Asskicking Chick, Burning Trinity and Too Many Masked Dummies

[7:02AM in Vung Tau on 2/3/24]

It’s only 6:02AM but I’ve already had a full day of excitement and revelations, but that’s true of everyone around me. Most Vietnamese start their day in the dark, with many in the middle of the night.

Walking here, I passed a rice shop owner in tank top. Reclined on a deck chair, he was lit in that bluish light from his TV. At the edge of a street, a woman in conical hat sat spread legged in front of a bamboo basket of fish, mostly dead. One large one, though, was still breathing desperately through its throbbing pink gills. I towered over an eight-month-pregnant woman with her mess of just peeled garlic bulbs. It’s as if they had spilled from her. A white haired man petted a white bichon, as another danced nearby, awaiting his turn.

Across the street, there’s another toy dog, but still sleeping in its steel cage. Living in a cafe, she’s much beloved by many patrons. Her lower jaw is missing, though, thanks to her previous owner. At seven-years-old, she’s nearing the end, though still girly cute in her red dress. Even when deformed or missing a leg, dogs remain cheerful, thus teaching us humans a vital lesson.

Now, to my left, a man roughly 50-years-old is talking to a septuagenarian right behind me, “Everybody is out on the streets, selling something, but no one has any money!” In that Vietnamese way, he says it quite cheerfully.

“That’s right,” the crone replies. “Many people have barely enough to buy their medicines.”

“Dodging cops, sometimes I must go into the neighborhoods, but I get by. At least my daughter is graduating next year. She already has a job lined up. It’s been very tough putting her through college.”

“How many do you have?”

“Three. One is grown and has been working. One is in 11th grade. It’s been exhausting!”

“No one has money.”

Finishing his midget can of Red Bull, the man returns to his vegetable stand. Most annoyingly, the TV is now loudly on. A male voice explains that Confucius and Mencius were both natives of Shandong. Shut up already!

The touching tale regarding Mencius’ mama is worth retelling. Since they lived near a graveyard, Mencius became familiar with all the morbid rituals and people sobbing, so his mama moved them close to a market. There, the boy became engrossed with scenes of haggling and hustling, so that’s no good either. Finally, she decided to rent next to a school, thus launching Mencius’ life of learning.

The cafe is called Bitter, by the way. Leaving bitterness, I forge through a busy market on my way back to the ocean. It’s a mystery why I don’t dip my carcass in it more often. At the corner of Cô Bắc and Đoàn Thị Điểm, there’s usually a legless man, begging, and sure enough, there he is, calm and dignified, despite everything, just like that dog without a lower jaw.

Cô Bắc (1906-1943) was an anti-French plotter. Caught, she said just before being sentenced, “Why don’t you go back to France and tear down statues of Jeanne d’Arc!”

Đoàn Thị Điểm (1705-1746?) is best known for a translation of a 476-line poem in Chinese penned by another Vietnamese. Besides her literary talent, she’s said to be very beautiful and great at household chores, including, of course, cooking.

Near the legless man is another unfortunate. Selling trinkets, a young man no older than 20 has a sign around his neck announcing he’s a victim of Agent Orange, thus feebleminded, so please buy something. Calling himself “cháu,” meaning nephew or grandson, he’s appealing to aunts, uncles, big brothers and big sisters. Vietnamese always seek to establish or mimic familial relationships.

11:25AM and I’m already at my fourth cafe. In Friendly Library, I’m sharing a table with a six-year-old girl kneading, rather violently, turquoise colored play dough. As I type this sentence, my entire world shakes, as does yours. Leering loonies out west are threatening to blow everything up.

With its soothing ocean, cool breeze, warm folks and great food still abundant, Vung Tau may appear immune from global turbulences, but an alarming increase of itinerant sellers of lottery tickets is one sure sign of impending trouble. Competing against each other, many set out way before dawn. Even near death or hobbling, many are forced into this, just to eat.

This desperation is somewhat drown out by the festiveness of Tết, the Vietnamese new year. Spring is just a week away. On many sidewalks, flowering peach, chrysanthemum, gladiolus, apricot, dog rose or orchid plants are on sale. To prevent theft, someone must sleep by these gorgeous blooms overnight.

Without meaning to jinx anyone’s happiness, I suspect many of these will go unsold. Trucked far away, they will simply wilt then be tossed.

A popular Tết song begins, “Greeting this Spring, I remember past Springs,” so there’s a continuity, and a return of all that’s good. Retrieving themselves, women are more prone to fluttering around in lovely ao dai. This world has changed, however. Besides all that’s familiar and comforting are still too many dummies in masks.

Tricked, shoved and frightened into the Great Reset, mushy minds worldwide embrace, step by step, their degradation and debilitation, with millions already sliding or collapsing, quite obliviously, into the biggest mass grave ever prepared.

Last night, the Kitchen God returned to heaven to report on what’s happening on earth. This China originated myth has variations. I’ll give you the Viet one. During a quarrel, a man hits his wife then kicks her out. Contrite, he searches for her, but, soon enough, is just a ragged beggar wandering distant lands.

When he bangs on a door, it opens to reveal his old wife, now happily remarried. Showing no anger, she allows him to enter then stuffs his face with the best food ever. Her new husband’s voice can be heard, however, so she tells the old one to hide in a hay stack out back. All is well, but only for a moment.

Suddenly deciding he needs ashes as fertilizer, this man sets fire to the straw. Not wanting to betray his erstwhile bedmate, the holocausted ex doesn’t leap out screaming. It’s understandable, for often, a convoluted explanation just isn’t worth it. Plus, he’s already scorched, if not crispy.

Realizing she’s condemned him to death, the horrified wife dives into the fire, which prompts her baffled husband to do the same. Moved by the selflessness of each, the Jade Emperor kneads them, so to speak, into one Kitchen God. Forever coalesced, they sit in the kitchen of every Vietnamese, save those who’ve decided on a different trinity.

I’ve packed loads of insider knowledge into this brief article for a reason. Since each culture is barely legible to outsiders, don’t give me none of that jazz about being a global citizen. You barely know your own, homie!

6:49PM finds me at Cóc Cóc Coffee. It’s been a long day filled with mental mistakes, but that’s just how it is sometimes. Like you, I must slog on. Just be grateful our lives aren’t quite destroyed as the indifferent or sadistic look on. Even children are being burnt or pulverized. Behind me, an intact girl has just shrieked.

[7:05AM in Vung Tau on 2/3/24]

[victim of Agent Orange in Vung Tau on 2/3/24]

[itinerant seller of lottery tickets at 5:45AM in Vung Tau on 2/3/24]

[Vung Tau on 2/3/24]