Chapter 8 — Lam Du Van

The bowl and chopsticks set on the table are new, placed on the outer edge. Chopsticks are placed neatly on the rim of the bowl. A position no one has ever sat in. I don't answer. Finish the noodles, wash the bowl, put it on the table to drain. Then open the computer. On the screen was an email sent by the magazine editor: "Readers' feedback on your article is very good, do you want to write a series?" I thought for a moment and started typing. First line: "My name is Lam Du Van. 'Du' means to give, 'Van' means to be late." "This name was given to me by my mother. I am second in the house, coming neither early nor late, but it seems like I am always counted as extra." "But later I gradually understood." "Late, not redundant." "It's after all the roads have been traveled once, it's finally my turn." Fireworks flew outside the window. highest, exploding into a halo of light, reflecting on the glass. Very bright. I continue to write. Not written for that house. It's writing for yourself. Write to the person who ran two kilometers in that heavy rain. Write to the person who used to stay on the fourth floor. Writing for every person locked in by the word "understanding", no one has ever asked "are you happy". The certificate in my hand lay quietly under the table lamp. The name is clear and concise. Every stroke is my own. —— End of story ——