Tree of Life

The Mekong River lapped quietly at our feet.
"This was my house," my mom softly uttered.

The plain square building was at the end of a stretch of other plain structures.
A five-year-old girl skipped in front of us.

"Someone else probably lives here now."
It has been 26 years since my mom has returned to Vietnam.
She had let me plan the itinerary.
We had been to Hạ Long Bay, the old Huế capital, and Nha Trang.

Nevertheless, I knew the crux of the trip was here.
Here, behind these thinly painted blue cement walls, my mom learned gentleness from her dad.
Here, the river ruled the lives of thousands of people who answered President Ngô Đình Diệm's call to develop southwestern Vietnam.
Here, one never forgot the essentials as most had only enough food to last three days into the future.

She paused to chat with gawking residents.
It was rare to see Việt Kiều, Vietnamese who came back as tourists, in Rạch Giá.
She turned towards me.

"My house has been washed away," she murmured gently.
"I thought it was this house... but the people says things have changed. One year, the river rose quickly from the monsoon rains. There was no one to stop it. The place where I grew up is in the middle of the river now," she continued, pointing towards the blue expanse.
There was no sorrow in her voice. It was a tone of acceptance.

Some say the Tree of Life was lost forever when Adam and Eve was banished from the Garden of Eden.
Some forget that the Tree of Live was even given to Adam and Eve.

I never wondered at the whereabouts of the Tree of Life.
I ate from its fruit when I hear my mom speak.
She had gathered it from the gentleness of my grandpa.

ps. Original copyrighted drawing.