Missing Face

I was born with one parent, so I always look for the other missing face in my reflection in the mirror. I search for that missing face, but memory is unfair sometimes. My dad died during his voyage to America in a boat accident before I was born; my mom was pregnant with me, so she stayed behind in Vietnam. I have no pictures of him; the only picture I have is in my mind when my mom tells his stories. I wish everyday that I have memories of my father to share with people, but the worst thing about losing a loved one is not knowing who he is.

We have all lost someone, and we are all in search of people whom we can share our stories with. Every time I share a story, build a friendship, make a connection, or open myself up to someone, I am taking a risk of being hurt, creating pain, or endangering my trust. However, talking to people who I do not know well made it easier for me to share my personal experiences. Good people listen patiently with caring eyes, and I in turn listen to people with my whole mind and body. We found that we are very alike in personality and in life experiences. The most aesthetic element of being human is to be able to understand, even if we are two strangers.

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