Thu Maung - Letter from Beijing

1950. 

September. 

On the 25th.

A small village nestled among the mountains of Vermont.

I was born in this village. I have been happy in this village all my childhood. I never expected to cross the ocean and go to a foreign land forever. I thought there was no point in leaving the village I loved. However, I once reached a time when I considered the city of my beloved as my own. If I loved him, I would also love his city and his village. I loved him. So I had to cross the ocean. I followed my beloved. I was happy in his city and his beloved's place. How strange!

But what was even more amazing was the unexpected event of my lover's embrace, crossing the sea again and returning to my native land. At that time, I never thought that I would suddenly be separated from the embrace of my lover, whom I had already enjoyed. As an honest and ordinary person, I thought that if I loved him and he loved me, there would be no reason for us to be separated. However, love is a personal feeling for each individual. "Truth" is something that makes most people feel the same way at the same time.

When the war broke out, I returned as a foreigner from my beloved country and was forced to return to my hometown of Vermont, a situation that still haunts me to this day.

The little alleyway, covered with sugar cane trees like a canopy, is the most famous alleyway in our little Vermont village. I walked along it for about half an hour and met the little postman, Myr Nat Maung. It was a happy coincidence. The postman only came to our little village post office three times a week on Sundays. It was thanks to the little postman, Myr Nat Shin, that we could get “letters” to our little village, a tiny speck in the Vermont mountains, three times a week. That is why I was so grateful that I got up early three days a week. I did not see getting up early in the morning as a problem. Even if I had to stay up all night waiting for the morning to come, I could not stay up. If I had hope, I could live without sleeping at night. The three days a week that the postman comes are the days when a “letter” from my lover, who is far away, can arrive. For me, it is a joy to wait for the “letter” of my lover, the words of my lover, the gifts of my lover, the sweetest kisses of my lover, like a child. However, these “letters” are very difficult to reach me. It is very difficult to reach my small village in the mountains of Vermont, let alone my country, “America.”

Because the letters from my lover I was expecting were from Beijing, China.

It had been months since the last letter from my boyfriend, "Jerry." But I still went to the postman three days a week, early in the morning, with great anticipation. But every day, when I didn't get the letter I was hoping for from the postman, I would come home feeling so depressed that I didn't want to do anything.

Today was worth the wait. It was worth the wait. When I met him, the postman, just like me, was there with a happy smile, ready to deliver a letter from my lover.

"Oh.. Oh.. This is the letter I've been waiting for so long."

I was so happy that I opened the letter in front of him. Then I remembered and waited with a "gratitude" until the postman left, thinking, "This postman is not going to go fast."

The sugarcane tree was so beautiful to sit and read. The autumn morning sun was shining on me. I opened the envelope with trembling hands. It wasn’t because I was afraid. I knew he wouldn’t write me anything to worry about. He had never done anything to worry me. I love him, didn’t he? He loved me too. We loved each other very much. I will always love him. But why do my hands tremble? The autumn wind was blowing. The leaves from the sugarcane tree were falling and rustling around me. I heard his voice. The autumn wind was his breath.

Dear love

Before I write about the things I have to write about, let me remind you not to forget that “I love you the most.” No matter what you are doing right now, don't forget that I love you the most in the world.

If you don't receive any more letters from me, know this: My heart is still writing to you. My lover's letter began with these lovely words. I knew what he was going to write after reading them. But I kept reading the letter over and over again until I finished it. All the way home, Jerry's voice echoed in my ears.

When "Reni" goes to school, our house is always quiet. Now "Reni" has gone to school. I am happy.

I want to be alone right now.

I sat down at the writing table in my room. I had put the letter from my lover in the silver box as usual and locked it. Please let me forget my lover's letter for a moment. My heart was beating so fast, my heart was so heavy.

This morning, I woke up early, just like every other morning. The farmers in our village, like the farmers in China, go to bed at sunset and wake up at 4 a.m. But since I married Jerry, I have been going to bed late. Jerry loves the quiet when everyone else is asleep. When we lived in China with Jerry, our little house was very lovely. When the sun went down, all the noise from the street would die down, and only the occasional melody would drift over the brick wall in front of our yard. The person who created this melody was a merchant named “Mr. Huo Wa,” who lived in the house next to our silk shop. In the summer, Jerry and I would sit under the pine tree by the pond where the goldfish were kept, and we would talk in the breeze. At that time, we also take our son, Reni, with us. Not when the children are sleeping. “Reni” is our only son. The daughter we had died when she was a little girl.

In those days, in the morning, my daughter was playing and laughing, but in the evening, she suddenly became very upset and separated from me. We don't know what disease she died of. We are sad. Compared to the sadness that Jerry caused, the sadness that my daughter caused was small.

I was still grieving and mourning for a long time after my daughter's death. The baby was not born for a long time. But when I saw Jerry's grief, I could control myself. Jerry had been bedridden for months. Jerry, who had once been so thin and tall, was now nothing but a skeleton. The grief for his daughter brought tears to my eyes.