The door creaked open, the music invaded the small room, brought with it the many cheers and congratulations by the singer belching in the karaoke player. But Kieu didn’t feel exuberance like the song had depicted, or ecstatic of being married, instead she felt emptied.
“Are you ready Kieu?” Mrs. Thieu queried. Kieu turned to look at her mother. An early 40ish woman, thin, heavy sun tan, and hands that had been slashed and sliced by the many days in the sugarcane field made visible by the many lines across her hands as she turned to close the door.
“Can you help me mom?” Kieu asked quietly, holding on the small comb that suddenly felt so heavy.
Mrs. Thieu took the chair and placed it in front of the mirror. With a comb in her hands, she combed the hair of her eldest daughter. Kieu’s hair was long and silk like, complimented it was a smell of lilac, a flower that Kieu was very fond of.
In silent, Mrs. Thieu took her time stroking the black hair of her daughter like a dedicated artist painting the masterpiece of his life. The process itself wasn’t long or hard, but somehow to Mrs. Thieu it had taken on a different meaning. This would be the last time she laid her hands on her daughter, because after the wedding Kieu’s husband would take her away to a far place. And she would never see her daughter again. Mrs. Thieu couldn’t help and tears trailed down her cheeks.
“When you are in stranger’s land, take care of yourself. I won’t be there to help you anymore.” Mrs. Thieu said as she tried hard to hold her tears. But tears seemed to have a mind of it’s own, the more you held it, the more it came.
“Wear additional layer when it’s cold out.” Mrs. Thieu added solemnly.
Kieu stood up, looking at her mother’s gentle eyes. All the years in the sugarcane field had lessen the once sparkle eyes of her mother, but it was still lingered like a diamond in the rough. The same eyes that for the past sixteen years had care, nurture, and love her unconditionally.
Together, mother and daughter, held each other in a warm embrace. Kieu cried for the many years of hardship that she would about to endure and for the sacrifice she made. Being the oldest in the family, Kieu didn’t have the luxury of freedom. She agreed to this marriage knowing full well, first, her family would get a big sum of money. That money alone would help out her family tremendously, especially in a poor home with too many mouths to feed. Second, she would no longer be a burden to her family. All the expenses paid for her school would ceased to stop. Third, she could work and help out by sending money back. All of the benefits and the only trade-off was her heart, so she silently threw it away, locked it up behind a wall. And Tuan’s existence suffered the same fate. She kept telling herself that there was no such thing as freedom. Freedoms to love and live were just an illusion, like Buddha’s teachings.
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