Lingering


When honey moon is over, people are faced with bills, kids crawl and cry, temptation to compare with alternate spousal choices.

My Dad went through that struggle. I have gone through the same.

Lingering legacy.

Unintended consequences.

The result: my half-sister and me.

What to do and what to say.

Same chromosome, but with a slightly different cut of the same cloth.

I don’t hate her.

Just don’t know what to make of Dad’s lingering legacy.

Staring at me in the face.

Reminding me of my own helplessness.

Of hours spent in agony and even envy (she got more attention, a fact that did not escape my mom’s scrutiny).

Now, both of my parents have passed away.

But me and my half-sister are still here, sitting next to each other at a relative’s wedding.

What to do with each other, and what to say?

Where do you work now? while spinning the Lazy Susan.

The gay singer kept changing his tune and his voice (female then male alternate).

I turned around a few times just to find out it was still the same singer of many voices.

Cost-cutting measures.

Vietnam is better off now. The evidence shows in the proliferation of wedding reception halls to meet a young demographic demand.

No more lingering effect of the war here.

Just married.

Just do it.

No legacy, no lingering. No regret.

I was a bit under-dressed for the occasion. Given the long limo outside and the horse carriage.

Oh well, who would have guessed it’s time to wear a tux here in Vietnam.

But then, who would have thought I could be back here to begin with. Back then, the Chinese in Cho Lon cornered the wedding catering market: just Dong Khanh and A Dong. Go to the left or to the right but same kitchen. Now, it’s live video coverage, cut to live entrance.

Here comes the bride.

All radiant and ready. If only the couple doesn’t shop around any more. If only they leave not a lingering legacy like my Dad’s.

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