ACCIDENTALLY MEETING AGAIN

ACCIDENTALLY MEETING AGAIN

One rainy afternoon, while listening to the song "Accidentally Meeting Again" by singer Thái Châu, I couldn't help but think of you, even though our meeting last year was not accidental...

If you leave me, I will become a monk.

Oh my goodness, what are you talking about? I thought only Sister Lan would become a nun. You're a man, why are you saying such things? For this nonsense, you must carry me down the mountain as a punishment.

Jokingly, but you really did bend down to carry me, ignoring my punches on your back out of fear of falling. The narrow, gravelly, and dark path, with the crescent moon high in the sky, was not enough to light your steps. That was also the first and last time I went to the pagoda with you, even though you had prayed before Buddha for us to be together forever.

Nha Trang was where we connected. At that time, I was running away from an unhappy past after a breakup at 23. You came to me like fate. I struggled, torn between whether to accept your love when you were too young to face societal prejudices and family barriers with me. In the end, I lost to your persistence. I closed my eyes and loved you recklessly.

The first day you took me to meet your family, you suggested we win over your parents temporarily and gradually explain everything later. You believed they would love me. Trust you, you said. Even though it was uncomfortable when your parents asked about my past and I didn't dare to speak the truth, I had no other choice. They liked me very much, and after a few visits, they wanted to bring betel leaves and areca nuts to ask for my hand in marriage. We kept postponing for three years.

You were a fisherman, drifting on the waves day and night. I worked on the mainland and waited. Afraid that I would be lonely, you called and sang to me every night until I pretended to sleep before you hung up, never forgetting to say, "Sleep well, my wife. Hold on a little longer. If my parents don't accept, we will be strong enough to support each other when we move out. I love you very much and will try my best to make up for you." I cried out of love and joy, a feeling that I would never find anywhere else again.

Every time you returned from a trip, we spent time together. In the evening, you cooked my favorite dishes, and then you would row me around in a basket boat to visit the lobster farms. Leaning my head on the boat’s edge, I felt happiness. Late at night, resting my head on your shoulder on the pier, watching the moon over the sea, and listening to the waves after a night out with friends. For three years, you never made me sad; only I sometimes picked fights to make you coax me. Like forbidding you from diving after you once nearly suffocated due to a malfunctioning air hose, yet you secretly did it to earn more money for our future. You often said, "Life is too short to waste on anything other than love, right?" It seemed you cherished every moment.

People say husband and wife are bound by fate and debt, but what about us meeting and loving each other? That’s a question I’ll never be able to answer satisfactorily. So that when we're no longer together like this, I have a reason to stop tormenting myself.

Eight years I stayed away from you, eight years you searched and waited, hoping. I am the most ruthless woman in the world. I wanted you to think so to ease your pain and resentment.

After the company party that night, I confessed to your mother, driven by days of guilt and lies, with the help of alcohol. Strangely, despite being drunk, it took me a hundred tries to say: "Mom, I'm sorry, I once had a failed marriage and have a child. I didn't dare to tell you, I deceived you and the whole family."

At that moment, I felt your mother freeze, the terrifying silence seemed endless. I had to dig my nails into my thigh to muster the courage to speak.

Then I burst into tears, crying until I couldn't breathe. On the other side, your mother cried too. She said: "Why did you do that? Why did you deceive us? Now everyone in the family knows, how can I face them, and what do I say to his father's side? And Hải's future? How can this be..." At that point, I fell silent, unable to say anything more, feeling choked and suffocated like a tree being strangled by a tight rope.

Your mother continued: "I love you very much, but I’m sorry. If you love me too, please break up with him. I saw a fortune-teller, and they said if you two got married, Hải would die, or you'd live a miserable life together. He won’t listen to me, he says he can’t leave you. I know he loves you, but he won’t let go. I’m counting on you.”

I remained silent, my despair drowning in tears. At that moment, my pride and love for your mother and you made me agree.

I tried to forget you in the most foolish and childish ways. I chose to drink and fool around with friends, then go home to despise and curse myself. I said a curt and cruel goodbye, leaving you unable to sober up for a whole month. You searched for me, but I hid. You called, but I changed my number. I just said we were incompatible and I had fallen for someone else. How could that reason satisfy a heart that loved and trusted me so much?

I stayed silent, changed my number, and moved to a different place to start anew. When I missed you too much, I called from a strange number, just to hear your short and frustrated "hello" before hanging up, fearing you’d recognize me. Just that made me so happy. At night, I craved to hear you sing to me, to hear your nightly reminders.

The rainy season in the Central Highlands is long and sorrowful. People say time fades love, but for me, it’s been many years and nothing has changed. Only when I'm busy with the necessities of life does the longing subside. When I see a familiar image, a similar glance, or hear a song you used to sing, the longing returns, intense and overwhelming.

Once, I met one of your friends in Saigon. He said you were still single, becoming quiet and reserved. Despite your mother and siblings introducing many potential matches, you shook your head and walked away. I felt deep sorrow but told myself not to weaken. You probably needed more time. I gritted my teeth and kept loving you.

Last year, during the stormy season in Khánh Hòa, I heard reports of missing boats and fishermen swept away by the storm. I was restless, constantly checking the news for any clues about you. I called your number, but no one answered. My insides were burning. I decided to go to the island to find you. At the pier, your mother and some women from the neighborhood were there. She was startled to see me but led me into the house, where I heard a child crying. Before I could ask, I saw you by the well, drying baby clothes. A young woman greeted me from inside the house, and I forced a smile despite the situation. Tears ran down your face as you hugged me in front of your mother and her. I cried, and your mother cried. I had come too late. You had married her a year ago, after meeting her by chance and rushing into marriage because her smile reminded you of mine.

Suddenly, I felt a terrible anger at myself. I was wrong to return this time; I should have disappeared forever. I went back to the pier to catch the last boat. The sea breeze felt bitter. Your mother hugged me, saying, "You are very good. I hope you find someone who loves and cares for you. My heart still holds you dearly." I never blamed her, only saddened by our bad timing. You promised to be responsible for your wife and child so that my sacrifice would be meaningful after hearing your mother recount the old story.

The boat merged into the crimson sunset, like my tear-filled eyes now. That was also the last journey to bury our love story in the waves. We will live with our choices, to be worthy, right? I leave my love here, to step towards the shore with a heart as light as a boat passing through a storm.