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THE WRITERS POST (ISSN: 1527-5467) VOLUME 7 NUMBER 2 JUL 2005
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SOLITUDE VU THI
AN
It’s that time
of the year again, when I kissed my husband farewell as he headed to Montreal
for a couple of weeks. In the evening when I returned home from work, an empty feeling
penetrated me, a gentle pain that was once too familiar. It felt strange
somehow when I did not have to quickly change and scramble to the kitchen to
start dinner. It felt strange knowing that he will not be coming home for the
night and I will not have to worry about what I should prepare for dinner. I
would sit down quietly to read the mails. Even junk mails got my attention
for a change. Then I would head to the bathroom for a long hot relaxing bath
where I read the newspaper as long as I wanted. Inevitably, I would let my mind drift back to those days when I
was still married to my ex-husband. I often came home to an empty house not knowing where he had
gone. I knew then that I did not have to start cooking dinner so I would grab
something to eat and then sit down in front of the computer, and off I went
into the world of cyber space. I would read news, answer Emails, buy and sell
stocks, hold meeting with the members of my internet charity HOPE, chat with
friends and strangers, and as the darkness thickened around me I would write
pages after pages of stories and poetry. I have found an escape for my
deepest pain. Writing has become, to me, a remedy for loneliness. Words would
flow so effortlessly through me and I felt that rush of adrenaline And it was through the internet that I became acquainted with a
fellow Vietnamese expatriate from Montreal. I never took seriously those who
tried to pursue romance on the internet. But the one time I had a friendly
conversation with Minh’s daughter changed my mind. She told me he was the
most wonderful father that anyone could ask for. His joy is in giving to
others without thinking of getting anything back. I became intrigued by this
special man. It was he who gave me the courage to walk away from the loveless
marriage and an abusive husband. As soon as I became happy and contented, the creative juice slowly
dried up. I no longer found pleasure
in reading and writing poetry online. I no longer wrote long letters to
friends on the internet. The stock market crash dimmed my interest in trading
and I couldn't wait to lie in my loving husband’s arms after cooking,
cleaning, and a long hot bath. I miss writing these days like I miss a close friend who had
stopped coming to visit. Sometimes, great ideas would cross my mind as I was driving
home. Many love poems could have been created if I did not have to wait my
turn for the computer. Many essays could have been written if my surrounding
was a bit more serene. But this was not the case, so I paid the bills, called
a friend, watched TV or read the paper instead, and as soon as my husband was
done with his work I would want nothing more than spending the rest of the
night with my beloved. Tonight, I treasure so
much the solitude. It rains softly outside. There is so much work to be done
and I procrastinate. I just want to
experience again the intense presence of the Calliope. I want to visualize
the images of green fields; I want to feel the fiery passion of the lovers’
embrace; and to let my imagination soar far away into the night, floating
above the ocean where the tidal waves crashing into the walls beneath.
Tonight once again I could hear the music of silence. But I know tonight will never be like a night in the past. My
heart is not heavy with hopelessness and sorrow. I enjoy the solitude while
it lasts because I start to miss my husband very much and it is a happy
feeling. I have someone out there who is thinking of me. I have someone out
there who belongs to me and I belong to him. He is far away in distance, but
not far in thoughts. He will come home soon as the rays of sunshine brighten
the days of our lives. We will visit local nurseries and bring a lot of
budding flowers, mulches, and plants to pretty up our little garden. We will
sip coffee together and watch the humming birds flutter their wings around
the red hanging baskets of impatiens. Life will return to the endearing routine, and as much as I miss
my Calliope I rather fall asleep next to my dream lover who is snoring loudly
next to me. VU THI AN The Writers Post &
literature-in-translation, founded
1999, based in the US. Editorial
note: Works
published in this issue are simultaneously published in the printed Wordbridge magazine (ISSN: 1540-1723). Copyright
© Vu Thi An & The
Writers Post 2005. Nothing in this magazine may be downloaded, distributed,
or reproduced without the permission of the author/ translator/ artist/ The Writers Post/
and Wordbridge magazine. Creating links to place
The Writers Post or any of its pages within other framesets or in other
documents is copyright violation, and is not permitted.
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