By Nguyễn Thị Phương Trâm
Old, how much aging is old? I look at the children on the monkey bars and I saw my childhood; I look at the teenagers and I remember my youth; I face my parents and I’m reminded of my good health. My heart beats half a century, yet my mind is the firmness of a perky nineteen year old. I look at a young man passing and forgets I am the age of his mother, my pulse arrhythmic and it came to me, the first time he held my hand- orange twilight fell upon the walk bridge at the length of a working day, our hands barely brushed, and my heart sang arias.