Mai Truong

By Nicole Pacheco

New York City, Winter 1998

“One day you’ll realize how beautiful this time really was.”

The first time my grandmother said those words to me I was seven years old, crying and angry over the “disaster” I caused. I remember that day so clearly. The sky was gray and full. Even before the rain, the air was thick and made your clothes cling to your skin. There was a chill that made your bones ache; much like the weather today. Grandma got her annual cold at this time every year. Normally my mother and she would be doing all the cooking but I had to fill in for her; and tonight’s dinner was especially important. My father’s boss and his family would be joining us. They had a son a year older than me who my mother would often tell me I was “meant for.” At that age I never really understood what she meant. All I knew was that I had to be on my best behavior when he was around. Jon Chau. I didn’t like him. He could be as rowdy and loud as he wanted while I had to sit quietly in my most uncomfortable dress. Tonight my duty was to make the Banh Bo Nuong for dessert.

“It is important to show our guests that you are a good girl,” is what my father told me.

How could they think I was anything other than a good girl? I would only speak when spoken to and would hardly even move when they were around! But I knew better than to question him.

The Banh Bo Nuong is one of the hardest desserts to make in this world!

“You have to follow the recipe just right or it won’t rise!” “You must use exact measurements and be sure not to over whisk the batter!”

My mother shouted instructions at me the whole time I was making it. That was my mother’s idea of helping me. It is supposed to be a bright green, chewy, coconutty tasting cake. Not my favorite but Jon’s. I pulled my cake out of the oven and cut into it. It was brown all the way through and heavy as a brick. My mother screamed!

“You useless girl! I helped you step by step! How could you have messed it up?! Now we will have no sweets for our guests! This is a disaster!”

She stormed out of the kitchen and left me with my failure. Tears spilled out of my eyes and my cheeks burned hot. I hated her! And she made me hate myself.

With all the yelling my grandmother woke up from her nap and came into the kitchen. My grandmother was my best friend. She understood me more than my parents ever could and she was patient with me. She grabbed the cake and dropped it into the trash. She wiped my eyes with her sleeve and put the mixing bowl back in front of me.

“Try again.”

I started to throw all the ingredients into the bowl and mix them as fast as I could. There wasn’t much time left before our guests would arrive.

“Slow down! You are learning Mai. Take your time. Soon enough you will be able to do this with your eyes closed. You will do it perfectly each time.”

“I need to do it perfectly today! Grandma, can’t you just show me?”

“You are doing fine. Keep going.”

I made it in silence this time. My grandmother watched me with a slight smile on her wrinkled cheeks. Her face was aged and her body fragile but when she smiled she looked no older than I was. While it was baking (forty-five minutes exactly!) I sat with her and watched her draw. Her long thin fingers held the charcoal delicately as she made soft lines on the paper. I stared at those strokes so intensely that I didn’t know what she was drawing until she finished and I looked at it as a whole. It was the most beautiful flower I had ever seen!

“What kind is it?” I asked her.

“You’ve never seen a red lotus before?”

I shook my head.

“Well. The lotus grows in muddiest waters. The stock rises from the waters and reveals the most beautiful fragrant crimson flower! But this flower only shows its beauty for three days. Then each petal falls silently back into the water, one by one, leaving only the center. The center grows and matures and then it too falls back into the water. And from it the next flower begins.”

Her flower had all of its petals. They were big and silky and looked like they might melt if you touched them. The stock was thick and strong and the center held the small seeds that would start the next flowers life. I wanted to see a real one growing from the mud!

The timer brought me out of my trance. I rushed to the oven and took the cake out. It was green this time but a pale green and weighted only slightly less than a brick.

“I hate this! I mess it up every time!”

“You’re improving.”

“I need it to be right! The Chau’s will be here soon and it has to be right for them.”

I grabbed the bowl and started mixing again.

“Each time you do the motions without appreciating what you are creating, it will lose its magic.”

“I’d appreciate it if it worked! I’m almost out of time!”

“Tình yêu của tôi, one day you’ll realize how beautiful this time really was.”

…the microwave steals me back from my memories. That was twelve years ago and those words still play in my head all the time. It’s hard to see the beauty in my burnt TV dinner. Can you even consider soggy gray fish and lump of hard rice dinner? This food seems to be the perfect simile for my new life here. If you can even consider it a life. This city is so full of energy, full of people and excitement but I’m just not a part of it. It’s hard to accept that the life you’ve dreamt of isn’t turning out how you thought it would.

I’ve been staring at this canvas for hours and nothing. The other students in my class have a “point of view” and they “tell stories through their work!” They come in with something even more breath taking each week. I come in with more paintings of the huge glass buildings or of Central Park. My teacher tells me I need to find my “inspiration”. He wants more of me in my art.

“I don’t want to see something so exact on your canvas. I want you to give me something I can’t find anywhere else!”

Looking around at the tiny dorm room, that I have called home for the past three months, with its chalk white walls and mystery stained carpet it’s hard to find anything here inspirational. How do I give him me when I haven’t figured out who I am here? I can hear girls laughing with each other as they walk down the hall. They never invite me to laugh with them. I can’t remember the last time I laughed… Finally the clouds have burst and their cold tears run down my window. The rain is the only thing that is the same as back home. The rest of it I have to forget about. There is no going back home. This is my home now.

Da Lat Vietnam, Fall 1990

“I love my art teacher! She let us use real paints today! Sixth grade is so much better than fifth. The old art teacher never let us use paint. We got to paint for the whole hour too!”

“And what did you create today?” my grandmother asked me smiling.

I ran to my bag and pulled out my painting. I was so proud of it. I set it on the table for her and waited. In the middle of the paper was a huge tree with a bright blue trunk and bright purple braches with orange leave in the shape of birds. The sky was black and silver and the grass was a deep red. I couldn’t wait to hear what my grandmother thought! But then my father came home from work. I always tried to hide my art projects from him because I knew he didn’t approve. He saw it and snatched it away before my grandmother had finished looking at it.

“What is this trash?”

“I painted it father.” I said nervously.

“You painted it? What use is this?! Jon would not want a frivolous girl!”

My mother had come in to greet my father. She took one look at my painting and scoffed.

“You stupid girl. Can you not even pick proper colors?”

Without saying another word to me he threw it in the trash. I walked quietly to my room trying to hold in the tears until I was at a safe distance. I wanted to stay hidden forever but my mother called me out to help her prepare dinner.

“Now this is how you should be spending your time” my father said as I was making the rice. I tried to fight it but a single tear snuck out.

The dinner was silent and seemed to go on for days but I was finally permitted to go back to my room. As I passed my grandmothers bedroom I saw my miscolored tree hanging proudly above her nightstand. She must have liked it even more than I had hoped!

Da Lat Vietnam, Spring 1994

There was an art competition for all 10th 11th and 12th graders in the area. I hadn’t wanted to submit any of my paintings. I didn’t think they were good enough and I didn’t want to embarrass myself or my parents.

“Nonsense!” my grandmother shouted, “Your paintings are wonderful! If you do not submit at least one I will be so disappointed!”

She was half smiling when she said it. I don’t think my grandmother was ever disappointed in me and I knew if I chickened out she would just smile and say, “maybe next time” or something like that but I submitted just one anyways.

It was the night they were going to announce the winners. I invited my parents hoping they would at least come see my painting since it was being displayed for the public. They never wanted to see what I brought home. I invited Jon Chau too thinking that if he was there maybe my parents would be more interested.

They called the finalists to the stage and I was one of them! Fourth was called then third and second… There were only four of us on stage so that had to mean…

“And first place goes to Mai Truong!”

I couldn’t help but squeal in excitement! I had won! Out of so many people! I couldn’t believe it. I looked out into the crowd for my family… My parents had not come. Jon of course was not amongst the people cheering either. My smile fell to the ground. I wanted off of the stage as quickly as possible. I ran to the stairs and then I saw her. My grandmother was standing there beaming holding a big bouquet of our flowers.

Da Lat Vietnam, Summer 1997

How wonderful would it be to paint every day? To be in a place where people appreciated and encouraged you? To know, that even though I am a girl, I can have any life I wanted? I go to that place in my mind often. I keep the brochure and application under my mattress. I pull them out and drift away whenever I get a moment alone. Columbia University. School of the Arts. How wonderful! My teacher had given it to me on our last day of class in June. I want to go so badly but I know it’s impossible.

“Tình yêu của tôi, what is that you are looking at?”

My grandmother caught me daydreaming. She walks over and takes the paper from my hand. She studies it a while then smiles and leaves the room. I sigh. I hope she won’t tell my father! A moment later she comes back into my room with a pen.

“If you do not try I will be so disappointed.”

Da Lat Vietnam, Fall 1997

I knew what was coming. Jon Chau has never asked to speak with me alone before. In fact he has hardly ever spoken to me before. As we walked through the garden I notice my parents faces watching us from the kitchen window. Like two goldfish in their small bowl. Their eyes were practically popping out of their heads. This is what they want. This is what I was “meant for.” I had known what my mother meant by that for years now.

Suddenly, with not a single warm note to his voice, he asked me. I looked at him; his eyes were blank and seemed far away. He was not nervous or excited or even happy about his proposal. How could I tie myself to this boy forever?

…we came inside and he told my parents the news. I have never seen my parents more proud of me! And for the first time I saw my grandmothers face lose the private smile she always had for me. I have disappointed her.

Da Lat Vietnam, Winter 1997

It is that time of year. The bone aching chill cutting through my window forces me to get up. I go to the kitchen and start heating the water for morning tea. I’m sure my grandmother will want mint to help relieve her sinuses. I set the table and put out our favorite cups. The early morning is always my favorite time of day. Everything is so still and perfect.

The pot whistles cutting the quite air but it is not the only new sound. I can hear my parents’ troubled voices coming from my grandmother’s room. The air changes again and the chill invades me. The outside world fades away and I am just my body. I can hear only my heart beating and can feel the blood as it pumps through my veins. It’s peaceful here, warm. It’s just as it’s supposed to be.

“Mai. Mai?” My mother’s voice was soft. My parents had come into the kitchen and were standing in front of me. Their faces confirm what I never wanted to be told. The pot fell to the ground and the smell of mint overtook the room and stung my eyes.

Wedding plans is all anyone can talk about in my house.

“August 3rd! That will be the happiest day of my life!” What a perfect date for a wedding!”

Those are my mother sentiments. Mine are not so spirited.

“I need to go for a walk.”

I have been going on many walks lately. My whole life has been taken over by wedding plans! I told my mother I walk to maintain my figure. She is very understanding and glad to see me acting “so sensibly.” These walks are my only escape.

I check the mail on the way back in. There is a large stone white envelope with my name on it. Why am I receiving this? All wedding things are addressed to my father or Jon… And then I see it. Printed in the corner, in the most beautiful blue I have ever seen, are the words ‘Columbia University School of the Arts’. I had forgotten all about my application! I haven’t painted since I got engaged.

“You are to be my wife now” Jon had told me, “and I will not have my wife trifling with such nonsense.”

I tear it open as quickly and carefully as I can. I rush over the words then try to slow myself down so I won’t miss a thing. “Congratulations! I am pleased to inform you that you have been accepted into…”

Da Lat Vietnam, Summer 25th July 1998

Da Lat Vietnam, Spring 1998

The wedding is only a week away. This will likely be my last walk alone as a single woman. Everything has been a blur. I couldn’t even tell you what the flowers will be. My mind has strayed back to my daydreams of New York City. Of painting every day! I had gotten in. I had been given a scholarship. I never should have opened that letter. It hurts a million times more now than it had before. Knowing that I’m good enough and that they want me makes me miserable. I am not meant for that life.

I honor what will likely be my last walk alone and decide to take a different path today. It is unusually cold and there is no trail the way I’m going. I get small cuts on the top of my feet. My sandals are not meant for adventure. It is worth it to see the beauty of this place. The thick tree trunks shoot up to the sky and their lush leaves dance among the clouds. Each vine and flower seems so perfectly placed. I take another step, my nose pointing at the sun, and my foot gets soaked. There is a muddy pond that prevents me from going any farther. The dreary water seems so out of place here.

“Why are you here?! Why are you stopping me?! You’re messing everything up!” most beautiful, fragrant crimson flower I have ever seen. A few of its petals have already fallen but I cannot imagine it ever being prettier than it is right now.

I screamed at the water. I hated it! Why did it have to be here and cut my last walk so short?! Doesn’t it realize this is all I have left? I fall to my knees, splashing mud up onto my dress and cry harder than I have ever cried. What am I supposed to do now?

Da Lat Vietnam, Summer 26th July 1998

I packed my bag late last night after everyone went to bed. This morning I woke up before the sun. I silently got dressed and walked through my house one last time. I stood in my grandmother’s room for a long while and realized that her spirit was no longer there. I am not leaving her behind, she is with me, I can feel it. I wanted to take another look at my parents but I was too afraid that I would wake them so I just left. The sun is barely starting to rise over the earth and my plane has started boarding.

I did not leave a note. I had an awful picture in my mind of them getting here before my flight and taking me away. I will call them from my new home; my new life. They probably won’t even notice I’m gone for some time. They call my section and I take off into the sky.

Da Lat Vietnam, Summer 27th July 1998

I sat there for a long while before I thought I was able to face my parents. I’d have to explain to them why I was gone so long and why my dress now needed cleaning. I wiped my tears with my sleeve and lift my head. That’s when I saw it. A green stock rising from the water holding up the

This is the most people I have ever seen! The sidewalks are full and the streets are packed with cars concealing still more people. My small map and horrible sense of direction have gotten me horribly lost. Everyone seems so busy I don’t want to bother them. The buildings are even taller than the tallest trees back home! And there seem to be trees on top of the buildings. This is the strangest place I have ever seen, and I love it. It is so much more than I had imagined.

I finally find my school. My school! I still can’t believe I’m here. A girl about my age with blue spiked hair shows me to my dorm room.

“So you’re new to the city huh?”

“How can you tell?” I said softly.

“The look of terror,” I tried to calm my eyes, “I had it too when I first got here. It goes away.”

I smiled, not knowing how to respond.

“I’m Amy.”

“Very nice to meet you. My name is Mai Truong.”

“Well very nice to meet you too, Mai Truong” she said in an unfamiliar tone that made me think it wasn’t very nice for her to meet me. “I live right next door if you ever need anything, ok?”

Then she walked out and left me to explore my new home. White walls, beige carpet, a small bed, a “mini fridge,” and a microwave. It is wonderful! The worst object in the room is the telephone. It mocks me. I hadn’t left a note and I needed to call them…

“Father I’m sorry. I’m okay but I’m not coming home.”

“How dare you disrespect this family! You will come home and make this right! Pray Jon will still have you!”

”I’m sorry father. I can’t.”

New York City, Winter 1998

There is a pounding on the door that forces me to lose the staring contest with the blank canvas.

“What is with the stench?!” Amy yells as she barges through the door.

She finds my neaten fish dinner, plugs her nose and points to it,

“This is the culprit! Looks delicious!”

I have learned that her insincere tone is called sarcasm and Amy is very sarcastic.

“Come on, let go grab some pizza.”

“I can’t. I have to finish my painting.”

“You mean you have to start your painting.”

“See! I need to stay here.”

“The smell in here Is going to turn all your paints black!”

I shook my head at her extreme exaggeration and turned back to my canvas.

“It will still be here when you get back. I promise!”

“But I will not have him. Father I’m not coming home. I have to do this! Don’t you want me to be happy?”

“Selfish girl! Do you not care for your family?! You are coming home! Get to the airport and I will book you a flight.”

And with that she dragged me out into the world… New York is so different from Vietnam. This city is mostly gray and cold but its beauty radiates off of the tall buildings. There is a potential and hope here that was nowhere to be found in Vietnam. Maybe all the colors and plants hid it. Life is hard here but I am not afraid of hard. It is what is easy that scares me. I could’ve married Jon Chau, made my parents happy and had my whole life taken care of for me. I cannot think of anything more miserable! I may not have found my true happiness here yet but I know it is waiting for me.

“See the smell is almost out of here now!” Amy said when we got back. “Now go paint!”

Once again I was left alone with the canvas. My paintings need more of “me” in them. I am in one of the many tall gray buildings in the city, so I paint it. I have painted many buildings for class before. I don’t think the fact that I live in this one will be “me” enough. My teacher also tells me that I lack inspiration. I sit and stare for a while more and then I realize what I need to do.

In the middle of the canvas stands my tall gray building with its hundreds of small dark windows. Wrapping around the building is a strong green stem. At the top of the stem, at the top of my building, is a huge red lotus flower. I used the most vibrant red I could find and it pops brilliantly against the dull gray. At the bottom of the building lay two of its large, silky petals. This flower has only recently begun its life. I went into my bedroom and set the painting down next to two others I treasured. The first, the charcoal lotus my grandmother drew at our kitchen table when I was just seven years old. The second, my miscolored tree I painted in the sixth grade that my grandmother had kept for so many years. This new painting was me. I had remembered my greatest inspiration. She would be proud.