Shin-i

Me…!

Authors: Shin-i ( Huyen Vu )
Translations: Drake89 ( brethren )


Me…!

Me.
Before my wisdom was competent enough to disapprove of it, my presence was already made. Perhaps that is my tragedy for life. Or life’s fortune? In reality, whether one’s existence a tragedy or comedy, it’s still an unrest question. For me myself, what will my future turn out to be? Is it the weirdo that determine all, or a vague I?
Future! For me it’s a big question. And past! It’s a prolonged exclamation. How am I going to dictate my life? Perhaps it should be wheel of destiny to decide. “Yesterday is history, tomorrow is mystery, today is a gift; that’s why we call it present.” Sunshine helps day to end night, and night replaces day with darkness. At such moments we are honest with ourselves and with others, but can we ever have the answer to “Who am I?” Reflecting on yourself, have you ever wonder who you are? Am I a passing wind in the sky? Or a cooling rain of the barren land? Or just simply ‘me’? Sometimes no one knows who they are even after years of living, and sometimes they just can’t comprehend their own ‘me’. “When I think, I am present. Only when I’m busy with my thought can I perceive my presence in this world. However, does that presence mean anything? That is another story.” Rousseau was correct.


The common ‘me’ has so many debatable issues, such as that of the woman in Kieu Story, of the army man in How the Steel Was Tempered, or the miserable ‘me’ of the poor Hunchback of the Notre Dame, etc. The thousands individual ‘me’ are refined to a common ‘me’. All are worth noticing, but for me, what does it mean? What is my ‘me’ worth talking about? Will I ever deserve Eptusenko’s poem: “Nothing should be deemed dumb, since every destiny poses a part of the history.”?



I was once told that: “Each of us is a wonder created by the nature. There is only one single way to actualize your dream – to try your best, to always keep in mind what you wish for, and to make the best efforts in your life.” The thing is, is that really what their ‘me’ are thinking? Do they ever sense the feeling of failure despite efforts? Have they ever tasted the bitterness of tears? Maybe they have, maybe they are experienced, and maybe they have been through all those feelings. But, are all miseries the same for every ‘me’? Each ‘me’ has its own private world, and their secrets of success are the same? Please, don’t every claim it is splendour while you don’t actually understand, because, simply, to live means to have to live. The ‘me’ exists right inside you.



I have read a story about a woman who “engaged myself in every corner of the streets”. Sometimes I wonder: “Who am I?” Stages of everyone’s life are like pages of a novel; however, if the novel of my life is written, will millions of souls move to tears? Ultimate despair and uttermost love. The greedy, the selfish ‘me’ is totally useless in this in this jumbled life. I know I’m only a little girl who every day waits for mother to come home with hanging baskets then effortlessly looks at her eyes, a girl with imperfect love for the father who always loves her. A girl of 16 years old. What does my ‘me’ know and what can she do? Is my ‘me’ grown up enough to step into the life full of my parents’ tears? Me… Me… Me…!



I am only a tiny grain of sand among the boundless desert, a wandering breeze along the sky that desires to but pointlessly relieve the pain of every human carnation. And I still wonder: “Who am I?”



When I was a small, thoughtless child, I used to love chasing soap bubbles. But when I grew up, the game of old time has become my own unrelenting obsession. Chasing the colourful dreamy bubbles to make it burst upon touching. Since then, I suddenly realized that I was a defected note with incomplete sound and deficient meanings, a missed note in the chorus of the bleeding summer and dying winter. What does my ‘me’ panic of?



Interval of ‘me’? Is it that every ‘me’ has their own interval? The interval inside ‘me’ is raging. Why? With the topic “Me” delivered by the teacher only. I wonder what each ‘me’ has. Will I, one of the small students sitting over here, ever have the full feelings inside? ‘Me’ at such an unstable feelings and thinking. Just don’t mention such unusual ‘me’, because I’m thinking about what ‘me’ my teacher was implying. Do all adults know their own ‘me’?



My ‘me’ is unique in this life. My ‘me’ is growing up. Perhaps it will be tiring later, but I cannot quit. So I think, what will it matter if I identify my ‘me’ when I’m not yet grown up? The future is a big question for an incomplete ‘me’!



Me…!




Don’t ask who I am

A dried life of thousand days

Wandering and drifting like cloud

Blown by wind to thousand ways

In which way will I rest in peace?


Don’t ask who I am

A withering flower before blooming

With frail appearance against hardship

Dreamy love spreads all over dying dawn

The leaning ship of heart pours out all of its love