Is There Any Road Without A Fork?

As a child I usually abandoned my nap to sneak into the garden and, to avoid being discovered by my parents, would wriggle through the hibiscus fence to the shortcut leading to my friend’s house. A small path hidden among the trees led to my friend’s house hidden in the middle of a green garden, with flowers blooming all year and especially the scent of jasmine. She had everything I needed: a shelf full of stories from East to West, stacks of magazines for children and teenagers, candies, chess and seahorse games. She taught me how to play Western chess with different rules to the Chinese chess that I had learnt from my father. I was surprised to see that the queen is the most powerful piece on the Western board, whilst Chinese chess is completely devoid of this queen. On the Western board, the king and queen share power and move freely, but the king of Chinese chess can move only in a square. From chess, my mind wandered into stories in the literary world far from reality. One day I decided never to confine my life to a closed square like an Eastern chess king. I want to be free like a Western chess queen.

At 17, awaiting a fierce college entrance exam which could determine my destiny, I wondered who I was. I saw the faces of women tired by hiding their desire to be themselves, in order to please others. People forcing themselves to survive rather than living a happy, full life. I panicked about my bleak future: a degree, a job for life, kids before 30 and the rest of my life struggling to make ends meet. I decided to look for a happy life, and stepped onto a winding road to find my dream, covered by the fog of confusion, social norms and youthful loneliness. I trusted my inner voice, ignoring the objections to my dream of becoming a writer.

I travel to gain experiences for my stories; a scribe for my characters. I cycled from Vietnam to London with a Scotsman, making my family not proud, but ashamed and worried about their unwed daughter. They could not stop me embarking on a journey without a return date and hardships I had never before experienced: camping in a Xinjiang desert, seeing my first snowfall on a summer’s day in Kyrgyzstan, surviving my brake failing on a high Pass, and stepping on this immense world filled with compassion and kindness. The road was extremely winding, over 15,000km, with physical difficulties less heavy than the mental fatigue.

I was also fortunate to fulfil another of my younger dreams: to discover Western education. Unfortunately the world turned upside down with Covid. Even in a land with hundreds dying every day I felt fortunate to be with those who believe in my precarious path to becoming a writer.

After graduation, I embarked into the life of an immigrant. Language, my power in Vietnamese, turns into a strange weakness whenever I rummage for English and eliminates me from my favourite job. I grabbed the chance of working as a hotel receptionist as my lifebelt to survive and explore Scotland. Whenever I dragged myself out of bed and cycled alone in the darkness of bleak winter to go to work, a flood of thoughts invaded my mind, ‘Oh Ngan, what are you doing with your life?’ Edinburgh slept as I tried my best to calm my fragile mind. Racism. Discrimination. A piece of my dream shattered whenever a story rejection-slip arrived. Everything challenged my resilience. Working four, eleven-hour shifts at the hotel had my mind spinning. Whenever a sentence with mixed English and Vietnamese came on my tongue, I needed a break and to stay away from humans. I went to the GP for a blood-test; was this long-Covid or work fatigue as I had never felt so weak before. Nothing wrong with my blood. My favourite place in Edinburgh was not the castle or Calton hill, where I often went for a short walk during my break from work, but a bench in Victoria park. I sat on that bench, crying, during my first days in this city, trying to persuade myself that everything would be ok; that life is a chess game with everything a significant move.

Living in Glasgow is another move, I am waiting for life to play its game with me. Everyday I walk to work with a peaceful mind, through green leaves and falling petals. I realise how I miss cycling to work in Edinburgh on those days when the moon, the sun and I chased each other in the gentle breeze of early morning. Life, please be gentle to me like the wide smile and warm hug of a female American guest leaving the hotel, knowing that our paths would never cross again.

Looking back, I am thankful for the paths I have taken, winding with unexpected turns and making me stronger and happier chasing my dreams. I thank myself for being strong and brave enough to follow the call of my heart; to be the queen of my childhood chess game, to master the gambit of my destiny. Without popping into my friend’s house perhaps I would have followed the footsteps of many women in my village along the path to the sugarcane fields. Whether the path of my life or a walk every summer afternoon in a land far from Vietnam, is there any road without a fork?