My 68

While Cream’s White Room was on the air, 2001 A Space Odyssey on the screen, I was sitting at home, on lock-down. It’s Hue 68, and the US Embassy in Saigon was under attack. Across our tiny alley, on tin roof, black-pajamas and rubber sandals chased by police (one of VN famous photos afterwards was that of Colonel Loan executing a terrorist at point-blank).

Colt-45’s and AK-47’s shots mixed with firecrackers to announce the arrival of Tet. Simultaneously, the war finally hit home, both in the US via America first televised War and on VN TV9 whose newsreel slowly panned as if to account for the 3000 civilians buried in mass grave, with Exodus soundtrack on channel A, and mourners’ primal scream on channel B.

Couldn’t go to school, couldn’t go outside, couldn’t go anywhere. but watching that B/W documentary over and over. Cronkite later showed up on-location: “At the very best, it’s a stalemate”. Quite prescient a prediction, albeit off by 7 years.

In the aftermath of Tet 68, the Embassy was better re-enforced (still not sturdy enough for would-be refugees wanting a chopper ride out). The Great Society negotiated and shared the Nobel Peace Prize in 1973, leaving millions stranded at sea.

White room, White House.

A friend observed that David Lynch’s Twin Peaks’ opening shot : a perfectly manicured lawn slowly rack-focused to reveal insects underneath. Drain your own lawn.

You need me, and I need you.

Everything else is secondary.

All the talks and no walks, all the fighting and folding; all in vain.

Just hang on to dear life, especially the last chapter – for those who took vitamins, who ate healthy and entertained positive thoughts.

I root for neighbors and at times for enemies. I wish them well. Life is short, hard and unfair.

Life is difficult. Often, it is full of exploded or unexploded ordinances.

A thousand years from now, Jeff Bezos (we didn’t even know his name 18 years ago) will also be among ” The Remains of the day” after his beloved title. In the span of things, we are mere blips. Like those 3,000 bodies lying in the gutter. Like an Imperial City lying in ruin (Stanley Kubrick’s Full Metal Jacket did not overlook the Hynos toothpaste billboard – featuring a black man smiling), like a chopper ride that never came, like a long-dead anchor whose on-location report once tilt the war. Or the almost half-a-million deaths in the US (covid is our WWIII).

Yet, we are significant in our own small way: we matter to our loved ones, to the little ones and to the guy we have just given our spare change to.

People are living under the Freeway as we speak.

No one seems to care (typical of the Seminarian dilemma – rushing to the exam whose topic is “the Good Samaritan”.) You are cursed the day you are born. In war and in peace. That gene pools and gentrified policies determine 95+% of your chance in life. Work hard, play hard. Oh yeah? For some, it’s White Room. Others White House.

For the rest, keep browsing, clicking, buying and enriching Billionaires, even during a pandemic. No collaboration, no common fight against covid. Everything is in the rear-view mirror. Gloss it over. Kick the can down the road. Just win. Until….the best possible outcome = a stalemate.

In the words of President Johnson, “I will not seek re-election”. The Great Society has just declared! Boots gave in to sandals, “full-metal” jackets to pajamas.

My 1968 which I don’t want to remember but can’t forget: the Exodus soundtrack, the B/W documentary showing Hue common grave, the lockdown (curfew). Now my kid is on lockdown and cannot go back to school indefinitely. Teachers quit, people gloss things over. Some may even win a Nobel Peace Prize. And God knows who will pay the price.

I stop watching political propaganda. I stop watching a replay of White Room and rehash of White House. I want to open my eyes, breathe in/out, and live out the rest of my days, in full awareness of what has happened, and often happens again.

Can’t fool me twice.