Character Profile

I live in a small apartment in Rosemead, California with my two sons and my daughter. I had another daughter once – she would have been the oldest. But she died a few days after her birth. She wasn’t meant to be. I remember the night before she died - she had been very sick. I told her, “If you do not belong to me, please go. I will let you. In return, when I release you, please protect the rest of my children. Your future brothers and sisters. All my love goes to you, Hao. May you never forget, Girl Not of Earth.”

We are poor, my family. My husband works as a cloth maker in Hanoi, near one of the bridges bombed by the war long ago. We were young when that happened. Thankfully. My children and I live in a two-room apartment, unit 2B, on the 2^nd floor. My daughter sleeps in my bed with me and the boys share the other room. My daughter, Minh, is 14 and the oldest. Then there is Jat and Tim, who are 11 and six. Tim is the only one with an American name, thanks to the pleading of Minh. She hates her name. Jat loves his.

My husband sends money home every month. I work as a seamstress in an El Monte sewing factory. Every morning, a co-worker’s husband takes me to work. It’s tiring, repetitive work but it keeps my mind busy.

We have been here six years. Today, my husband will join us. He went to school at night, preparing to become a technician. Minh has a friend at school whose father is an engineering manager. He promised to sponsor my husband when he finished his training. I am excited to have my husband back in my life. But I’m also scared. Years have passed and the unfamiliarity of a stranger lurks and the feeling shoots up my spine when I don’t expect it.

I speak slowly and carefully, choosing words with caution and deliberation. My voice is light and airy, which belies the substantial weight I’ve put on since coming here. When I speak, I sometimes struggle with my words and I may now always choose the right ones. But people humor me and they usually understand what I’m trying to say.

From now on, our life will be better. My husband will have a new job and will provide for us better. He tells me I will no longer need to work. But I need to. Minh and the boys will go to school and I don’t want to be home alone. I know how it will be. My husband will sleep on the floor at first and Minh will stay on the bed with me. It will be a while before I grow comfortable again.

I am happy right now. What do I think about? Lately, I’ve been thinking about Hao. I see her. Baby in the Forest. Baby from the Forest. Baby of the Forest. And she grows before my eyes. Small and gentle. Light brown eyes. And I see that my eyes are no longer black. She can see through them. She smiles and floats, gliding above the forest ground.

I think about the first and last days of her life. I remembered the day she died. I was squatting outside, near our home. I was mashing medicinal home remedies in one boiling pot and cooking soup in the other. At the moment, I was dreaming. Of painting like I used to. Long ago. And I would paint her. Endlessly. Endlessly. Endlessly. But it was never enough.

I drift off and grab Minh’s arm in my stupor. She startles. I look at her. She is scared but smiles and falls back asleep.

My husband will come today. The future is the present. And my past has come back to envelop me.