Six feet under

I had dug deep into the depth of my memories and still could not revive his memory; the people with any hint of association with him, were buried in each foot of dark musky dirt above his carcass. I was devastatingly young, young in the mind more than body, that was when he took me. Every strict Catholic girl’s nightmare, and I threw myself into it. I was barely over my crush Michael J. Fox. My dignity exploded like the bomb that was dropped on Hiroshima. Still, the ghost of these people ever so often, follow me with their hello and kind smiles. There is a cool breeze from the South Pacific, and I can just hear an echo of a “Careless Whisper”.

By Nguyễn Thị Phương Trâm

There's magic in translating a body of work from one language to another.

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