Sometimes, when I walk around Can Tho, I will notice an older man or woman look at me differently than the younger generation does. Their gaze is piercing. They are studying my every move. They don't seem curious, but rather, resentful. And I wonder if my face reminds them of someone they once knew; someone who was taken away from them by someone else who looked like me.
Below is a link to a website of letters from Vietnam, written by young and old soldiers alike. They are not letters composed by Vietnamese veterans, simply because I can't find any translated into English. But after reading a few of these recounts of irreconcilable ravage, I am deeply disconcerted to consider this fact: so many innocent men, women and children of all ages were forced to witness the goings-on of these events. And that makes me wonder just how, only 30-some years after the last battle was fought, I now find myself in this country who bows its humble head to the superpower that once drained it of every life and resource possible.