Once upon a time

Darkness will enfold. Yet they don’t feel cold.

The dead. In my memory. People I grew up with and looked up to. Towering figures (from my vantage point as a child e.g. glad to give Dad a siesta back rub or to shine his shoes as he kept knocking on doors).

Those boots on the ground, American and Vietnamese. Some Australian, Korean and New Zealanders shined and stepped off Army-issued Jeeps. Engines still running. Curb-side parking. At the ready.

Everything was fast. Like the flip of a Zippo. Inhale. Exhale. Last breath, last rite. Salary unspent. R&R not taken. Sometimes dead on arrival.

The injured and invalid dragged on seeing the world via a clean bandage. Sorrow of war. Smoke of war. No time for “social”. A thousand-yard stare.

Once upon a time. We gathered to remember our dead per custom. Then those present in turn joined the dead they had once commemorated. Bombs might have missed but Time never.

Like a flip of a Zippo. Tic tac. Lucky strike.

English was simpler then. Ok Salem. mostly non-verbal, lots of gesture, few words.

The eyes say it all: we need to eat. To finish this thing called life. This thing called war we did not start or have a say e.g. from Geneva Accord to Paris Accord : bombing (agent Orange), burning (napalm) and “barbecuing” (monk).

Now my loved ones live on in my memory. Once upon a time. We strolled the street on Sundays. Pretended and prayed that soon peace would be at hand. Thunder and bombing came at night and at a distance . The less fortunate got hit. Not us. We’re well protected except the Presidential palace got bombed, twice.

The nightclub got bombed during weekday matinee show. Pagodas raided. School shut down. refugee shelters opened up. Kid’s toilets catered to homeless adults. Nothing to write home about.

Then those same shiny boots left, leaving behind babies. For two years, they lived on charity in orphanages, in temporary shelters. Until compassion and mercy flights One of which crashed on the tarmac. A survivor – in the photo – held in the arms of then President Ford (compassionate conservatism).

Bomb the hell out of them. Then peace at hand. Peace with honor. Honorable exit.

Decent intervals. Slow descent into Hell. A nation without mooring. Ships docked instead of sailing. waiting for clearer instructions: are we down to the Southern- most island to pick the remnants up or not? Where the Hell do we find enough flags for the fleet (to be admitted to Subic Bay?)

Can we afford to be true to our principles and our ideal selves?

Once upon a time. I lived with four hard-working adults who had left everything to start anew in Democratic South. They got their bearings back, secure enough on a creaky floor one night to have me. My default assignment ? eye-witness and memory keeper. To a crime, war-time crime of abandoning and being abandoned in turn.

It’s all inter-related. One action invokes a reaction. A force, then an opposite force. All the bombs (both World Wars put together) created craters. Many unexploded. Just lay still Waiting their turn . Aren’t we all, with our undying memory and buried angst. Peace time could be just as dangerous as war time. Only on the surface. Until unexploded ordinances found their way out to do what they do best. Then darkness will enfold.

Once upon a time. There was peace in war times and now warring in peace times.