Thang Nguyen 555

When the (Memorial) park workers laid my father six feet below ground, my sister, on my left, said “The la xong” (C’est fini, It is finished). I was too busy processing the combined visual, auditory and kinetic sensories to figure out what she meant by that.

Maybe she, the oldest person alive to have lived the most years with my Dad, mean “all the struggles and strives are now over”, or “the weight of the world – its expectations and demands – on you, are no longer heavy” i.e. you’re exempted. Like my jury duty tomorrow, excused via a received text from court.

Half a million of us now live past 100. Long life. Long view. Long movie features, each film starring us. Our protagonists, proteges and our sidekicks, might die off, but we – assume we belong to that class of privileged folks – live on, on screen and online. We reflect, connect the dots and see the re-runs (like DJT teetering at running again?!?).

One thing for sure: when we get there, given memory still intact, we won’t be fooled again. Twice? it’s our fault.

Given the moral arc, one hundred years is not a lot. The universe is righting itself by evolving and continuing-education just like AI. Elon Musk will tell us all about it when his all-civilian crew are back safely.

Meanwhile, out in California, our retained-and-not-recalled Governor says “Thanks”, in many languages. He certainly has more lives than one. May he live one at a time, and live it well, real long. California has lots of potential and problem, being new and all to the table (the Founding states, that is, not the Lord’s table).

All the leaves are brown, and the sky is grey (hope they quench those wild fires). Old couples, our decent and respectable folks, need clear air to breathe, in times of covid. To sit and stare out to Catalina and Alcatraz Islands… far out enough to project an America – indivisible, under God. The further out the projection, the larger it looms. AUKUS? NATO? UN? Even larger and more if taken the long view and given the dynamics of global politics.

It’s chilling this morning with Nicholas on his way out. I thought of the Afghan new arrival. They must feel the chill, just like the homeless lady at the corner as I made a left to the gym. I thought back to good-hearted folks who chipped in their worn but warm clothes. And how Penn State in the Fall is perfect for home games (a sea of White pull-overs). Then the student section would shout “We are”, which immediately triggers an echo across the field: “Penn State” (opposite the student section is alumni’s). You can very well hear those cheers miles away, since Happy Valley oh well, is located in a valley, quite a sound-studio natural construction.

Why do we need to hang on to life? Why don’t we just hire someone to shoot us for insurance, like a SC lawyer did yesterday. What is it to 24 hours a day that we want to cling to so badly until “it’s finished”. The la het. Chet. Mourir. Death. You don’t have to answer those rhetorical questions. “Death, where is thy sting!”.

I know you (death angel) work on a schedule, just like an unmarked Amazon van which should be delivering Woodward’s latest book to me i.e. expected and imminent. Yet one cannot die, like that lawyer, by pre-arranging it. There is such a thing called destiny/ fate plus sciences (data). Currently, half a million out of Earth’s 7+ Billion are in the centenarian club. Sitting on the bench, feeding the birds, looking out to the far horizon, projecting an America, indivisible, under God (the longer the view the larger the system).

And while at it, since we have just committed to a new acronym, AUKUS, let’s hope in the Pacific, we won’t get another Pearl Harbor. Don’t you hate those, pre-arranged pre-meditated pre-celebrated kamikaze mass funeral, on this side of 9/11 20th anniversary. Don’t get me wrong. The idea of an ideal America will go on; you and me and the dog named Boo won’t.

Many of us were born in one place, only to be buried somewhere else. Like my father. And of course, like father like son, but not so soon… when Saigon birthplace is currently on lockdown. Half of the city has been emptied out, de-urbanized. The die-hard folks (who stay put) barely hang on half-starved for nine long weeks. Like NYC last year, nature can now breathe, and perhaps, its butterflies can dance and sing in the rain – amidst a man-made French-made city without the baguettes.

My Dad used to walk those streets. We both did, sometimes together Easy on Sundays. Then one day my sister said her line from my left – in my Dad’s movie final scene: “C’est fini” on that cold and snowy January, while I was waiting to toss the last lone rose from my hand. R.I.P. Dad, who almost made the club, shy of 7 years.

Long view.