THE WRITERS POST
VOLUME 7 NUMBER 2
††††††††† Itís 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 Minhís 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 husbandís 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 loversí 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
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.