Collection

Across the River

Many times, I dream of the ferry landing. The road to the landing is often very complicated, winding, and full of obstacles, sometimes even with bombs falling and explosions. Strangely, I can never seem to make it to the other shore. The world beyond the water is beautiful like a Utopia, but I can never reach it.

How did it all begin? The ferry landing, perhaps, was the first place to teach me what separation feels like. When I was just a few years old, my father had to go on a business trip to Laos. Every time I said goodbye to him at the ferry landing, I would cry uncontrollably, thinking that the other side of the river was Laos, a cruel place that forced me to be far from my loved ones for so long.

A little older, I often had to travel back and forth between my hometown and the city; the river became the dividing line between the countryside and the bustling city. On this side, gentle smoke plumes rose from the old tiled roofs, stinging my eyes; on the other side, the rush of cars packed and hurrying to make it to work. So much joy and sorrow of a child have unfolded at those riverbanks.