Chapter 12 — Dad's Wishes

True purity does not need to carry wounds around the world to prove. That night, I cleaned my father's office. Deep in the drawer there is also an old album. The first page is Ta Tri Vi hugging the newly born me. The second page is the first time Tham Van So carried me. In the photo, she was just over twenty years old, very tense, and didn't know where to put her hands. On the back is my father's writing: "Van So said, the baby is too small, she's afraid it won't be carried well." I looked at it for a long time, then closed the album. People don't get worse in just one day. Weakness, greed, fear, luck, pressed down layer by layer, finally forcing himself into a blade. But the hurt person has no obligation to give up the other half of their life just because the other person is also suffering. When the doorbell rang, I was putting the album back on the cabinet. Opening the door, Tham Van So stood outside. She didn't have a lunch box in her hand, just a small cloth bag. “Mom cleaned the rented room and found this.” In the cloth bag is an old photo. In the photo, my father, Ta Tri Vi, and I as infants stood under a canopy of spring flowers. Tham Van So said: "This is a photo of your father stuck in an old book. I think you should keep it." She gave me the photo, turned around and was about to leave. I called her back. “Aunt Tham.” Her back was stiff. I looked at her gray sideburns. “Next week is Dad's death anniversary. If you want to go, it's nine o'clock in the morning.” She did not turn her head. His shoulders shook for a long time, then he nodded. "Okay." Run out of.