Money for love

Is it wrong to love someone for money? It’s a simple exchange, really. I mean, for my love, in return John gives me money; just like going to the grocery store, picking up an apple, and paid for it – pure and simple transaction. To the many women in the world, and especially in my home country, Vietnam, that would be a yes – I am wrong. A big YES! While, ridicule me in the process. But I don’t care. I love him and he loves me, the money part is just the by-product of our relationship. I know, I know, many women already batting their eyes, and start calling me “gold-digger” or some other worse nomination of the same meaning, but before you take out your Bible and hex me, or run to your husband, and start putting a lock around his penis, and forever, exile him from Vietnam, just know one thing – if loving is wrong I don’t want to be right.

Like many scientists believing, the world begins with an accident: a big bang. Two opposing forces, collided into each other, ruptured, caused the universe to explode and in the process brought life. My relationship with John could be said the same thing. We were from two different universes. And the accident? Well…let’s start from the beginning.

It was a Sunday morning in December, exactly a month, after I turned 30. Yes, and still single. Nothing is wrong with me, I am sure of it. But many consider me “e chong” or an English metaphor, to be on the shelf because of my age. It’s not because I’m ugly, or I can’t hold down a man. It just, I rather be by myself than with a guy who doesn’t know how to treat a woman. Or worse be with a guy who can’t even support himself.

Being the only child, my parents would not help with the situation at all. They would be like “Thuy, that son of Ms. So and so work for this big company. He is good for you.” All I could do is rolled my eyes, smiled, and nodded. Add salt to the wound, they would invite people over to check me out, like I’m some kind of a thing they can buy or give away. I despised it. They pushed me to meet with this guy or that guy, conniving me to settle down, with anything that walk on two feet and start producing kids.

Oh God. Children.

Help me!

I can’t imagine it.

I will surely die.

Anyway, let’s get back on how I met John. You see, I live in Bien Hoa, a city outskirt of Ho Chi Minh City, and I work at a shop in district one, the city’s downtown core. From where I work, if I were to take the main route, which through Quoc Lo 1, that would take me well over an hour. And in the morning heat, fighting with many other idiots with brain the size of a raisin, raping the road, no thank you.

So, for the girls of my ability to do? We take short cut. There is a road to the south-west of where I live that go straight through Cu Lao Pho, and it put me onto QL1A, with that route, it saves me about 30 minutes. Like any short cut it comes with warning. Why do many quick things in life always end with some kind of precautionary tales?

In the middle of the way there are about five kilometers or 15 minutes of unpaved road. And when it rains, it turns into a muddy hell. You would have to walk your bike through this part of the road should it ever pour and you got caught in the middle of it or you would eat dirt. On that fateful day, I was driving on this road while, as luck would have it, storm came out of nowhere, and for no reason.

I was late for work, so instead of getting down, and push it, I rode it, and beside, I was the only one on the street. I was thinking, “what the worse it could happen?” As the rains beat down on me, blurred my vision, on top of the mud that made it harder to maneuver the motorbike. And did I tell you about the bad rear-brake that I meant to fix, but never got around to? Well…as I past this crazy guy, walking, with camera strap on his shoulder, wearing a blue t-shirt and black jeans. He walked like he never had been in the rain before, taking his time; enjoying it. He didn’t seem to care, that he was wet, and his body was covered in dirt.

I was about to yell at the idiot to seek shelter. But as my eyes, turned back from the walking maniac and onto the road, a pot hole appeared right in front of me, and it was big, filled with cold, muddy, water, slurring back and forth. My only thought, at that moment, was the white blouse, and black skirt, I wore underneath the raincoat, would be ruin. I swerved left, with the hope that I could able to speed up and got away from the oncoming accident. However, as I turned the front wheel, the back got no traction. Applied the rear brake, but that didn’t work, the bike slammed right into the crazy guy. I closed my eyes, prayed to Buddha to save my beautiful dress. I could hear a “THUMB,” and his scream.

Opened my eyes, water falling on my face, tickling it. Wept the water off, I realized that the motorcycle was on top of me, pinning me down. And I was on top of the crazy. He was screaming “hot, hot, hot,” pushing me to get up. Jerked back and forth, I was able to get my left foot out, then used it to push the bike away. We both slide out from underneath the trap. That was when my brain came back to me. I had to act quickly before the crazy demanded damages.

“Hey, stupid, what are you doing?” I said, while busy checking myself for any sign of injury, none found.

“What are you doing in the middle of the rain, you must be really dumb?” I continued, looking at the bike. It was still intact, covered in dirty gray water, and earth, lying about 3 feet away “Why didn’t you get away from my motorcycle huh?”

“I must be on the attack before he blame me and call the police: Make me pay for hitting him.” I told myself, walked, carefully avoiding potholes, over to him. He had on an orange Nike shoes. Who would wear shoes in Vietnam? It is hot like hell, and you get stinky feet for walking around in it. The black jeans, he wore got burned at the legs, with the shape of the muffler, “shit, he got injured. I must be more fearsome,” I thought.

I pressed my finger into his chest. “Buddy, you must be one of the stupidest idiot in the world to be walking in the middle of the rain.” I stabbed my finger into this wet shirt one more time. “Why don’t you be careful where you are going?” I demanded, pretended to be angry, poking at him, showed him who is boss.

I looked up. Behind the rectangle, glasses, two black glittering marbles stared at me. The rains suddenly stopped… The sound became a void…The surrounding disappeared… Time no longer moved. Nothing existed. Just this strange idiot and me. We just stood there, locking eyes. No words. No thoughts. Nirvana. Only if the monks knew, they would stop praying.

I swore, I could hear, “Vi Do La Em” by Quang Dung, somewhere above me.

Không cần biết em là ai Không cần biết em từ đâu Không cần biết em ngày sau

Ta yêu em bằng mấy ngàn biển rộng Ta yêu em qua đông tàn ngày tận Yêu em như yêu vùng trời mênh mông.

I will not attempt to translate those verses, because no one can do justice in getting it right. You have to know the culture nuances to truly appreciate it, like getting Bob Dylan’s “To Be Alone With You” into Vietnamese – never works.

Không cần biết đêm dài sâu Không cần biết bao gầy hao Ta ngồi đếm tên thời gian Nghe thương yêu dâng cao như ngọn đồi Như xa xôi nay quay về gần gụi Yêu em khi chỉ biết đó là em.

We stood there for like an eternity; just the two of us. There was no past. The future hadn’t arrived. And the present was lost.

Anyway it is getting late, I will continue this tomorrow. I will let you know about our first date and the secret that killed our relationship. I must FaceTime with John before he’s getting to work.