My grandmother told me that during that fateful trip of a talented couple, there were also painter Doan Chau couple – also a close friend of my stepfather. That day, Mr. Luu Quang Vu intentionally wanted to go to Hai Phong with painter Doan Chau to meet his stepfather, talk about the theater, and want him to be the director of the staging of the (later) play. “You are not my father” sound. However, on the way back to Hanoi, on the main highway 5 near Hai Duong, the wheel of destiny turned around. It is true that the ‘fate’ because of that accident has deprived the couple of Xuan Quynh – Luu Quang Vu, and their child (Mi), while the couple of painter Doan Chau is at peace. the.
At this point, I’m also flipping through the online articles about it, just blaming the driver, the woman walking on the road …, there are even some bullshit ‘conspiracy theories’ that say This is an ‘assassination’ aimed at the king of drama who is writing the truth into the burning problems of society. Never mentioned the name of his stepfather. At that time, no one blamed him for the accident, the grandmother said, but he must blame himself a lot. After hearing the story, I also felt that what I wondered several times from the dim memories before my step-grandfather died was somewhat clearer. Why is he a people’s artist, the head of a Hai Phong troupe, but his stepfather left the theater stage and turned to making a TV series like that? Perhaps now I understand part of the reason.
How many people mourn for Xuan Quynh-Luu Quang Vu. But no one mourned for my stepfather, nor could anyone pull him out of harm. And there is no greater repentance than that. Perhaps until the end of his bleak artist life. In the last years of his life, when he suffered from lung cancer, when the next generation of artists under his tutelage did not care about him despite ‘acting’ very deep in the funeral, my uncle only one soul mate regularly corresponded until his death. None other than painter Doan Chau, who probably shared a similar regret.
As I wrote these lines in the middle of Istanbul airport at 5am when I had just arrived in transit, I was also filled with feelings of repentance about what happened during a summer month back to Vietnam. About promises that have yet to be fulfilled, about mistakes with no chance of redemption left, about statements that cannot be put into words.
About a girl I realized late, how important she was to herself.
The more I tried to fix things, the deeper I dug the chasm between us. The more I tried to confess, the more I said stupid things, and made her eyes tinged with depression.
You’re too tired, the last words, when I’m about to board the plane.
I’m tired then just rest, let the open wound still have a day to close. As for me, I still have to continue on my way, completing the unfinished things. Either way, I will still have to tell myself that there is no great repentance like what my stepfather had to go through. It is not regret, because regret can do nothing but gnaw on the past and then hurt.