I know, you humans are something else – or at least, you’re capable of doing some astounding things. As for the things that haven’t yet been done, you have faith that sooner or later you will do them. And those things that are not yet known, you have faith that you will, ultimately, know them. I lived for twenty-seven years: I know the greatness of humans, the confidence they have in themselves, but I also know that this greatness, this overconfidence can cause trouble, giving rise to bad habits – such as the penchant to procrastinate, to continually put things off. When I was alive, I was guilty of the same arrogance, perhaps even more so than most. Two instances will help to demonstrate this.

The first has to do with my marriage.

The second with the front.

I had so wanted to do these two things, but because … how to put this? I needed to first know that my life was not for ever; I needed to know that I would die. Perhaps then I would’ve been able to do both. But I didn’t know. That is, I didn’t know that my life would be so short, that I’d be so weak, so frail. Not long before I died, À Ơn, with tears streaming down his face, spoke these words to me, half crying, half cursing: ‘Fuck! Every day, all day you’d keep on nagging and moaning about wanting to be on the front, and the first thing that goes wrong you die of it! You … Vĩ Phu, you’re fucking useless … Vĩ Phu!’

To be honest, I had never seen a man cry like that. À Ơn … ah … you poor hopeless cripple, why’d you have to cry like that. Didn’t you know? Those at death’s door don’t ever wish to see people cry like you did, it only makes their passing all the more painful. À Ơn, where are you now? I really miss you …