2024-04-20, 05:34 PM
April’s Blush, from Saigon to Solace
By: L. Tran
In the chaotic last moments of Saigon in 1975, as the city was overwhelmed by communist forces, my life and that of my brother—took a dramatic and sorrowful detour. Removed from the violence that consumed our native land, we were haunted by its relentless memory. I was, in a cruel twist of fortune, spared the horror of seeing Saigon's downfall, filled with despair and violence. Still, the weight of our family's suffering was a constant presence.
Our uncle, a courageous pilot, was killed when his aircraft was downed during combat, a poignant example of the many sacrifices made during the conflict. His death signaled the beginning of a series of grim episodes. I heard stories of family members who perished trying to escape Vietnam's oppressive regime by sea.
The tales of those who remained were even more chilling. My grandmother suffered grave humiliations at the hands of soldiers who stripped away the dignity of the people, making them jump like animals in a perverse search for swallowed treasures— a deep affront to their humanity, leaving lasting scars.
A particularly vivid memory from my childhood is the sight of a menacing black revolver in the hands of a soldier at a mourning tent. As a young child, I could barely grasp the situation, but I remember the cold fear and my mother's panicked eyes as she was accused of hiding valuables and taken away. I was left in the uncertain care of my grandmother, away from the stark reality of my father's fate, unsure if he survived the notorious "Côn Đảo" prison camp.
My brother faced his own severe hardships. He recalls the moment his mother tearfully sent him away with a stranger, urging him to never return. Cast into the vast ocean, he faced extreme deprivation and witnessed the desperate acts of other refugees, including a mother's heart-wrenching decision to end her child's life to avoid capture.
Life in the refugee camp brought new challenges. My brother was frequently beaten, competing for the limited food available, growing up isolated and scarred. The stories he told were filled with unspoken grief, shaping a childhood overshadowed by loss.
"If I could go back, maybe I would choose the ocean's embrace over this pain," he once shared, reflecting on the years that forged his resilience and shaped his spirit. From him, I learned not just Vietnamese but stories and songs of our homeland that kept our roots alive despite the distance.
When he joined the U.S. military, it felt like losing a vital part of my life. His enlistment was a deeply emotional decision, honoring our ancestors' sacrifices and acknowledging the country that gave us refuge.
Today, my brother and I, now older, look back on our journey from Vietnam to America—a narrative of loss, endurance, and transformation. Raised away from the conflict that devastated our birthplace, we were lucky to grow up in a society that values human rights and provided abundant opportunities for growth.
Identifying as Vietnamese-American, we honor the legacy of those who fought bravely and suffered—the soldiers, the prisoners in re-education camps, and the civilians lost at sea or enduring great hardships rather than live under tyranny.
We experienced discrimination as children, branded as "puppets" and faced with bullying. I remember defending myself against a bully, an act that led to both victory and punishment.
At a dinner, a senior officer once praised the resilience of Vietnamese women, reflecting the pride and sorrow that resonate in my brother's experiences and the complex identity we navigate.
While some praise Vietnam's post-war progress, we see through the facade, recognizing the continued challenges faced by those in our former home. The rebranding of those who fled as "patriotic Overseas Vietnamese" feels like a cynical manipulation, asking us to forget our past and the regime's continued oppression.
As we reflect on our path from Vietnam's chaos to peace in America, my brother's insights remind us that while fate plays a role, our choices determine our direction. Our survival and success in the free world are a testament to the choices and sacrifices of our ancestors.
Each spring, as we remember Black April, we honor not only those who died but also those like us who carry the legacy of our homeland. This narrative is a tribute to our journey and to all who share our story of loss, resilience, and peace.
Written in remembrance of the fall of Saigon on April 30, a day of national mourning.
L. Tran
BLACK APRIL FALLEN HEROES - SINH VI TƯỚNG TỬ VI THẦN
![[Image: IMG-5951.jpg]](https://i.postimg.cc/Z5LDMCVH/IMG-5951.jpg)
By: L. Tran
In the chaotic last moments of Saigon in 1975, as the city was overwhelmed by communist forces, my life and that of my brother—took a dramatic and sorrowful detour. Removed from the violence that consumed our native land, we were haunted by its relentless memory. I was, in a cruel twist of fortune, spared the horror of seeing Saigon's downfall, filled with despair and violence. Still, the weight of our family's suffering was a constant presence.
Our uncle, a courageous pilot, was killed when his aircraft was downed during combat, a poignant example of the many sacrifices made during the conflict. His death signaled the beginning of a series of grim episodes. I heard stories of family members who perished trying to escape Vietnam's oppressive regime by sea.
The tales of those who remained were even more chilling. My grandmother suffered grave humiliations at the hands of soldiers who stripped away the dignity of the people, making them jump like animals in a perverse search for swallowed treasures— a deep affront to their humanity, leaving lasting scars.
A particularly vivid memory from my childhood is the sight of a menacing black revolver in the hands of a soldier at a mourning tent. As a young child, I could barely grasp the situation, but I remember the cold fear and my mother's panicked eyes as she was accused of hiding valuables and taken away. I was left in the uncertain care of my grandmother, away from the stark reality of my father's fate, unsure if he survived the notorious "Côn Đảo" prison camp.
My brother faced his own severe hardships. He recalls the moment his mother tearfully sent him away with a stranger, urging him to never return. Cast into the vast ocean, he faced extreme deprivation and witnessed the desperate acts of other refugees, including a mother's heart-wrenching decision to end her child's life to avoid capture.
Life in the refugee camp brought new challenges. My brother was frequently beaten, competing for the limited food available, growing up isolated and scarred. The stories he told were filled with unspoken grief, shaping a childhood overshadowed by loss.
"If I could go back, maybe I would choose the ocean's embrace over this pain," he once shared, reflecting on the years that forged his resilience and shaped his spirit. From him, I learned not just Vietnamese but stories and songs of our homeland that kept our roots alive despite the distance.
When he joined the U.S. military, it felt like losing a vital part of my life. His enlistment was a deeply emotional decision, honoring our ancestors' sacrifices and acknowledging the country that gave us refuge.
Today, my brother and I, now older, look back on our journey from Vietnam to America—a narrative of loss, endurance, and transformation. Raised away from the conflict that devastated our birthplace, we were lucky to grow up in a society that values human rights and provided abundant opportunities for growth.
Identifying as Vietnamese-American, we honor the legacy of those who fought bravely and suffered—the soldiers, the prisoners in re-education camps, and the civilians lost at sea or enduring great hardships rather than live under tyranny.
We experienced discrimination as children, branded as "puppets" and faced with bullying. I remember defending myself against a bully, an act that led to both victory and punishment.
At a dinner, a senior officer once praised the resilience of Vietnamese women, reflecting the pride and sorrow that resonate in my brother's experiences and the complex identity we navigate.
While some praise Vietnam's post-war progress, we see through the facade, recognizing the continued challenges faced by those in our former home. The rebranding of those who fled as "patriotic Overseas Vietnamese" feels like a cynical manipulation, asking us to forget our past and the regime's continued oppression.
As we reflect on our path from Vietnam's chaos to peace in America, my brother's insights remind us that while fate plays a role, our choices determine our direction. Our survival and success in the free world are a testament to the choices and sacrifices of our ancestors.
Each spring, as we remember Black April, we honor not only those who died but also those like us who carry the legacy of our homeland. This narrative is a tribute to our journey and to all who share our story of loss, resilience, and peace.
Written in remembrance of the fall of Saigon on April 30, a day of national mourning.
L. Tran
BLACK APRIL FALLEN HEROES - SINH VI TƯỚNG TỬ VI THẦN
Kiếp luân hồi có sinh có diệt
Đời vô thường giả tạm hư không
Ngũ uẩn: “Sắc bất dị không”
An nhiên tự tại cho lòng thảnh thơi.
-CT-
願得一心人,
白頭不相離.
Đời vô thường giả tạm hư không
Ngũ uẩn: “Sắc bất dị không”
An nhiên tự tại cho lòng thảnh thơi.
-CT-
願得一心人,
白頭不相離.
![[-]](https://vietbestforum.com/themes/classic/collapse.png)