trở về nguồn cội

Đây là bài viết của Titi, con gái Ngọc Trang,  là cảm nghĩ lúc về VN làm thiện nguyện vào mùa hè vừa qua.  Hè sắp tới Titi muốn trở về VN 1 lần nữa để dạy các em nhỏ mồ côi.


I wake up early, not yet adjusted to the fourteen hour time difference between Phoenix and Ho Chi Minh City. I’m approximately eight thousand, four hundred and sixty-five miles away from my home, without my parents. I feel lost; unlike the previous trips I had taken to Vietnam, they wouldn’t be there to translate for me or tell me where to go. I was on my own.

As I walk through the cement-block entrance of the orphanage three hours later, I’m not sure what to expect. Will they understand me through the laughably terrible American accent my mother tells me I have when I speak Vietnamese? Will they consider me a friend or distance themselves and simply treat me as their teacher?

What if they don’t like me?

With all of these questions, I couldn’t have anticipated quail eggs would quell my worries.

Anxiety makes itself known through a slight belly ache as it usually does, but I ignore it and enter the director’s office. I tour the building with her, catching glimpses of the daily lives of the children and caregivers. We conclude the tour by returning to her office, where she requests that I work with the special needs ward, to which I agree. As we step out of her office a second time, I can hear the clamor of fists hitting metal tables, the screech of chairs across tile, and innocent laughter.

Nearing the haphazard congregation of kids, crutches, and wheelchairs around the tables, I could see they were peeling quail eggs for a snack. Calling me “chị”, their big sister, they wave me over and I immerse myself in the art of peeling the brown-splotched shells off the tiny eggs. I no longer felt lost, realizing it was possible to have anybody become a part of your family, regardless of blood relation, provided you care for them. At that moment, I had found an irreparable sense of belonging and another branch to my family tree.

Over the course of three weeks, I divided my time at the orphanage between being trapped in massive, inescapable bear hugs, chasing after my backpack, and teaching my pesky little brothers and sisters about the world in their native tongue and English. During the project, we examined books, atlases, and pictures, trying to grasp the reality outside of the gates of their home. On my last day, I fought back tears as I said goodbye, urging them to study hard and promising a return visit as they consumed me in a final bear hug, weeping tears of their own.

In the few weeks I was their “chị,” I felt they taught me more about the world with their naivety and innocence than I managed to teach them. These children opened my eyes to the splendor of the seemingly mundane aspects of everyday life – aiding in the cultivation of my appreciation for intangible, valuable possessions such as love and companionship through their affection and friendship.

Speckled, light brown, and about one-third the size of a chicken egg, a quail egg at first glance seems fundamentally different from that of an egg you would usually find in your fridge. Past the shell, however, the albumen and yolk are just the same. Like the quail eggshells I helped them peel on my first day, the kids I taught have imperfections that come in the form of physical and mental disabilities, their own “speckles.” But to me, they are one and the same, my “em,” my forever cherished little brothers and sisters.

Titi