Tears before the rain

There are times when I actually berate myself for weeping—like now.

Before sleep, I usually do some reading, accompanied by a few of my favorite pieces of music. Tonight, I am reading Engelmann's Tears Before the Rain and listening to Shostakovich’s String Quartet No. 8. I ended up unable to close my eyes and found myself weeping, as the transitions in both the story and the quartet sent chills down my spine. I feel ashamed that all I can do is feel sad.

In the name of freedom, terrible things were done. I am overwhelmed by the torment conveyed through the words of people who have no names...

And yet, here I am—warm, fed, safe—allowed the luxury of tears under lamplight. I wonder: what does it mean to feel sorrow for stories I didn’t live, for pain that isn’t mine?

Is it guilt?

Is it empathy?

Or is it a longing—to believe that remembering has weight?

I don't want my memories to be lost, like tears in the rain. So I will tell you my story, then you call tell it to others. Maybe if enough people know what happened to Vietnam, then my memories will never be lost. Maybe then they will be like tears before the rain. So listen. This is very important. This is what I remember. This is what happened to me.

These are my tears before the rain —— Doung Cang Son

History not as something abstract, but as a living ache, but I will try to turn the pain I feel into something more meaningful. Not to haunt, but to remind and to inspire because we are too forgetful.. almost too forgetful…

Tonight, I mourn people I never knew. Tomorrow, I carry their echo.