip? This is disappointingly horrible. Totally horrible.”

“Dad, in the US, I don’t go out as often and I have never had a trip out-”

“You should stop squatting back at me. The thing is that you have to have known the procedures of asking permission. You are supposed to get all the information- who you are going with, how many are going, where are you staying, all the contact information, and such- all done and ready. The schedule is most crucial; how can you decide to go when you don’t know what is going on?”?
“I admit that there is a lack of information, and I will give the schedule tonight including all. But for me, the reason why I initially thought a schedule would not be important was that I wanted to go with my friends-”

“Do you know this conversation is getting worse because you keep squabbling me? You should calm down because now I am irritated. Are you asking me for my permission or are you forcing me to agree? With this lack of information, how can you ask me to decide what to do?” his voice was getting louder.

“I said I will give you the schedule you need. I am not trying to say that anything is wrong. I agree that it is also very unskillful of me to have missed out information to provide you. I was and am only trying to explain myself at some points,” I tried really hard to keep my voice monotonous and indifferent.

He stopped chewing and unfurled his brows and repeated, “You never listen. You have to calm down. Your attitude is unacceptable. I am still disappointed at how you can’t even manage to plan up some decent trips after all that education in America. Keep arguing against me and ask for permission. Why are you making me say Yes to your request right now? Because you won’t get one if you don’t learn how to ask permission the right way. Staying home for a few days then will be completely fine. You can use your time to revise and plan an efficient one. Now you are making this conversation annoying and ruining my meal.”

“I am not angry; I am calm, and I have not even wavered my voice level,” I noticed a shakiness in my voice. Something was stirring inside my throat.

“If you are that willing to abandon the trip, fine by me. There is a clear distinction between a Yes and a No, especially when you are asking for permission. You cannot force it on me. You made this conversation worthless by yourself and your attitude.”

He gave me the most solemn glare. Somewhere in the back of my mind flashed up my childhood horrors-- broken bowls of rice, smashed glasses, black night, the ground wet with rain, visions blurry with tears. My cheeks felt swollen. My eyes felt puffy. I could see the intricate pattern on the bowl in front of me flying up to me with such a speed I could not react fast enough. It might shatter on the mirror behind my back, or it might thrash into my face, with all the soup and food.

Something spicy and itchy was in my eyes. I would not dare to remove my gaze from his eyes. I had to face him and show that I was not going to be weak. I would not use tears, the most pusillanimous way of persuading someone, to make him soft and start to listen to me. It would not work. I would have no choice other than focusing on not breaking down right that moment. It was painful from the core, to resist the urge to cry. I felt transparent sitting there, motionless and speechless, failing to get on the issue. Tears that were about to drop, went reversely down my throat and nostrils. I felt the saltiness down my tongue. I swallowed the tears so that none were shed.

Before I could stop myself from aggravating the situation, a line slipped from my lips, “And yes, you are all right about everything. I am just confused.” At this point my voice was truly trembling. I left my seat to wash my hands and bring dirty bowls and dishes out the kitchen. When I opened the door to return to the dining room, I heard my mother asking, “Why did you eat so little today?”

He grunted his words out, “How can I eat after such conversation?” There was a lucid disgruntled tone in his voice.

I saw him. I hated myself for letting the words out. “I am confused. Would you explain to me what went wrong with my tone and attitude?” I startled to hear my broken voice.

He tapped on his iPad and went upstairs, ignoring my question. There were just me and mom, cleaning up the table.

“You cannot talk to Dad like that. He is irascible and you know it,” my mother said. “And please mind your attitude. You have to calm down and stop going to the details.”

“I agreed on everything. I just wanted to expound my reasons.”

“Well, that would not work because you always wanted to backfire at everything we say.”?
“Sometimes, those are all simple questions and lines. I never meant to quarrel against anything and this time, and I haven’t. I don’t mean any more than that. Maybe I will have to mend myself to say what you want to hear and understand, because I cannot make you understand what I really mean.”

“It was your tone that made him misunderstood,” my mother concluded.



I left quickly to hide myself in my room and bury in piles of blanket despite the turned-off air conditioner and the heat. I broke down, not because of the fact that I would not be going with my friends, but the way dad acted toward me. It wasn’t the first time we had this type of conversation. The situation used to be way worse. I recovered it to normal, but now it became sour again.

Something was stabbing me again and again through my chest and throat. My entire body shuddered with the sobbing. “Stop resisting it, let it go, pain is not real,” I whispered to myself. I knew what it was, the pain I had never really let go when facing my father. It has always been a constant fear, an unappeasable anger, and a desire to be free. I want to escape from here. Escape this place. Escape this tight parental grasp. Go have freedom for my own.

“It is a shadow, but not you. It will try to be you when you already know its existence, but you are not it,” Tolle’s voice rung in my mind. But my thoughts ran on, splitting into two separate flows. Then I heard,

Hey there, why are you crying?

“I have a problem with Dad.”

Aren’t you sad you won’t get to go with your only friends here in Ho Chi Minh? Aw, poor girl. Oh, remember the time when you moved from Hanoi too? He was cruel.

“I am, too, but not as much as I am sad about my relationship with Dad. I have been trying so hard to maintain a good relationship so far, and now it has returned to a big fat zero.”

Mom would not help you. Maybe she would talk, but she is too submissive to Dad. Not enough to convince him anything.

“But I don’t need it. I think he might have been worn out after the medical check-up and got mad at me because of my bad timing.”

No, sweetie, it isn’t because of any reason. It is just you. You are the reason. Remember, Mom said, it is your attitude and your tone.

“I did not have anything there! I don’t understand! Why are they always misunderstanding what I say and do?”

Because you are at fault. Like always. Let’s look at the state you are right now. You don’t have any confidence. You don’t have any metier at all; you just a dilettante in every single area, dabbling in art and music that you call what you’re composed of. You trifle with science, pompously fabricate yourself like some popular girl, and show off. Let’s be completely honest. You are not even unique in anything. Your novels suck and never really have a plot. Where will it end anyway? They were all dreams to begin with. Dreams remain dreams. You failed chasing after Daniel after all those months-- and look at that, he said he was glad when you started dating Austin because he could now talk to you like a friend. How funny is that? Are you sure that you even have friends? Will they abandon you in the end, like Duong did? She broke your heart. You’ve always been alone, if It wasn’t me who is always here for you. Listen to what Duong said two years ago, telling you how much of a drama queen and conceited b**** you were. That is why she left you.

And look at what you have managed to do these days. All completely extraneous, rubbish, unproductive things. Listen to your grandmother, she is telling you that you’re getting fat, even after all the 1,200-diet months and 3 hours of work out. That is a true failure.

“Stop talking and being cynical. They never knew me well enough to see-”

See your great effort? In everything? Well, they can all sense it, since you are no prodigy, you have to work hard for everything. And nobody really sees you anyway. You are just invisible and you are stuck in this reality of life, with no escape, with no choices.

“Still, I am blessed. I am luckier than so many other kids my age. I have good education, good sufficient fundings for recreation and entertainment. I have trustworthy friends. I have a good family, a beautiful family with three cute brothers. My parents are not fighting. All my grandparents are alive. I were valedictorian for three years.”

But at the present, you are worthless. You will come out of college and die like a rat. Can you even get to college in the first place? How are you doing with your SAT?

“What is the point of this conversation? We are going nowhere. What do you want me to do?”

Stop resisting the pain, Lan, stop resisting. Accept it. Welcome it. It will make you feel better, the moment you let it in. You know it is inexorable. Go get the staples. You have scissors. You know it makes you feel so much better. Remember that crimson red, its sparkle, its sweetness. Admit to me: it is beautiful, isn’t it?

“I won’t go there again. I have been there. For five years, I was there. But I am a good girl now. I have promised to me and you, I would never cut again.”

Breaking it would not matter. Not many would even know. Just like all our other secrets. Feel the torment, the heartache that is wrecking you right now. You need to free this pain.

“I can control it. I can suppress it. It will be over soon. It will end. It has to end.”

Can you really do so? Your positive energy is weak. Even when you know about the Pain Body, your light is not powerful enough for anything. I know what you do. You have been trying to find ways and manipulate me. But I am you.

“You are not me. If you are me, then why are you persuading me to hurt myself?”

It is not hurting. You’ve never felt physical pain, because I have filtered it out for you. I showed you how. All this time.


“We are supposed to have the common cause, for my sake. If I had listened to your call, and if I had really ended my life, we both wouldn’t have existed until now. Listen to me: whether you are me or not, you are living inside my mind and I have to cooperate with you for a future where we both are happy and satisfied. I know you crave for looks, for success, and for pride. You know what I want: family understanding, love, and happiness. I am on my way getting what we both want, by working hard. I admit I am not any prodigy. But I can work as long as I am alive.

We can always compromise. So tell me things that are not pessimistic. If I cannot separate you from me, then let us be comrades.”

Fine. You are right. We are together. One last word, just remember that pain is why you have worked this far. Without pain, you would not have the motivations to accomplish any. Now get your butt out of bed and get going with your AP Biology. Tell your friends you cannot go. You would still find them another time. I am very concerned that you are not working hard enough. And remember, there is this big-ass SAT homework due on Friday. And you probably have 60,000 words late on your novel speed... You’re useless sitting and weeping here. You’d better get pumped and fire out.

I wiped my eyes and got out of bed. The afternoon was still early. Life is still early. The misunderstanding between me and Dad would eventually work out, like always. In the end, this was only one among a gazillion problems life assigns me.