Seeing I again

Note: People’s names are changed for reasonable purposes.

A bag of sleeping clothes ready to crash the night away at Lacy’s apartment after numerous hours of feeling escaped from the world.  I was invited to an experience that helped me see myself again. 

We are at Main street waiting for the green go, like always, Seattle never rains heavy like in Vietnam, the whole day has been on and off with little drops from the sky. While Lacy goes on complaining about some guy she met a week ago, an image I stole resides with me forever.  How could I forget once upon a time, a young man with baggy pants, long black shirt, listening to hip hop music from his CD player while crossing the street? A mother of two carrying groceries while her husband is on his cell phone doing the gangster talk with his friends? A homeless man sitting near the bus stop munching on a hard piece of bread while crying for each penny he can get from this run down neighborhood, the only place that will accept his existence?

“You’ll have to push it hard, no one here wants to fix this crappy door anymore”, Lacy complained to me as she turned her door key.

While I was removing my boots from those tired feet, a lady in her early 60’s welcomed me with a cozy smile that I haven’t experienced for a while.  As proper standard Vietnamese tradition where the youngsters respect the elders regardless of appearance or social status one person may carry, I slightly bent over and returned my welcome smile.  My eyes quickly became busy observing the environment that I was once raised in since coming to America; a small kitchen stood next to a living room with a single sofa for a family of seven, yet, still very neat and clean. A beautiful song played while a brother was taking a nap and the mother was cooking home-made congee soup.

“Lila! Come on! Let’s go change and get ready before it’s too late.” 

My mind quickly switched gears and completely forgot the main purpose of being here with Lacy. As her fast legs ran up the stairs, I followed behind her, yet at the same time, looking down to the greatest image that reminded me of my second childhood’s beginning.

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