Maroon-Colored Helmet

My uncle drove me to school without fail for five years of elementary school. Our routine was
simple: he would show up at 6:30 sharp, I would grab the maroon-colored helmet, put it on, and
sit in the back of his scooter. The helmet was made for adults, so I had to hold onto it with two
hands always. One day, during really big winds, its straps slipped out of my fingers and the
helmet flew like a rocket away from me. When we arrived, my uncle asked for the helmet, and I
quietly replied, “it flew away.” He was very sad and confused. I heard he spent the entire ride
back home looking for it. I felt so guilty I couldn’t look straight at him the next day. To my
surprise, he shrugged his uncle shoulders, handed me a sky-blue helmet, put it on my head, and
tightened the straps under my chin. “This time, you don’t have to hold it anymore. If you do, yell
and let me know!”

A Styrofoam Box of Comfort

School started way too early for mom to make breakfast, so I got my food at one food stand on
the way. The lady sold banh mi and juice boxes, but my heart was set on her corn sticky rice with
crushed mung bean, salted shredded pork, and fried onion packed in a Styrofoam box. I asked for
extra fried onion and she, in turn, generously added in a handful. The routine repeated itself five
days a week for I don’t remember how long. All I can recall is that she always had a box set
aside for me to pick up, that I was always one of the few who bought from her stand.
On the day that would become the last I saw of her before she closed the stand and start a
manicure business, my breakfast box felt heavier than usual. She added extra toppings of
everything.

Pig’s Trotter Potato Soup

Pig’s trotter potato tomato soup is hands down my family’s favorite and my least favorite kind of
soup, all because of the fatty and gelatin-like leg. Whenever my mom made it, she would give
me just potato instead. One night, when everyone relished in the fat and I not, Dad said jokingly
that I didn’t like the legs like the rest of us because I was adopted. I cried immediately, the
crumbled potato spilled out with my nose snot. He then burst out laughing, “Oh no, you’re not
adopted! Just look at your ugly cry! You cry exactly like your mom.”

Here are Your Presents, Back to You

After the soccer match that I enthusiastically cheered for, N came over and handed me my guitar.
Said thank you for letting me use it, then walked away. The thin and soaked uniform added to his
already attractiveness. I opened the bag and saw what was given back to me alongside the instrument. DIY painted eggshells with wishes stuffed inside, too many cards to count, a custom-
made T-shirt, and the notes we exchanged in passing. It was all I’ve ever gifted him, except for the chocolate which he probably consumed the way he did my heart.

Third time is, Unfortunately, not the Charm

We were in a quiet KFC finishing up our ice cream cones when V shyly asked to date me again.
I said yes, reluctantly yet excitedly. It was the third time we resume this quitted relationship, and
to mark the occasion, we boldly walked hand in hand back to school. It should have been a sign
when he let go of our hands before anyone got the chance to see us. A week or maybe two later,
he broke us up again. This time, it was because my laughs were loud and pitchy, just unbearable.
He said, my look couldn’t distract him enough.

Midsummer Late-Nights

Having shared the same after-school extra chemistry class, the four of us named ourselves the
Chemists. Our role: to examine all the midnight-snack Hanoi had to offer during our limited time
together. We would wander from this teokbokki stand to that grilled chicken leg roadside
restaurant. When the semester ended, the class ended with it. On that final day, our destination
was a 7-level spicy noodle shop. The noodles were so spicy that we ended up crying, laughing,
and sniffling after the first bites. “Should we quit?” I asked, halfway through. “But it’s our last
meal together…” one Chemist said. A light pause. “I’m gonna miss you guys!” said another.
Almost instantaneously, everyone slurped the red-hot liquid in bulk, the crying and sniffling
intensified at our table. Mine came with a tightened feeling in my throat unrelated to the spice
but to the inability to say goodbye. Lucky for us, people cry here all the time.

Distance Greater than Love

It was at a subpar bubble tea place when we said our readily prepared breakup lines. It was the
right thing to do – we both were too young and too bold to attempt a half-a-globe-away-distance
relationship. When we left, he gave me back our shared diary and we hugged a good long one. I
packed the diary, the token of our high school memories, in my suitcase away. A month later, in
a new land surrounded by new people, I opened it again for the first time. In it, L wrote
erratically in blue ink on the brown leather, “I can’t go through with this, em. Can we get back
together? We have enough love to try, right?” Apparently, we didn’t have enough for I closed the
pages, opened my drawer, and shoved it deep inside to never be seen again.

Two-way Street

If I don’t call, we’ll never call. When I was 12, eating imitated-seafood skewers from a street
food stand, T came up to me and ignited what would be a lifelong friendship. Every birthday, he
would give me a handwritten card and lately, videos of him playing a birthday song on two
different instruments. Every month, he would call me out of the blue and ask if I want fried
chicken, and if I said yes, would bring fried chicken over to my house. He would also spend an
entire day looking for a concert venue because I couldn’t find one for our show. He would, he
would. It never occurred to me that he would do all those things without me even asking, but I
wouldn’t even if he asked.

The Hidden Paper Talisman

Believing, whether in Buddhism or superstition, was something that my mom does, no questions
asked. It was something that I occasionally participate in, without opposition. Like, I agreed to
be sent off to a 3-day Buddhist training camp and cried my way through the whole sob therapy
business amid puberty. I agreed to let her not so secretly hide paper talismans in my front bag
pocket every new school year, even if it meant I had to guard it always. I was willing to put in
the work because I believed in my own kind of religion: her.

Siblings Conversation

Nhung, can you go down to the third floor and get a cup of water for me? I’m leaving soon now,
so get it while you can. Come on, it’d be so quick, just do it. NO? Okay, I hope you are happy
seeing me die of thirst. Are you seriously not gonna get it? I would have gotten water for
you. OK, you’re right. I probably won’t. But you are younger! You’re supposed to do what I tell you to. OK, never mind. I don’t need water. Hey, Nhung. You asleep yet? Do you want to go shopping tomorrow? Like, for Legos or dolls? Or new clothes? What do you mean you don’t want anything? Gosh, it’s like I can never please you. You know I didn’t mean that, right? Even when you don’t get water for me, I kind of like you. OK, fine, I love you. Good night. You better get me water tomorrow.

Bright-Orange Beanie Guy

I noticed M’s glance because it burned higher than the campfire we sat around. We had met
before in the dining hall, I perplexed over his Putney special dish of raw tomato and peanut
butter on toasted bread. The rest came straight out of a storybook: bike rides on the nearby trails,
clumsy kisses and new firsts, road trips followed by car trouble, cookouts, new shows, new
years’. He got me talking – and that’s a tough nut to crack. And then he cracked another, and
another. Before I knew it, I was talking about emotions, admitting what I did wrong, and
envisioning what I want to do right. I got him out of bed, into sports, and away from YouTube
rabbit holes. Before he knew it, he was talking about emotions, confessing his assumptions, and
releasing pent up negativity. In a world full of raw tomatoes, he said, I think I found my peanut
butter.

For One

Yes, I would like this dress, please. No, I’m paying for this and not my sister or my brother or
my mom. No, they are not here – why do they need to be here? Yes, I am eating by myself. No, I
have a boyfriend. No, he is not here right now because I didn’t bring him. Yes, I just want to sit
in this fancy Italian restaurant eating alfredo fettuccini with seafood. Yes, a ticket for one. No, I have friends. Yes, I like to see Saoirse Ronan getting up after a heartbreak without someone
commenting in my ear how she got up after a heartbreak. Yes, I will take one large Coca-Cola
with a small popcorn bag. Yes, a party of one to see the Blue Men Group. Yes, I am alone, no,
I’m not lonely. I just enjoy being with myself while doing things for myself, I delight in the rare
solitude that comes with a lack of company.