The center was alive and crowded today. Many of the children had finally returned and we had all reunited with one another. The three new orphans had assimilated well, becoming instant friends and family members of the center. I learned a lot today, asking many many questions about the center and getting to know the children more than ever.
As I said in the last post, I slept well the last night, not suffering from any nightmares, other than some of the common bumps that occur in the night. Getting up at around six thirty, I freshened myself up, noticing that the red mark on my neck had faded (a good sign?), and then I went to hang up my wet laundry from the night before. I greeted my brothers and sisters sitting out near the entrance to their houses up near my room, chatting amongst themselves. They asked me if I saw anything last night. "Nope, nothing" I said, smiling at them. "Liar! Your room is haunted! I know it!" said one of them. Nearly all the students believe in ghosts, so I decided that this was the day to figure it out, but I saved all the questions for the night. Today was a big day for the students who had just taken the entrance examinations for their selected universities. These students included: Yen, Lan Anh, Van, Duy, Ly, and Tam. All of them were anxious and nervous about their scores, which basically decide whether or not they get accepted. I would not find out the results until lunch time.
My uncle showed up about thirty minutes later than he told, causing for us to eat a quick breakfast. We actually did not meet up with my aunt's family like we planned, as they had gone home or had been sleeping at this time. He took to a small outdoor restaurant, specializing in a dish called Ca Lau My, which was essentially a egg noodle soup with dumplings and meats. It was delicious, just like about everything else I've eaten thus far. Sometimes my brothers will ask me if I can eat this or that, and the answer is usually "yes, I've eaten that before." Being raised in a family that fed me primarily Vietnamese food my whole life, everything here was either normal or delicacies. Returning with about three minutes before class, I gathered my materials and headed off to teach the high school-aged children.
The class was much more populated than before, now that the children who ran off on vacation had returned. It was refreshing to see more faces in class, though, being two weeks without keeping in touch with the lessons, makes it rather difficult to allow the other students to catch up. Nevertheless, I started the class off with grammar and pronunciation, which lasted up to the first hour. The students from Quoc Hoc, the most prestigious high school in central Vietnam, joined us for the class, having just finished their testing and their summer break back at their home villages. They were quite the intelligent group of students, those three, Yen, Van, and Lan Anh. Van lived in the older boys house, while Yen and Lan Anh lived in the older girls house, named Anh Dao. What I learned today that surprised me was that these three students were actually not orphans, but students picked from the high school to live with the center, as the high school has a relationship with the center. Therefore, I was fooled by my lack of knowledge into thinking that one of the orphans had entered such a prestigious school. The three joined the center about three years ago or so, now full fledged members of the family that the center shelters. Helping with orphans or not, the center has definitely impressed me, showing me the broad range of people that it does support, and also the network that it has internationally and also to the community. After all, the center is known as a center for children. Anyways, the rest of the class after the first hour of drills focused on presentations from each of the students to the class, giving introductions in English to get to know one another. When I finally left the class, Yen, pronounced Ee-en, decided to join me on my walk back towards my room. "Today we can look up our test results for the universities that we applied to," she told, "but I don't want to, I'm too nervous about what the result might be." "Don't worry, you did fine, I already checked your English exam and you got over 94% correct" I said, trying to cheer her up (as I said in earlier post that she scored the third highest on the Baccalaureate exams in the whole city of Hue). ""We'll see" she said, and ran off back to her house to get ready to cook lunch for her sisters. She was one of the few children of the center able to speak to me fluently in English, a skill of which she attributes to one of her teachers at her high school. After dropping my stuff off, the time being around 10:30 AM or so, I walked over to meet and greet all the brothers at the Thanh Truc house.
They were all crowded in front of the computer, talking amongst each other, and pointing at the screen. What could they be doing? Oh, of course. Van, one of the Quoc Hoc students, had taken out the laptop of one of the older brothers, Than, and was looking up the test scores of all the students that had tested, including himself. I popped my head in and followed along. The way the testing works for university admission is that for each university in Vietnam, the students have to be tested in three different subjects, all specific to what career or academic field they wish to enter. For each test, they can score up to a maximum of 10 points, for a maximum of 30 points counting all three of the exams that they take per university. After counting the scores of the all the test takers, the university admits, top down, the highest scorers of the examinations, not taking into account high school GPAs, extracurriculars, or anything else - everything counts on just the test scores. I expressed to them my sadness over how difficult it was to enter universities in Vietnam, many of the students agreeing, but saying that it is the way it is, and they have no choice but to participate in the system. Out of the six, Van and Yen both were one hundred percent confident that they were admitted, Van being ranked the 57th highest scorer in his exam division, and Yen being ranked 2nd in her division, missing Valedictory status for college admission by just one point (she was asleep at the time we were looking at the test scores and she had not looked at her score yet). What I learned later on that day was that scholarships were only awarded to the top handful of students who scored the highest on the exams, while everyone else had to find other means to pay for college. Tam, Ly, Thuy, and Lan Anh were not sure, their scores being on the fence of admission after comparing their scores with last years scores of admission. Many of them were within a point or half a point of admission. I could feel their anxiety, Lan Anh even expressing some sadness and uncertainty over her score, especially because she decided to take her examinations in Saigon, instead of Hue, like the rest of her brothers and sisters. The official letters of acceptances will be mailed out within a month, and now is the waiting game. Quickly after, I went down to have my lunch with the Ngoc Lanh house, all of them waiting just for me to finally begin eating. It was a filling meal, and I stuck around to talk to the children. After about a half hour or so, I went back up to my room to nap and get ready for the next class.
The primary school children were up today, this time with an even bigger class. We had three new students show up, swelling the class to about eight children. We worked on pronunciation and vocabulary for most of the class, me trying my best to remember names, and also assess the English proficiency of the new students. During the break inbetween the two hours of class, Ni, the 2nd grader told me that her whole family was Laotian, and that her father left her family, and she had only her mother left, who decided to take her to the center and return to Laos with the rest of her family. Being Laotian, but being raised of the Vietnamese culture really intrigued me, so I actually looked up the situation between Laos and Vietnam on the internet, finding that there is actually a decent number of Laotian immigrants/descendants living in Vietnam. Ni just happens to be one of them. Upon finishing the class, I met up with Eva, of whom was walking back to the main office of the center. She told me that today there was going to be a party for Mrs. Tao, who recently got married, and this was her goodbye ceremony as well. "So who will replace her?" I asked, concerned. "We already have a mother ready, and she will come on Monday, with Mrs. Tao leaving on Sunday to join her husband" she replied in her French-English accent. I asked her the maximum number of children the center could hold, and she said that it could hold up to 60 children, but, due to the lack of a mother for one of houses, the current number is up to 45 children (not including the adults, baking school students, and staff). By this time, many of the children were setting up the common room, moving tables, cleaning, and preparing themselves by wearing their newly delivered clothes today.
I noticed a middle-aged man pushing a cart full of food up towards the center (a hill leads up to the common room, as well as all the rest of the buildings of the center past the first three houses for the younger children). I ran down and helped him push it up, seeing the strain in his face. By now, many of the students had started to head up, all except for the older brothers, who decided to go down and play a game of soccer, to which the victors would win ice cream. At last, all sixty five of us, about everyone in the center, plus a view invited guests, entered the common room, which at this point had been set up full of food for us.
At last it begun, all of sitting around our tables, eager to eat, but also share our feelings for Mrs. Tao, who had been a mother for the children at the center for over ten years. Mrs. Hong, the director of the center, started off with a speech, addressing Mrs. Tao and thanking her for her service for the center. Within five minutes into her speech, Mrs. Tao wailed and teared up, having to leave the room for a bit. Everything was quiet. We all felt it, sorrow and sadness over losing someone in the family, especially one of the mothers of the children. I too, despite not being a child of the center, felt the pain that Mrs. Tao was feeling, though at the time I didn't know what to say to her until I met her again later that night while I was playing with the children. When she finally reentered the room, Mrs. Hong continued the ceremony, summoning up all the houses to give their gifts, songs to sing for Mrs. Tao, and, speeches by some of the children about their feelings. Ron from the older boys house, Dao, who lives in the Phung Vi house that Mrs. Tao mothers, also went up, along with many others. They expressed messages of sadness, but also reminded us that the world was small and that we would meet one another again, and also that she would always be welcomed to the center to visit. One speech that really struck my heart came from Ni, the little Laotian seven year old, who I have seen is one of the closest children to Mrs. Tao, almost like her very own daughter. Ni walked up to the front of the room, a microphone in her hand. Mrs. Tao immediately took her eyes away from Ni, trying not to look at her as she spoke to her, fearing that she would burst out crying again. Ni spoke slowly, telling Mrs. Tao her love and how much she would miss her, and also to not be sad, and that she (Ni) would always love her. She ended her speech with "I love you mom," which silenced the whole room, which at that point had been feeling just as sad as Mrs. Tao. Mrs. Tao trembled, holding in her tears, as Ni walked past her back to her seat (Ni did not cry throughout the whole event). To stem the sadness, some of the brothers decided to volunteer to sing, erupting the room full of laughter, and the older sisters decided to sing a song in unison, dedicating it to Mrs. Tao. At last, Mrs. Hong invited us to begin eating, and we ate and conversed, talking over the day and enjoying one another's company. It had been a while since the center got together with everyone. Helping clean up and move back furniture, I spent the rest of the day getting to know the children, playing, talking, and even telling horror stories of my past encounters with ghosts.
While I sat in the play area between the houses of the younger children near the entrance of the center, I finally encountered Mrs. Tao, face-to-face. We talked for a short while, me expressing my thanks and sadness for her. I told that I too would probably be struck by emotions when I eventually leave the center, but for her, especially after ten years, the emotions must be describable. She asked me if we would ever be able to see each other again, also if I would visit the children again. "Of course, the world is small, and I do not forget the kindness and love given to me by people of whom I call family," I replied "Maybe in three years after I graduated from college, I will find my way back in Hue to see everyone." "Alright, thank you for all that you do Ben, stick around and play with the children" she said, waving me off, and entering her the Phung Vi house to join some of her children.
I had interesting conversations tonight with children, focused primarily on the topic of ghosts, to which all the children, minus about five individuals, believed in. Even the adults believed, as I was told. The mothers of the center have apparently encountered many over their years at the center. This conversation found its away all across the center, lasting up to two and a half hours of me expressing my disbelief in ghosts, and also talking about the events of the nightmarish night before. What was really interesting during these conversations was that Lan Anh, one of the sisters of the Anh Dao house (which is supposedly the most haunted house in the center) told me that the center was built upon a graveyard, the city of Hue donating the land to the AEVN to create a center for children. Wow. That may explain the chills and anxiety of the children when it comes to sleeping by themselves. "Tonight, a ghost will visit you, you just wait!" said Yen, declaring that because I said I didn't believe, the ghosts would become angry and me and try to attack me. "Okay, sure, we'll see" I replied. It was getting late, the stars filling the sky. It was at last time to go to back to my room and work.
Upon flicking off all the lights to sleep, I took a deep breath and sank into bed, thinking of the day and also happy thoughts (as if to shamelessly ward off evil entities). I slept soundly, nothing occurring out of the ordinary!
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