During my stay in Saigon this kid was a fairly constant presence in our house. We called her “Be” (pronounced Be-ah), which means “baby” in Vietnamese. It’s often an endearment for the youngest in the family.
This kid has tiny piece of my heart.
She’s the kind of little girl that chatted at you all the time whether you spoke the language or not. Often her tone was serious and intent, interrupted periodically by giggles. She could have entire one-sided conversations with you for eons. She had confidence. And she had things to say.
Every day when I got home I would go to my bedroom, sit on the bed, lean back against the headboard and open my laptop to start downloading and sorting through photos in order to prep my camera for the next day. This is a process that could take a little time. Within minutes she would make her way into the room, sit next to me on the bed (usually smack dab in the middle regardless of the pile of decorative pillows—she just shoved them aside) and start channel surfing the TV looking for cartoons or Chinese soap operas. Sometimes she talked to me, sometimes we just shared space and did our own thing.
Sometimes she was a six year old kid, but most of the time she was a forty year old woman trapped in a little girl’s body.
And she absolutely cracked me up.
This view … the one of her running towards me with that big grin … was the one I saw the most and it never failed to make me smile.
And physically brace myself for the dramatic hug that I was about to receive.