Chị Linh

Nobody understands the passage of time better than a mother. When I was so eagerly packing my stuff to go to Australia, my mom couldn't hold it any longer and burst into tears. She held me in her arms and asked how could it be that I was just a little girl yesterday and now I had to manage myself in a foreign country all alone at age 15. She was so mad at time and space, for drifting so fast that 15 years seemed too fleeting to be real.

Nobody hates heartbreaks more than a mother. When I had my first, my mom said "Who needs boys? You have me as a lover". I wasn't even that sad, and she didn't care much about how sad I was. For her, she cannot tolerate any given amount, big or small, of sadness, and later I found out, of any inconvenience that comes my way. For her, the world has to please me, obey me and only serve me the best things on a silver platter.

And nobody relies on religion as much as a mother. One day, when my mom was driving my brother and me on her bike, a fierce storm suddenly swept in and we got stranded in the middle of the street, barely able to move because the whole bike was shaken by the strong wind. It wanted to blow us away but when I heard her continuous chanting "Nam Mô Quan Thế Âm Bồ Tát Đại Từ Đại Bi che chở cho chúng con được bình an", I knew she had created an invisible shield that no evil force could get to us.

I have spent another 15 years with her since I got back from Australia. While she no longer complains about how unfair it is that I have to be an adult, I am still trapped in the idea of a little girl who just learned to walk the first step and sound out the first word. It used to bother me - how she refused to see me as a grown up and continued to treat me like a baby. But now that I've grown up, I just want to forever be my mother's little princess, waiting for her to demand time to pass more slowly, pressure heartbreaks to avoid me, order the world to obey me, and create an invisible shield that protects me from all harm.

Picture this! A boy is walking the street with his mother, hand in hand. And suddenly his mom collapses on the street. The boy panics, running straight home to call for help from his sister, and comes back only to find out that his mother is no longer there.

He is my grandfather, who was then a 10-year-old and was walking the street of Trang Thi in 1945 - when Hanoi was plagued with one of the greatest famines. Had my great-grandmother already died before her son came back? Why did my grandfather run all the way from Trang Thi back to pho Hue to get help? Where was my great-grandmother taken away?

That year 1945, the Grim Reaper had a long list of souls to retrieve and he was busy claiming so many lives. So many. SO MANY. So many that a person collapsing on the street like my great-grandmother would be considered to have already died on the spot and her body would be collected in an instant, buried together with others and until this day we still don’t know where.

Never since that day has my grandfather forgiven himself. He grew up without a mother’s love, thus grew up as a difficult and resentful man, but I know he was mostly resentful of himself. This year marks the 80th year of the passing of my great-grandmother. It has been a long time, but it has always been an eternity for my grandfather, whose tears might have already run dry since 1945.

I always pictured this story with tears in my eyes, but now I can also picture a new story with a smile on my face, a boy walking with his mother, this time in heaven, hand in hand, happy together.

I am sometimes amazed by how quickly I forget things: things that happen within a day quickly slip away the next; things that happen many moons ago only come back in flashbacks when there is a trigger. Knowing that, I write down a lot: what I think, what I do, how I feel, the dreams I dream, the conversations I have. I remind myself that it is okay to forget sometimes.

I am also amazed by how I can remember things: things that had happened even before I made my presence in this world; things I fortunately didn’t experience first hand like living through the war. I remember still, after listening to stories of people who lived through it. And every day I “remember” some more as knowledge and discussion have become more available, open to access and on many platforms.

I once could not delve too deep into this rabbit hole because although through second-hand experience, the pain is too much when I read about those atrocities. But no one appreciates peace more than those who, in the present moment, can feel the burden of the war. I was pointed out that fact by someone, who said that he was thankful for being able to live in a peaceful country, a safe neighborhood, where there is no light out, with a roof above his head knowing it can’t be shaken by an earthquake, and especially, where there’re no armed conflicts.

I once dreamed of achieving big things, travelling the world, making tons of money. But by others’ definition, I have already achieved something of great significance: living my life in peace. So I read more, remember more, interview more people who lived through the event, immerse myself in the pain of the past, so as even without writing down, I still can never forget the one important fact that makes up who I am, that I am among the beneficiaries of something historically monumental, of a very hard-earned victory.

🌙
“Trăng trên trời có khi tròn khi khuyết
Người ở đời đâu khỏi tiết gian nan”

Of all the years, last year I felt the least inspired. Nowhere could I find new ideas that hook me, new music that I can play on repeat, movies that I linger on. I have distanced myself from "receiving" from social media, at the same time working on "giving my best" to social media so that when my posts reach the readers, they are instantly hooked, when my reels reach the viewers, they play mine on repeat, and that my instagram account is one to linger on.

I do wish this year of mine, and of yours, a year full of inspiration, online and offline, so that we can keep on giving, but never have to hesitate to receive.

Happy New Year.
cld
🥂 "clink clink"

Modelled Writing for IELTS Task 2:

Being good at mathematics depends on a person’s natural ability as well as the quality of teaching they receive. To what extent do you agree or disagree?

▪Mathematics, among all other Science subjects, is often seen as the ultimate endeavor. To attain success in that realm, many people believe that neither an inborn talent nor a proper education should be in the absence. With contemplation about the role of each, I consider myself among the believers of that statement.

▪My view on natural ability being the prerequisite to conquer Mathematics can be argued on certain grounds. Firstly, nowhere is the division between the brightest stars and mediocre students as clear cut as in the discipline of Mathematics. Given that the same materials and teaching are provided, those who outperform their peers and do so at a much faster pace can attribute their performance to nothing but a gifted sense of number and pattern. Secondly, while the teachers take on the role of imparting the established concepts, it is not up to them but to the brain to connect the dots and logically walk through a chain of steps to have the problems solved.

▪Nevertheless, I believe that no one, even the luminaries in Mathematics, would ever question the role of schooling in the rise to success. Firstly, unlike other subjects where knowledge can be easily visualized, Mathematics opens doors into a world of non-physical ideas, and without an instruction, one would barely know the phenomena exist, let alone mastering them. Secondly, shall the learners wish to reach to the pinnacle of Mathematics, solving the unsolved problems or discovering new theorems, they can never get there unless teachers’ feedback and critiques are given along the way, debating the flaws that might be present in their work.

▪In conclusion, the world owes its rapid evolution to mathematicians and those alike, and where inherent ability is found, a proper teaching environment should ensue to sow the seed for success.

It is only right eating spring rolls cut up! As it is only right eating buncha with dipping sauce!

Isn’t it?

But I do not like spring-rolls cut up. I like eating them whole, boiling hot straight from the pan, blowing the hot air out as I take my first big bite 😮‍💨. I don’t like dipping buncha in sauce, for the sweet-sour taste easily overpowers the umami of the meat.

Such small examples but quite capture how my life is - a life that is functioned by commands, with one insisting on another what to do, as if there is only one right way to do it. I stumble upon preachers everywhere I go, preaching on how certain food should be eaten in certain ways, dressing in certain codes so that you can conform to certain roles. As I grow up, so grows the list: marrying a certain type of person so that you can have for yourself a certain type of family, living in certain cities so that you can get certain opportunities, doing certain tricks to get a certain amount of money. In the midst of those commands, I have found myself a brave soul hanging onto my true identity, and I am becoming a braver soul every single day, not only hanging onto my true identity but also remaining in the calmest and most polite manner I can pull during the conversations. Because, for once, I really want to unveil my true colour and ask, “If you are so sure you know it all, why is misery written all over your face? Why is it you cannot put up a smile as you teach me how life should be well-lived?”.

I had lived 2023 quite content until I learned what it’s like to have my peculiarity accepted. I laugh twice wider knowing I cannot be any less lady-like. I challenge the status quo, dipping banhmy into chilly sauce rather than drizzling chilly sauce into banhmy. I can tell you about all the big things I have accomplished, but can also tell you how short-lived the exhilaration stays after the events. For me, happiness tastes much sweeter and longer-lived coming from being allowed to stay true to my-self. And even more importantly, that “self-of-mine” is loved.

Turn out, I don’t have to be brave all the time, I can “unbrave” myself, eating springrolls no cut-up, and eating buncha all-the-way plain.

Whenever I lay down my prayer, I always ask for students who are willing to listen and are open to change.

Neither asking for “having more students”, for if there are “more students” who “resent my teaching”, then I am so doomed. Nor asking for “students who will be high achievers, the like of 7.5 or above”, for anyone who is willing to listen will get to the “high(s)” they need.

Asking for students who are willing to listen - Asking to have more of them - Asking for them to be high achievers. What a trio and how great it would be shall I be granted. But that’s too greedy so I only ask for the first, while work hard for the others.

And every time I ask, I receive.

So thank you, students, for you have come my way not only showing respect towards the way I teach, but work hard to prove that it works. For that is how I receive the other two without even asking to be granted.

Most favorite(yet saddest) inverted sentence I’ve ever read 🌳🦤🧝🏻‍♀️🧚🏻🧙🏻

How far would you go to meet and study with great teachers? 10 kilometre? 20 kilometre?

Because I went very far (literally) and almost-went-too-far (figuratively) to study with them.
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FIGURATIVELY

When I turned 11, my mom was very determined that I had to study with “the teacher”- who is actually her former homeroom teacher back in the 70s. Her best friend was all-the-more determined: “Even if it means your daughter has to take a gap year, you have to go for it”, she said (“Mày phải làm thế nào để cô làm chủ nhiệm lớp nó, nó học đúp 1 năm cũng được”, her exact words to my mom 😰).

My naive-self back then couldn’t tell very well the difference between ‘good’ and ‘great’ of a teacher. But years later I could, and even more so because I have experienced first-hand how laborious the job is. She has gone a long way making sure that “no-child-left-behind” is done right, that her students all understand her lessons, including those who are not of sharp intelligence. Her teaching style is old-fashioned and therefore, merciless: For her subject alone, I carried to school everyday six 300-page notebooks: 3 for Geometry and 3 for Algebra. We had to do each of the Math problems not once, but twice, or even thrice even for the ABCs kind of question. We had to border the end-result nicely, demonstrate every step meticulously. Until this day, I can still recite the square and cube table from 1 to 20. Connecting the dots, my attention to detail has been sowed ever since: she taught us that “How you do the little things is how you do everything”.

I can go on and tell you how much more she has done for our study, but it is still only half of the story to be told. She has done even a greater deal keeping an eye on us so that we could turn out as individuals with great virtues. Honesty was the hardest lesson. The short sentence at the top of her lungs “Trí trá!” was like a cold splash of water on the face of anyone who dared to fake parent’s signature or tell lies about how homework have been left at home by accident. “How could you shame yourself by telling lies?” It is more of shaming yourself rather than shaming your parents that I dreaded. Focus and Setting Priority were next in line. Apart from Maths, I was not bad in Arts either. I loved performing, painting and when I was required by another teacher for rehearsal, she would be very harsh to me with words like “Suốt ngày múa may quay cuồng!”. But behind those words are other words that lay hidden: that I failed the aspiration she had had for me very badly.

After sorting out what was more important, I had to sort out what of Maths that was more important. I came from normal class, but lucky enough to be seated among gifted students at school and also at other schools to prep for Maths contests. Having known I took on several maths classes in total, she asked me (this time more leniently) if it was at all necessary, especially to steer away from the foundation and move onto advanced level at my age. So again, I contemplated and sorted out that foundation was the way to go, and let the more advanced knowledge wait for me a little longer.

So there you go, I almost went as far as taking a gap year at age 11, just so I could study with a great teacher, who taught me not only how to think but also how to live.
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LITERALLY

At 16, I actually did go very far, almost 8000 km to study with great teachers. I went to Australia, and it came to me an immediate revelation that great teachers are also those who leave me in awe during my study.

How many times have you wished you could see your teachers racking their brain? I must have loved to see it so much I kept knocking on their offices with the difficult questions. And bam! 5 minutes later I got the answers for them. They left me in awe not just in that regard, but also in how they approached the easy questions. Once I attended a revision session prior to my final exam, the professor shed a new light onto the problem I normally would have spent 10 minutes to solve. He did within 2 minutes. I wondered how much practice I needed to put in just to find the answer to any problem I face within that short amount of time. You have to be very sharp to pull it off.

During my years in college, the idea became even clearer, that I was studying with the best teachers in the country. For my freshman year, I bought all required textbooks not knowing they shouldn’t be “required” at all because I was about to be lectured by those who wrote them. I didn’t need to read textbooks because the pages came alive in form of lecture. 3-hour lectures seemed not enough and at some points, I just wanted to major in every thing.

Despite all that, none of the above teachers would care about how I might turn out as a person, not necessarily proud that I could thrive on their knowledge, nor batting an eyelid if I sink to the bottom of my career. But I chose to turn out to be better because of them, them who radiated a magical aura, possessed high level of knowledge, yet explained them so well that the knowledge did not seem out of reach to the people who listen.

Looking up to them, I have found it easier to read difficult books, and read them a dozen more times until I get hold of the ideas. I have grown fonder of experimenting, trying and weighing what works and what doesn’t. I have been able to see new ideas in every conversations, disecting them and give them new contexts. In other words, I have learned to broaden my horizons every single day, doing all the learning I can do wishing one day I could be half as good as they are.

So there you go, I went very far and I hope I didn’t take the journey for granted.

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Happy Vietnamese Teachers Appreciation Day 20.11.2023