Cha and Mẹ waited for me to come home. No matter how late, they will stay up and wait for me. When I come through the door they will ask how my day is, how my health is, and if I’m hungry.
I have been under the weather, and today as I put my things away, Mẹ greeted me and said she had hủ tiếu ready for me to eat. The hot pork broth, slightly chewy rice noodles (or vermicelli noodles), slices of pork, shrimp, crunchy beansprouts, and aromatic hẹ (Chinese flat leaved chives) left me feeling warm and calm after such an emotional night.
Lately, a few challenges and hardships have hit my family, but my parents remain optimistic and remind me to persist through struggle for the people and things you believe in and love. Both my parents are boat refugees from the Vietnam War, and my father is also a survivor of the Cambodian Genocide. Their life has been a constant struggle, but they remain faithful to their core beliefs: to work hard for what you want, to love constantly, to give generously, and to have hope.
It does not matter how many hours they had worked that day, what frustrations they had encountered, what losses have been dealt in their path—my parents believe there is still so much to look forward to and that tomorrow is a new day.
My mother’s hủ tiếu tasted familiar like the dozens upon dozens of bowls I had growing up, but tonight, it tasted just a little extra special. Maybe the added crushed black pepper added a tint of smokiness, the romaine lettuce she added in gave it a little more crunch, or the rice noodles gave the soup more body and filling this time—I couldn’t put a finger on it.
The night continued with Korean Dramas dubbed in Vietnamese (a pleasure/habit my parents share) and small conversations about life. When the show was over, my parents kissed me goodnight and told me to go to bed soon. As they walked away, I realized their company and optimistic spirits even through these difficult times, made tonight’s hủ tiếu the best I ever had.
Con cảm ơn Cha Mẹ.
