a ‘sinh to’ is a drink made from fruit, ice, sugar and condensed milk. it’s all slushy and cool and we make it a point to have at least one a week. we head to the same shop and order the same thing. i order one with pineapple and jack orders one with papaya.

the shop is run by about seven or eight girls. they range in age from seven to fifty. they all must be from the same family because they all exhibit similar characteristics: high forehead and a slight under bite. they walk around and smile and ask us questions. we’re regulars.

their closeness always strikes me. they’re a family and they spend all day and all night with each other. the young children and teenagers aren’t off with friends, they’re at home talking and laughing with their parents. i try to imagine me and my family spending every waking moment together. i try to imagine my teenage years being joyfully spent preparing fruit shakes while my mother tells me a joke. i don’t think it would work. i don’t think i would have enjoyed it as much as they do. the family is so important over here. it is how one is defined. there is none of this, “i’m going off to find myself.” or “you just have to discover who you are.” people already know who they are based on their family.

every time i go there i’m impressed.

it’s three o’clock in the morning and i’m sitting alone in a dark room. i haven’t felt this alone for the past month or so. this morning i took my brother to the bus station. he’s going to saigon to catch an early morning flight. i’m not going to see him again for more than a year.

we drove on my motorcycle through empty streets. everything was dark and quiet and cold. we didn’t talk. we were tired and didn’t know what to say. we arrived at the bus station and bought tickets. we put his things on the bus and still didn’t talk. we didn’t know what to say. we stood next to a semi-full bus looking at one another. here is what i saw: i saw a man who was beautiful and full of potential. i saw a man who could do anything. i saw large hands and a full face. i didn’t see the little boy that used to run around with me. i didn’t see that skinny boy. i saw a man.

we hugged and he boarded the bus. we said things like, ‘i’ll really miss you man.’ and things like, ‘dude, take care of yourself.’ we didn’t need these formalities but we went through them. he boarded the bus. i looked at him through an open window. we looked at each other and cried. we cried silently, not sobbing. tears welled up inside me and i didn’t make an effort at suppressing them. i stood on the sidewalk in the middle of the night wishing things could be different. i realized he was leaving. i felt alone, more alone than ever. i stood there and cried and wished things could be different.

the bus didn’t move for ten minutes. we didn’t say anything which was fine. we didn’t have anything left to say to each other. it left.

i followed the bus with my eyes and could see my brother turning around. i walked over to my motorcycle and everything exploded inside. having my family here and spending time with them. feeling like i was a part of something bigger and better. feeling like i was loved and cared for and respected. having people hug me. spending meals laughing and fighting. i loved being with my family. now they were all gone and i was trying to kick start my motorcycle on a desolate street in the middle of no where at three o’clock in the morning. i stood there sobbing. i stood there weeping. i stood there with warm tears rolling down my cheeks. they were my last hope and only friend. i drove home slowly. the tears blurred my vision. i’m still crying and don’t know if i’ll ever really stop.

one of the lures of an giang province is its stork garden. it is wonderful and curious and i had yet to see it. we saw it a couple of weeks ago with my parents, brother and a troop of english teachers.

we drove there on motorcycles. it's about an hour away. the road is bumpy and chaotic as always and we ended up at a small bridge where there was a dirt path heading parallel to a tiny tributary. that's where we were conned.

i don't like to be gypped (terrible word), juked or in any way taken advantage of. over here, foreigners are obvious, lumbering targets. we were with a large group of vietnamese people. i thought we were safe.

the group was talked into taking a boat down the river to see the storks. the river and a path to drive motorbikes ran parallel. something smelled fishy. the logic behind the decision was this: it might rain and the path might become muddy and we didn't want to have the motorbikes muddy. the counterpoint was this: it wasn't going to rain.

it was already late and we were beginning to think we wouldn't be able to actually see the storks. you see, the gardens are so incredible because thousands upon thousands of storks come to this one place to roost every night. their return is supposed to be breath taking. i've been told that they cover the sky and everything is a confused mass of flapping and swooping. they all mysteriously return to this garden as opposed to any one of the surrounding gardens. this is a magical place. this place attracts birds in droves. this place was touched by the pinky of god.

we carefully boarded the boat and headed up the tributary. the engine died. i walked to the front of the boat and tried to keep us moving forward with a bamboo pole. you see, we were heading up stream. i struggled but enjoyed it. the boat boy worked on the engine but didn't look like he was having any fun. all the while motorbikes were zipping by us, there was no rain and the sun had fallen beneath the horizon. things looked bleak.

we finally reached the garden. we walked over a bridge and climbed an observatory. it was dark but we could make out thousands upon thousands of white dots in the trees. there were storks there, i was sure. i pretended to be in awe and suppressed frustration.

we floated back down the river to our motorbikes and headed home. i'll go back one day by myself.

mom left and it was sad. she taught me about god. she taught me that love is more important than anything and that fear is worthless.

"naturally the common people don't want war: neither in russia, nor in england, nor for that matter in germany. that is understood. but, after all, it is the leaders of the country who determine the policy and it is always a simple matter to drag the people along, whether it is a democracy, or a fascist dictatorship, or a parliament, or a communist dictatorship. vote or no vote, the people can always be brought to the bidding of the leaders. that is easy. all you have to do is tell them that they are being attacked, and denounce the peacemakers for lack of patriotism and exposing the country to danger. it works the same in any country."

- hermann goering, during the nuremberg trials.