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PROSE

Nguyễn Thị Phương Trâm | exodus (188)

I was born 1971, Phu Nhuan, Saigon, Vietnam. My family and I were a part of the first exodus of boat people after the Vietnam war. In March 1981, we settled in Sydney, Australia. I graduated with a bachelor of Pharmacy at the University of Sydney. I have been translating Vietnamese literature for the past five years in my search to better understand my mother’s language and culture. My translations have been shared through blogging over the past year. I am still a registered pharmacist practicing in Western Sydney. I hope to continue translating, and continue to share Vietnamese art and literature, beyond borders on SONGNGUTAITRAM.

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PHOTOGRAPHY PROSE

Nguyễn Thị Phương Trâm | “my darling, I don’t live at all when I’m not with you” (184)

I was born 1971, Phu Nhuan, Saigon, Vietnam. My family and I were a part of the first exodus of boat people after the Vietnam war. In March 1981, we settled in Sydney, Australia. I graduated with a bachelor of Pharmacy at the University of Sydney. I have been translating Vietnamese literature for the past five years in my search to better understand my mother’s language and culture. My translations have been shared through blogging over the past year. I am still a registered pharmacist practicing in Western Sydney. I hope to continue translating, and continue to share Vietnamese art and literature, beyond borders on SONGNGUTAITRAM.

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PROSE

Nguyễn Thị Phương Trâm | (175)

I adore this photograph, a surreal capture in the afternoon light. My novel and I, my siblings near by. A picture of innocence coloured by a new bitter taste called life. My materialistic requirements were miniscule. I’d dreamt of becoming an independent human being of strong moral standings. My wish was simple, for my parents to be proud.

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PROSE

Nguyễn Văn Thiện | Whose life is more or less tragic than an artist’s life? (50)

“The artist wanders the streets, suddenly finds they can’t remember one single street name…”

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PROSE

Nguyễn Thị Phương Trâm | I can’t sit still, so I’m determined to simplify my life. (171)

By Nguyễn Thị Phương Trâm I can’t sit still, so I’m determined to simplify my life. My new clothes are what my daughter no longer likes. I like to wander around alone, though not long ago with Shani, the German shepherd being the sole best friend in my world. I don’t like places where there […]

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PROSE

Nguyễn Thị Phương Trâm | The knife at my throat (168)

Dù muốn hay không, bạn là tù nhân của tôi.

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PROSE

Nguyễn Văn Thiện | Survival (51)

Into the pitch-black side of the forest, the Sun disappeared, abandoning half the world in consuming darkness, maraud, on the move the bloody hunt began. Leaning into the darkness for power the hunters’ devices death, and those weaker only have one choice: Hide!

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Wisdom

The Principal | Hiệu Trưởng

translated by Lê Vĩnh Tài “Các bậc phụ huynh kính mến, Kỳ thi của các em học sinh đang tới gần. Chúng tôi biết rằng các vị đều đang mong cho con mình sẽ giành được kết quả cao trong kỳ thi này. Tuy nhiên, xin hãy nhớ rằng, trong số các em, những người […]

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PROSE

Nguyễn Thị Phương Trâm | the equality in your vernacular (150)

By Nguyễn Thị Phương Trâm I’m as ordinary as the next person, the biggest difference is that I was born with the ability to bear children. A significant difference in the eyes of the world. All I want for my children is equality in your vernacular. A woman, a wife, a lover, do they need […]

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PROSE

Friedrick Nietzsche

“và những người nhảy múa kia, nhìn như những người điên trong mắt của những người không bao giờ nghe nhạc”

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Nguyễn Thị Phương Trâm | Old, how much aging is old? (148)

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 […]

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PROSE

Nguyễn Thị Phương Trâm | just a thought (146)

By Nguyễn Thị Phương Trâm Only a man would think he can’t be fucked! Gosh, the irony! NB. The great philosophers in the old days preferred young men to women, since women were dirty, they bleed.

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PROSE

Nguyễn Thị Phương Trâm | an odd European holiday experience? (143)

By Nguyễn Thị Phương Trâm A guy in a full charcoal suit begged – look I’ll pay you a hundred. I was on holiday in London, and was on the receiving end of that call. – please, two hundred, two fifty. There was a long silence, as we agreed. Holding onto the hundred years old […]

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PROSE

Nguyễn Thị Phương Trâm | a full circle of us (142)

Did someone wise say – when you close your eyes, you’re totally alone… or the like.

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EDITORIAL

Nguyễn Thị Phương Trâm | Learning a new language – Học một ngôn ngữ mới (139)

Bạn thích, bạn yêu, thì thế giới này là của bạn./

If you enjoy it, love it, then the world is your oyster.

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PROSE

Alexander Solzhenitsyn | The writing on the wall

Nếu như những kẻ ác cứ âm thầm làm việc ác thì chúng ta cần phải gom chúng lại (ra) khỏi chúng ta và tiêu diệt chúng. Nhưng con đường phân chia (khác nghĩa với chia sẻ nha) giữa thiện và ác cắt ngang ngay giữa trái tim của mỗi chúng ta, và liệu ai trong chúng ta sẽ tự tay bóp nát một mảnh trái tim của mình?

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PROSE

Nguyễn Thị Phương Trâm | Depression (139)

What is depression, it’s like the wind the rain, it’s there but one can never touch it! Depression has no reason to be sad, sad is sad, sad to the bone, sad enough for the want of death!

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ART PROSE

Nguyễn Thị Phương Trâm | BOO 2

By Nguyễn Thị Phương Trâm The human mind is an extraordinary thing, it transcends the imagination. It stores our anguish and infinite desire, but will you allow it to be more? I’m pondering the poem Boo wrote a couple of years back. Boo and I have a couple of things in common, we are loyal […]

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PHOTOGRAPHY PROSE

Nguyễn Thị Phương Trâm | Mothers (134)

We will never grow old in sight of our mother. The tears of sadness and joy lingers as salt pools in the corner of her eyes in the days of tomorrow.

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PROSE

Nguyễn Thị Phương Trâm | An Autumn nap (124)

By Nguyễn Thị Phương Trâm  An autumn afternoon nap, the fan is humming a constant lullaby. Memories of sticking my fingers between the grate of the aluminium cage of the fan, wondering if it would bite or shear the tips of my fingers. I forgot the heat, the mean boy who threatened me with lewd […]