NOVEMBER 1998
John Locke said that it’s neither the body nor the soul that constitutes the self. Personal identity, according to him, is founded upon the “same continued consciousness", or memory. My earliest memory was kneeling between my parents in a room full of people in white mourning clothes and catching a glimpse of my aunt sobbing her heart out. Her anguished face and loud, continuous cry kept coming back to my mind as a child. I don't know why I never asked anyone about it until many years later. But I finally found out that it was on my granddad’s funeral, which took place only a few days before my second birthday.
NOVEMBER 2001
My first house move. I remember taking a doll with me and, not sure what the motive was, ripping off a few calendar sheets to put in my trouser pocket, before hoping on my mum’s green motor scooter, sitting stably behind her back and ready to travel. I remember it being a long journey between the golden rice fields , under the wide and open sky. At first it was calm, but then the wind blew. The calendar sheets fell out of my pocket and flew far away. There was nothing to be done. Even if I had asked my mum to stop, we wouldn’t have found them. I remember feeling upset about that, but not how much or for how long.
At a later point in life, I found out that my first and second home were very close to each other. The journey couldn’t have been more than five minutes. And there was no rice field in my city.
NOVEMBER 2004
At age 8, I started taking after-school English lessons. Unlike the organ class that I quitted only after two sessions, I actually found learning English fun enough. That was until one day, the teacher gave us a huge number of new words to memorise. She showed us how to make flashcards, the English word on one side, the translation on the other, to help us study at home. Thinking about making the flashcards only made me feel more overwhelmed, so much that I cried miserably to my mom afterwards that it was too much, that I could never possibly remember all the words, that I didn’t know what to do.
My mom said that she would talk to the teacher about it to comfort me, even though I don’t know if she ever did. I don’t remember what happened next. But I don’t remember feeling that much dread ever again. Either I increasingly felt more in control of my life over time and realised my ultimate power to make choices in any circumstances, or due to irreversible hormonal changes during puberty.
NOVEMBER 2009
Everyday at 2.45pm, the school drum would be struck three times to announce the 15-minute break, or “giờ ra chơi” in Vietnamese. That meant it’s time the students were supposed to get out of the classrooms and hang out with their friends after one and a half hours of studying. But there I was, still sitting at my desk, alone, again, numbingly listening to the noise from the ceiling fan. Each passing second was another moment of no significance or consequence whatsoever. As I looked up at the dusty circling fan, I suddenly got bizarrely angry that my brain had shed countless moments like these from my memory. “Not this time”, I swore to myself that I would always remember THIS. I was willing to let go of all the big moments or any other detail of my life, as long as THIS – this specific afternoon, how loud the fan sounds when no one else is around, those thoughts that I have – as long as THIS would never disappear from my memory.
I haven’t disappointed my 13-year-old self. I think I remember what she wanted me to. Even though I must say that to me, it does feel a bit silly to grumble about such a reasonable function of the brain.
NOVEMBER 2010
There were a lot of compulsory national and regional writing competitions in secondary school. One was about expressing your love for the capital city, which I said that I hadn’t visited and went on to write about my own city. Another one was to raise awareness about traffic safety. I made up a heartbreaking story about an accident that killed the mother and left a motherless child, which won a regional prize.
A few people told me that the story made them cry. It shouldn’t have been a surprise. There was death and stuffs, and I was deliberately dramatising every sentence. But gradually I started to feel really weird about people shedding tears over something I made up last minute only because I had to and without any emotions involved.
So I decided that I would never create anything that make others cry again.
Even now, what I prefer is people not feeling anything - not having any emotional response to my works. Yes, that is the ideal scenario.
APRIL 2014
I came to England to do A-levels in a school for international students. They put me in an accommodation with other Vietnamese girls. Inevitably, there were many sessions of hours-long chatting after classes.
In one of those sessions, I don’t remember what was talked about beforehand, but I claimed that one can’t remember feelings. One can remember the events, one can know that the feeling did happen, one can describe it, but one can’t recall that particular feeling of pain or of happiness itself. The girl I was talking to paused for a moment, touched the scar on her knee, I assumed to examine what I said, then hesitantly agreed with me.
Her hesitant agreement strengthened my belief. But recently I read a memoir that makes me wonder if there are people who can actually recall or relive a feeling from the past, not just experiencing new emotions triggered by thinking about what happened.
Just like I often have problems telling whether I like or dislike a juice flavour or a chocolate brand even if I have had them several times, while many people never have this problem. Perhaps memory does work differently for each person.
APRIL 2018
I made my first documentary “A belated study of the Morecambe Bay tragedy” in the final year of university as the practical project to go with my dissertation.
The graders kindly gave me favourable feedback with suggestions for improvement. One of it was that I should have introduced myself and my background at the beginning of the film, because it could be confusing to hear a third-person narration with an accent.
I haven’t recorded any third-person narration since then. I don’t think it’s because of the feedback. I just haven’t been thinking about much else but myself.
APRIL 2021
I’m pretty sure I never made any flashcard to learn English words. But I spent so many hours in English classes and a 2-hour lesson with a native speaking teacher cost my parents £20 ten years ago. Sometimes I can’t help but feel entitled to the English language even more than my mother tongue, which I acquired effortlessly.
Anyway, first, I need to earn enough money to be financially independent. Growing up privileged and sheltered, I didn’t know that it would be this difficult. When that is achieved, (and if I’m still alive), I will start preparing for my death.