tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-70721012745493513972024-03-13T10:39:48.851+07:00weekend's presentI proudly present to you my best collection in 10 years back. They are unique articles in economic, business management, business culture, love and lifestyle, ... You can find the best-selling e-books, audio books and magazines in every walk of life to download and listen. There are several short descriptions of famous tourist destinations in Vietnam as a guide for your holidays. Useful resources for studying foreign languages are also available up to your needs. Explore and Experience Now!Unknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger465125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7072101274549351397.post-49155589989318527612009-08-24T09:07:00.003+07:002009-08-24T09:12:34.370+07:00In memory of fallen comrades<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_7S1Dwv_bxL8/SpH2ykVAtcI/AAAAAAAAAp4/3V52a4DxTYI/s1600-h/2009-08-24_091041.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 170px; height: 217px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_7S1Dwv_bxL8/SpH2ykVAtcI/AAAAAAAAAp4/3V52a4DxTYI/s320/2009-08-24_091041.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5373347179035407810" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">by Vu Hong</span><br /><br />At twilight, Mr Bay Triet usually went to the plains of alang grass with a bag over one shoulders. The entire area was dimly lit under the starry sky.<br /><br />There were only nine families in our little hamlet. We were the first clans to settle in this half-wild land heavily polluted with alum water and toxic waste after the liberation of South Viet Nam. I remember that our migration to this locality happened between mid-1978 and the end of that year. Every night, looking out of the small window of our shanty I felt happier than I did in the days we evacuated to and stayed at the township of Kien Hoa for I was able to contemplate swarms of fire flies hovering over the cork plants by the Ba Lai River to my heart’s content. But I soon found it rather boring. You see, we children are very fond of new things at first, then we tire of them in a matter of days!<br /><span class="fullpost"><br />In the daytime, we came under a blazing sun. As far as the eye could see, there stood only a few cork trees and several calophylluses.<br /><br />"This place is full of toxins sprayed by the enemy," Mum told me.<br /><br />"What for, Mum?" I asked her.<br /><br />"To create a no man’s land around Binh Duc Base."<br /><br />"What does no man’s land mean, Mum?"<br /><br />"When you grow up, you’ll understand, my dear."<br /><br />"How stupid you are!" added my elder sister Lien.<br /><br />Adults always say that, "You’ll understand when you grow up" to explain something complicated or delicate to us kiddies.<br /><br />That year I was only a 7th-grader at primary school. Kids at that time knew, in general, far less than those of the corresponding level of today. However, we were quite familiar with military planes and bombardment when the war was still raging in our region.<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="fullpost">* * *</span><br /></div><span class="fullpost"><br />Usually, after dinner I dropped in on Mr Bay Triet. Feeling uneasy with such frequent visits, my sister once whispered into my ears.<br /><br />"Beware of him. He’s mad. Don’t go to his place too often, my dear."<br /><br />"Mad but kind-hearted!" Mum argued. "Have you ever seen him killing a chicken or a duck?"<br /><br />Taking advantage of their negligence, I rushed over the fields to his hut by the river-side.<br /><br />In my eyes, he was not mad at all, just a bit odd. In the dry season, when it was sunny, he usually loitered here and there on the rural path, mumbling something then bursting out laughing. That was all he did: neither harming nor bothering anyone. Even Mrs Sau Long’s pet dog wagged her tail to welcome him when he passed by and he merrily waved his hand in response. In the rainy season, he stayed indoors. In the evening, when the weather was fine, he went out, a bag over his shoulder. Nobody knew where he was going because they were too busy trying to eke out a living on this barren zone.<br /><br />In fact, he had no official name. Bay Triet was only a nickname endearingly given by his neighbours. He lived in a hut by the riverside. In reality it was just a small dilapidated house with a roof made of coconut leaves, walls of mud-daubed slats of bamboo and straw. Some parts had been eroded by rain water, revealing pieces of trellis and straw. He usually wore a faded military uniform with a striped headband and a trunk revealing his yellow legs stained by alum water.<br /><br />The water in these paddy fields was so clear that small fishes could be seen easily. Several of them looked deformed due to Agent Orange. Once I managed to catch some of these queer fish and offered them to him, he flew into a rage. He refused to see me for a long time. He did not smile as he used to.<br /><br />"Our little Ty follows Uncle Bay Triet to catch fish all morning, so now he is neglecting his studies. Now, he is beginning to look as black as a water buffalo," nagged my sister.<br /><br />"It’s his summer vacation," answered Mum. "Anyhow, we should make him accustomed to our rice fields and farming. Your Dad died at Tet in the Year of the Monkey when he was leading his unit into the town of Quang Tri and your two elder brothers laid down their lives in Ba Chuc during a fight against Pol Pot’s troops in Cambodia. In the future I shall need an assistant to care for my farm; what can I do on my own with only one arm," she pleaded.<br /><br />Moved to tears, my sister embraced Mum. Sometimes we asked Uncle Bay Triet to help us plough the field so that we could grow manioc. In exchange, he accepted a little rice, just enough for a meal.<br /><br />Once when I was following him to gather cork I asked him softly: "Where do you come from, Uncle?" Without answering my question, he just stared at me with his vacant eyes then silently climbed up the tree and tossed me several ripe cork fruit. "Beware of the bees, Uncle," I screamed loudly. Suddenly, he plunged into the water. A few seconds he emerged from the muddy water of the stream and smiled broadly. On the sight of his broad smile, I loved him even more.<br /><br />Then came the rainy season, with heavy downpours on and off throughout the day. An opaque veil spread over the paddy fields, and raindrops began falling on his coconut palm-leafed roof. Behind me, Uncle Bay Triet hummed a ditty:<br /><br />It drizzles continuously<br /><br />Making cork trees bloom<br /><br />Girls find husbands<br /><br />Youths find wives<br /><br />And women have children.<br /><br />Finishing the song, he jumped up like a child. I burst into laughing. It was the first time I had enjoyed his singing. "Is it the rain that makes him so happy that he has forgotten himself?" I thought. Finding him in ecstasy I asked him again, "Have you got any children, Uncle?" He shook his head then he told me something about his native village. All of a sudden, he wept bitterly.<br /><br />The day he moved to this half-wild expanse to settle down, our neighbours only knew that he had been imprisoned on Phu Quoc Island for many years. This small 9-household hamlet welcomed him as a compatriot, that’s all.<br /><br />The country path became muddy after just one rainy night. The meadow looked lonely. Suddenly from afar, echoed the sound of several turtle-doves. I reached out my arm to take down the fishing tackle.<br /><br />"You want to go out to play, don’t you?" asked my sister.<br /><br />"No, I’m going fishing."<br /><br />I rushed out at once for fear that Mum might stop me as she was afraid that I might be bitten by snakes.<br /><br />I came to Uncle Bay Triet’s to borrow his fish-basket lid. Suddenly, I heard a cough and a moan. Stepping inside I found him lying on his bed with a pale face. His fishing net was stained with mud. Perceiving a noise he woke up, breathing heavily as if he was having a violent fit of asthma. From the bottom of my heart, I knew that he was too weak to smile. Walking out to the court, I shouted loudly, "Help, help."<br /><br />Immediately, our neighbours came to his rescue. Some of them rubbed his chest; another person massaged him on the back and neck; while another woman poured ginger liquid into his mouth. Fifteen minutes later he got up with a confused smile. Maybe he was asking himself why there were so many people in his poorly-rigged up house.<br /><br />"Thank you all," he mumbled. Everybody felt very pleased and moved to tears.<br /><br />Later on, I asked him a question that was on my mind: "Why do you go out every night to dig holes then fill them up again, my dear Uncle?" Without replying, he just stared at me with his vacant look. Feeling offended, I went out to the rice fields to investigate what he had done during the night. It turned out that the result of his nocturnal efforts were some big newly-made mounds of earth.<br /><br />"What a madman!" I exclaimed. "There are eight of them in all. What tricks has he been up to during the night?"<br /><br />Sensing my curiosity, Mum reproached me.<br /><br />"Stay away from that place," she warned me.<br /><br />"Why, Mum?"<br /><br />"I’m told that that place was formerly a terrible battleground with lots of dead bodies."<br /><br />"How can they affect us?"<br /><br />"Mrs Sau tells me that for many nights, she has heard laments echoing to her house from that place. If you’re still interested in loitering there, you’ll be kidnapped and tortured one day," Mum threatened me.<br /><br />After that, evening after evening, I just sat at home, glancing at the coconut palm trees full of bullet marks, which had seen many crucial engagements between Sai Gon soldiers and revolutionary forces. Then half a month had elapsed since I had been to visit Mr Bay Triet.<br /><br />"Last week, Mr Hai Chi’s legs were blown off by mine near a cluster of bamboo trees at the entrance to our hamlet," sister Lien told me.<br /><br />"Lien, have you visited Mr Bay Triet recently?" Mum asked her.<br /><br />"Yes, I have, Mum. He’s quite healthy now."<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="fullpost">* * *</span><br /></div><span class="fullpost"><br />The following year, paraffin was restricted for consumption by the State. As a result, few people in the country could afford to buy it because the price escalated day by day. On top of that, but the country was facing huge shortages of rice because a plague of insects had destroyed crops in the Cuu Long (Mekong) Delta. Meals were served with kaoliang instead of rice and calophyllus oil replaced paraffin for a long time. In general, food shops became almost empty. Rumour had it that another war had started somewhere near the national frontier.<br /><br />Time flew very fast! My summer vacation came to an end quicker than I had expected. I moved up to the 8th class in a new district school far away from my hamlet. My meetings with Uncle Bay Triet became scarcer and scarcer with every passing month. Sometimes we met each other on the rural path as we travelled in opposite directions. He just glanced at me, smiling broadly. The same torn clothes and the same stained legs as before! Nevertheless, my sweet memories of him stayed fresh in my mind forever.<br /><br />One evening by the end of October, when our calophyllus oil ran out, Mum told me to go to his dwelling to ask for a few pieces of fruit from this kind of tree to burn instead of paraffin, I said, "I’m afraid of ghosts, Mum."<br /><br />"It’s broad daylight and his home’s just a stone’s throw away from here. What are you afraid of? What’s more, in our clan, you’re the only male. Who else in this home can do it?" she persuaded me in a soft voice.<br /><br />"Is there anybody at home?" I said, knocking at his door.<br /><br />"Yes, I’m here. Just a moment, please."<br /><br />Immediately, I opened his door. By his side, there stood a few bulging sacks. Next to them several joss-sticks were flickering. I felt sick.<br /><br />"What are you doing, Uncle?" I asked him.<br /><br />"Oh dear… Kien! So, you’ve come back home."<br /><br />"Which Kien? Actually, I’m Ty, the only son of my father Hai Sa."<br /><br />"Sorry, my fault, my dear Ty." On saying these words, he sobbed bitterly. It seemed to me that he was on the point of collapsing.<br /><br />"Yes, your Ty’s here."<br /><br />I dashed towards him and held him.<br /><br />"My comrades, try to sleep together in these sacks. At a convenient time, I will go in search of you all," he said to the contents of the sacks. I took great pity on him.<br /><br />"Well, let me help you, my beloved Uncle."<br /><br />With zeal, I picked up the calophyllus-oil lamp and opened the mouth of one the sacks. From inside, several bones and skulls stared at me from out of the darkness.<br /><br />Oddly enough, I didn’t scream. I just looked at the bones and showed no fear.<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: right;"><span class="fullpost">Translated by Van Minh</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;" class="fullpost">(from Viet Nam News)</span><br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7072101274549351397.post-59834120416415912922009-08-24T08:42:00.003+07:002009-08-24T08:46:56.813+07:00BusinessWeek, August 24 & 31, 2009<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_7S1Dwv_bxL8/SpHwsCkhKVI/AAAAAAAAApo/Baezaz0Kaog/s1600-h/BusinessWeek_2009-08-24_31.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 266px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_7S1Dwv_bxL8/SpHwsCkhKVI/AAAAAAAAApo/Baezaz0Kaog/s320/BusinessWeek_2009-08-24_31.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5373340469824661842" border="0" /></a><span style="font-weight: bold;">The Case for Optimism</span><br />The economic storm has been a harrowing, and now is not the time to discount the dangers that may still lurk. But opening your mind to optimism can help you seize the opportunities ahead.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Tough Love for Chrysler</span><br />Can Fiat revive an iconic U.S. brand that many have given up for dead? It hopes to succeed by using unconventional methods, such as fostering internal competition.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Kinder Credit Cards</span><br />Keep rates steady, eliminate fees, and rigorously weigh creditor risk: Giving cardholders such a deal is unorthodox in the plastic business, but PartnersFirst's model may point to the industry's future.<br /><br />PDF | 25 MB<br /><span class="fullpost"><br /><a href="http://depositfiles.com/files/ykjdufvhl">Download link 1</a><br /><a href="http://kewlshare.com/dl/1c562a45d57c/BusinessWeek_2009-08-24_31.zip.html">Download link 2</a><br /></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7072101274549351397.post-79207752196378703902009-08-15T08:37:00.000+07:002009-08-24T08:47:56.298+07:00The Economist, August 15, 2009<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_7S1Dwv_bxL8/SpHvwOICg3I/AAAAAAAAApg/4JyJPaDQUcg/s1600-h/TheEconomist_2009-08-15.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 260px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_7S1Dwv_bxL8/SpHvwOICg3I/AAAAAAAAApg/4JyJPaDQUcg/s320/TheEconomist_2009-08-15.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5373339442134287218" border="0" /></a><span style="font-weight: bold;">Asia: An astonishing rebound</span><br />Asia’s emerging economies are leading the way out of recession; now they must make their recovery last.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Latin America's new alliances: Whose side is Brazil on?</span><br />Time for Lula to stand up for democracy rather than embrace autocrats.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">The decline of the landline: Unwired</span><br />As more people ditch landline phones for mobiles, America’s regulators need to respond.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">World trade and commercial aircraft: A dogfight no one can win</span><br />Negotiation, not litigation, is the best way to limit the subsidies to Airbus and Boeing -- and stop a trade war.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Galileo, four centuries on: As important as Darwin</span><br />In praise of astronomy, the most revolutionary of sciences.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">America loses its landlines: Cutting the cord</span><br />Ever greater numbers of Americans are disconnecting their home telephones, with momentous consequences.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">AIG, Fannie Mae and Freddie Mac: The toxic trio</span><br />American taxpayers are ploughing billions in. Will they get their money back?<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">The future of astronomy: Black-sky thinking</span><br />The first of four articles from the International Astronomical Union meeting looks at a battle between Big Science and human hunches.<br /><br />PDF | 4.1 MB<br /><span class="fullpost"><br /><a href="http://depositfiles.com/files/mwpwxvd86">Download link 1</a><br /><a href="http://kewlshare.com/dl/023cb93b27fb/TheEconomist_2009-08-15.zip.html">Download link 2</a><br /></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7072101274549351397.post-4889522043141584702009-08-08T08:51:00.000+07:002009-08-24T08:54:41.562+07:00The Economist, August 8, 2009<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_7S1Dwv_bxL8/SpHyyLtV1xI/AAAAAAAAApw/hH0y3s6Kzjo/s1600-h/TheEconomist_2009-08-08.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 262px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_7S1Dwv_bxL8/SpHyyLtV1xI/AAAAAAAAApw/hH0y3s6Kzjo/s320/TheEconomist_2009-08-08.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5373342774380058386" border="0" /></a><span style="font-weight: bold;">Illiberal politics: America's unjust sex laws</span><br />An ever harsher approach is doing more harm than good, but it is being copied around the world.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Redesigning Europe's biggest economy: Unbalanced Germany</span><br />Europe's champion is justly proud of its exporters. It also needs to worry about markets closer to home.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Britain's energy crisis: How long till the lights go out?</span><br />Thanks to its posturing politicians, Britain will soon start to run out of electricity. What should it do?<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Regulating executive compensation: Pay and politics</span><br />So far, Congress is taking a surprisingly sensible approach to the problem of pay.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Generic drugs and competition: Something rotten</span><br />Regulators should put a stop to tactics that delay the introduction of generic drugs.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Islam and heresy: Where freedom is still at stake</span><br />Wanted: Islam's Voltaire.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Big drug firms embrace generics: Friends for life</span><br />Big pharmaceutical firms are learning to love their erstwhile enemies, makers of generic drugs.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Offshore private banking: Bourne to survive</span><br />Despite the woes of UBS, Swiss private banking remains in reasonable shape.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">A link between wealth and breeding: The best of all possible worlds?</span><br />It was once a rule of demography that people have fewer children as their countries get richer. That rule no longer holds true.<br /><br />PDF | 2.6 MB<br /><span class="fullpost"><br /><a href="http://depositfiles.com/files/wxfuf1gwz">Download link 1</a><br /><a href="http://kewlshare.com/dl/2f579753f79c/TheEconomist_2009-08-08.zip.html">Download link 2</a><br /></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7072101274549351397.post-36345627442536737452009-05-28T22:07:00.002+07:002009-05-28T22:11:10.554+07:00The yang legend<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_7S1Dwv_bxL8/Sh6pbLLBYJI/AAAAAAAAApY/SuHWOG55ZYE/s1600-h/2009-05-28_221015.png"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 292px; height: 186px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_7S1Dwv_bxL8/Sh6pbLLBYJI/AAAAAAAAApY/SuHWOG55ZYE/s320/2009-05-28_221015.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5340892492428566674" border="0" /></a>by Do Tien Thuy<br /><br />Y Than possessed the beautiful features of a wild flower that attracts lots of butterflies when it opens. Day and night Old Anuk was worried for her in her prime of life. As the head of Sap Village, how could he order his inhabitants to perform their tasks properly when he was unable to persuade his own daughter to get married?<br /><br />Time passed very quickly. Twenty seasons of slash-and-burn farming had elapsed, yet she remained alone with her father and a little female monkey.<br /><br />Then one day when she was gathering aubergines in the garden, the little animal climbed down from a high branch and touched her skirt. Feeling a bit worried, Y Than followed the monkey to a shrub and peered through the foliage. To her surprise, a few hundred metres away a herd of elephants was standing by the stream. Next to them, muscular hunters in loin-cloths lay on the ground. One of them was naked – a strong youth with muscular arms and legs like superman, he looked like a real novice among the experienced hunters. In her childhood, while walking to the milpa, Y Khan would hear very interesting stories about elephant hunters of Yook Don jungle.<br /><span class="fullpost"><br />Of course Krol had not yet caught any elephants. That was the reason for his nudity. These were the rules of his tribe. Nevertheless, he always dreamt of becoming a valiant hunter who would be one day be able to take the place of Gru Nhon, the leader of the group. Now he was on his maiden trip for everybody to assess his capacity and cleverness.<br /><br />After three days on end in the jungle chasing wild herds of elephants, who seem to have disappeared, they were totally exhausted and had to take a rest to regain their strength. They all fell into a sound sleep, except for the young man. Lying supine, he looked at the green canopy above and thought of the promising day ahead when he would proudly take home a wild elephant amid the admiring eyes of the fair ladies in his mountainous area.<br /><br />All of a sudden this train of thoughts was interrupted by the rustle of a thick bush nearby. He got up and stared at it. He was greatly amazed and ashamed as his eyes met the gaze of a girl right in front of him. Hurriedly, he covered his belly while stooping under her burning eyes full of passion. Then a few moments later, he completely forgot his shame and he made his way towards her. She was also coming up to him. They approached each other step by step, as if in a daydream, and the plants of the forest opened their branches wide to welcome them.<br /><br />Their naked bodies twisted together for quite some time. It wasn’t until they heard the roar of the ferocious elephants that they realized what they were doing. Five big elephants were standing around them like a thick black wall. The head of the hunting party Gru Nhon was pointing his spear at Krol.<br /><br />"Damn you the son of the Eban clan! You must die for your sin," Gru Nhon shouted. "You learnt the hunting rules by heart, and yet you broke one of the most important taboos: not to have sex with a woman for thirty days before the hunt, to bath in the clean water of the Serepox one day before and to offer five bottles of rice wine and one pig to God. Meanwhile our wives are forbidden to pound rice and must evade men’s wanton looks when their husbands join the hunt. What’s more, we have to sleep on the ground to get rid of our scent. But you, a newcomer, dare to break the rules."<br /><br />Kron turned pale. Kneeling before the leader, he implored in a low voice. "Sir Gru Nhon, I’ve made a great mistake. I’m to blame, but she’s done nothing wrong. Please forgive her because she’s not guity."<br /><br />Y Than burst into tears. She imagined the sight of her lover, bound to the tail of a strong elephant and dragged along into the thick of the forest. She wept, "If I’m still alive, I’ll try to find you, my dear.’<br /><br />She returned home in horror and pain. Her father watched her as she ascended the wooden stairs to their home.<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="fullpost">***</span><br /></div><span class="fullpost"><br />Most of the villagers were present at Y Than’s trial. Inside the large rong house, the flame came to life again after being doused for many days. Y Than knelt in the centre of the court, head bent a little. Paradoxically, the so-called judge of that session was none other than her father. In spite of all the angry words thrown at her, she remained silent.<br /><br />She did not know her lover’s whereabouts or what had befallen him. But he had left something for her in her womb. Biting her lip for quite a long while, she suddenly stood up and stared at her father.<br /><br />"Esteemed Father Anuk, please don’t accuse me of doing anything wrong. For the time being, I cannot reveal the father of the child in my womb. But he’ll soon return home, father."<br /><br />"Drive her out of our village," he shouted angrily after breaking his mug of rice wine into pieces then collapsing on the ground.<br /><br />Silently, Y Than left her home and went in search of Krol. Following the footprints left by the huge animals, she went further and further into the jungle. "What has happened to him? Was he pardoned? Where would he go?" she asked herself. She remembered Gru Nhon’s serious countenance that day.<br /><br />During the solemn ceremony before the start of the hunting party, Krol had drunk a lot and had taken an oath that he would resign himself to death if he violated the rules. In fact, there had been numerous hunters who had lost their lives so far, but they all died on the hunt. Krol’s case, however, was beyond his imagination.<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="fullpost">***</span><br /></div><span class="fullpost"><br />As the leader of the party, Gru Nhon had to abide by the rules and try Krol in one of two ways: either expel him from his team or to leave him to God’s mercy during a fight with wild elephants. Gru Nhon trembled at the thought.<br /><br />On the way to the battle ground, the one-tusked elephant driven by Gru Nhon suddenly stopped short and uttered a low cry. That was a signal that wild elephants had been detected. At once Gru Nhon ordered his men to halt and prepare for a struggle. Normally, his herd of elephants would encircle the wild animals, but this time those tactics could not be put into practice.<br /><br />"Hey Krol of the Eban Clan! Now it’s high time for you to be punished," he said to Krol in a loud voice. Then he told his men to untie him in front of the wild herd of beasts.<br /><br />"You can have one of the two choices. One of them is to fight against these animals alone. If you manage to catch the lead elephant, you’ll be free and can stay with us. The other is to abstain from the struggle and go home to lead a shameful life, and say goodbye to the career of a hunter forever," he declared resolutely.<br /><br />Glancing at his boss with eyes gaunt due to lack of sleep, he seemed to entreat something. Fighting against the wild and ferocious herd of huge animals alone meant death. And he didn’t want to die yet, for he could still see in his mind’s eye the shining eyes of Y Than. Gru Nhon stared at him as if urging him to enter into the fatal engagement.<br /><br />The one-tusked elephant had knelt down to allow Gru Nhon to get off. He kept on looking at Krol in wait. For him, there was no way out. Having a last look at his fellow-hunters, Krol took the staff his boss had flung to him, then jumped upon the back of Gru Nhon’s elephant. The leader glanced at him admiringly, then told his men not to help him at any cost.<br /><br />At first the wild elephants ran away at the sight of the tamed animals, but then they realized that only one was heading their way. Krol rode forward, while the four others stood aside, watching. Combat began.<br /><br />The fight between the wild elephants and Krol’s lasted from noon to sunset, trampling all the surrounding flora. Krol’s elephant started bleeding, but it continued to struggle on. Although Gru Nhon felt afraid that such a talented man might be in danger, he did not dare break the rules. With his decades of life and death combat, he knew that Krol might soon face a terrible test. Indeed, the wild elephants changed their strategy. Surrounding Krol, they began to throw stones at him and his courageous animal. To the best of his knowledge, he knew that if he defeated the leading wild elephant, the rest of the herd would run helter-skelter and his task would be achieved easily. With this in mind, he spurred his elephant, which hesitated for a few seconds because it had never been urged to do so, and it beat a retreat. At once the wild lead elephant chased after them. When the two had come close to each other, Krol pulled back the bridle strongly. The four legs of his animal furrowed the ground, then in a twinkling, it turned back. When Krol shouted loudly it darted violently at its opponent. A horrible noise resounded, wild elephants shot away, and yellow leaves showered all over the place. After that, all fell into silence.<br /><br />When the torches were lit, the hunting party bent their heads in admiration in front of the battlefield. The tusk of Krol’s elephant had pierced a large tree and kept the dead animal standing upright. As for Krol, he was nowhere to be found. Gru Nhon and his men started to disperse in search of his body. What they saw were blood stains on tree trunks and leaves. Soon they found his dead body lying motionless near the injured tree.<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="fullpost">***</span><br /></div><span class="fullpost"><br />When Y Than reached the elephants’ battle ground, she found only a mess of uprooted plants and leaves. She called out the name of her lover. In response to her lamentable cries, she heard only the replies of the forest wind. Exhausted, she fainted. In her nightmare, she found herself lifted up by elephant trunks then placed beside the dead elephant as it stood propped against the tree.<br /><br />On one morning years later, many inhabitants of Sap Village saw a big piece of a tree trunk with a tusk piercing into it washed ashore near the wharf. They picked it up and put it into a large rattan basket. They hung it on the roof of the rong house because the village head regarded it as a precious godsend embodying the Yang Genie. Every year, Sap residents held a ceremony to wash the tusk for Yang. During the festive days, a strong village youth was chosen to take the basket down. In the wake of mysterious rites, Yang would be lifted out of the rattan basket. It was a moment of paramount importance and hundreds of eyes would stare at the bottom of the basket. Rumour had it that every year, Yang gave the villagers many eggs. When there were a great number of eggs, they would reap a bumper crop and vice versa. At this year, Yang offered them twelve rosy eggs, which looked like those of pigeons.<br /><br />Translated by Van Minh<br /><br />(from Viet Nam News)<br /></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7072101274549351397.post-54998047023931026302009-05-28T22:02:00.002+07:002009-05-28T22:05:22.647+07:00Living in expectation<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_7S1Dwv_bxL8/Sh6oJaLiGgI/AAAAAAAAApQ/OMVeu56LLM4/s1600-h/2009-05-28_220445.png"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 186px; height: 218px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_7S1Dwv_bxL8/Sh6oJaLiGgI/AAAAAAAAApQ/OMVeu56LLM4/s320/2009-05-28_220445.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5340891087707970050" border="0" /></a>by Nguyen Bich Lan<br /><br />Lam Anh, my best friend, worked in the advertising department of an Internet service provider. He told me that his daily task was to speak eloquently and make his message agreeable to the ears of the company’s potential customers, to give a succinct speech promising the Internet will bring the whole world right to their room.<br /><br />"Bringing the whole world to your room, oh, yes, let’s assume that it’s true, but after bringing the whole world to your room, what are you going to do with that world?" – I asked him.<br /><br />"Just swim in it, swim in it!" he answered.<br /><span class="fullpost"><br />Lam Anh gave me a secondhand laptop as a gift he had bought in a Singapore curiosity shop. He spent three days during the holidays giving me my first computer lessons. After that, besides the computer handbook that had come with the machine, I had to teach myself how to swim on the Internet. I did swim everyday in that sea of multi-form and multi-language information. I read everything and searched anything. I read the websites of poets, child prodigies and patients suffering from, cancer and AIDS. I swam deep inside news pages, forgetting the truth of my life: that I spent all hours of the day waiting.<br /><br />I began this wait when I was 16 years old. I still remember the day the doctor at a famous hospital said to me: "You are showing signs of muscular dystrophy. But only one out of a million people get this disease. Scientists still haven’t found a way to treat it. Wait and see though!" When I heard this, I still could not imagine how my expectations would be fulfilled. But I did believe I should wait with calmness and steadfastness. But I was wrong. Waiting was a sophisticated art, where overconfidence was easily dashed.<br /><br />I did not cry when they ran a pin through my spine to get bone marrow for a test. I did not cry when they cut a piece of muscle from my calf for a biopsy. I also did not cry when I had to take bitter pills endlessly. I did not cry from the pain. I did not cry from hopelessness. I only cried because my days were so long, that was the only reason.<br /><br />My parents intentionally ignored my birthday in their grief and Lam Anh made up for this by his extra consideration when my birthday rolled around. When June 24 came, the day the doctor asked me to wait while he wrote me a prescription, Lam Anh spared no time in distracting me. He recalled a myriad of happy stories. Of course these stories belonged to a time when I was still strong. A time when I was young, barely a teenager, and used to preen in the mirror with a comb. Until I heard him speak, I had no idea how lovely I was in Lam Anh’s eyes. He said that in the old days my cheeks were rosy all the time, my hair shiny and smooth and my eyes were always glistening. Lam Anh remembered the first time he thought of me as his best friend, the day when he splashed ink on my white shirt and even though I threatened to tell the teacher, I did not do it. He also remembered every time I was recommended for good conduct and good study, every time I was selected to attend the examinations for excellent students and each time the teacher read my well-written essay out loud to the whole class. He remembered these occasions so well he even surprised my father.<br /><br />On the day when my waiting had reached a five-year point, the bracelet I was wearing came loose and dropped to the ground. I pushed my wheelchair in front of the mirror and looked at my reflection. I knew I had lost four or five kilos every year. I knew what I looked like. I was just a bag of bones. The disease continued to gnaw at me and nobody could do anything to help me stop it. I cried while I pushed my wheelchair over to the laptop and sent a very short message to Lam Anh. The message said "TV" [TV is short for Tuyet Vong in Vietnamese, hopelessness in English]. Thas was the first year he did not organise a celebration for my birthday.<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="fullpost">***</span><br /></div><span class="fullpost"><br />One day, Lam Anh sent me a message boasting that he had just discovered an extremely interesting webpage and asked me to take a look. I immediately logged on and after reading a funny introduction on the homepage, I found a strange entry: a list of those who could wait best.<br /><br />As I scrolled through the list, I could not understand why a woman who had been waiting for her missing husband for 28 years had been listed first while other people who were waiting for things for 30 years or even 40 years were listed 50th or 60th. I also didn’t understand why a 73-year-old man who had been waiting for her son, who was sentenced to life imprisonment when he was only 55 years old, was listed at the bottom. It was incomprehensible to me that a gay man who had been waiting for a sex change operation for 12 years was listed 18th out of the 94 waiting men. I could not even understand why they had intentionally printed in bold the number of years spent waiting after each name.<br /><br />The numbers made me angry. I didn’t understand why some crazy man had made such a weird webpage. Just to laugh scornfully at their powerlessness, those people with their stupid expectations or to make people compete in waiting?<br /><br />I felt responsible for this group of waiting people, so I sent a letter asking the owner of the webpage to shut it down immediately, explaining why. The web owner replied with a false name: "In your letter, we have counted the word ‘waiting’ 17 times and only six times have we seen phrases like ‘not waiting’ or ‘stop waiting’. Instead of boycotting or changing this webpage, why don’t you join us? Because you too are just waiting."<br /><br />I found it impossible to deny the truth, so I vented my anger at Lam Anh for having given me the wrong medicine and criticized him for being insensitive. Lam Anh reacted calmly. He advised me to register myself on the website and that if I was still angry afterwards, he would accept the label of insensitive. I registered myself immediately and was supplied with a list of user names for those who had waited best. All the names began with "wait", like "wait 15", "wait 785", "wait 367" and so on. I looked at the long line of words "wait" with great boredom. I hated them all.<br /><br />Twenty four hours after my registration, I was immediately messaged by a person bearing the code 32. They asked me: "What are you waiting for?" I responded with the same question. "I’m waiting for a pardon," came the reply.<br /><br />"Haven’t you got any other way than to wait?"<br /><br />"I did in the past but not anymore".<br /><br />"Why?"<br /><br />"Because the person who is going to give me the pardon is no more now."<br /><br />"What a fool!" I sent the message and shut down the Net.<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="fullpost">***</span><br /></div><span class="fullpost"><br />I was again invited to chat by Wait32: "I don’t feel angry with you. I’ve had a hundred people tell me that I am a fool". I did not strike up a conversation. But a few minutes later, I received this: "Each time I took a mad man home, the number of people who told me that I was a mad man increased". I did not understand what Wait32 was trying to say. "Is there a person who takes mad man home?" I asked. Wait 32 replied: "It’s me." I thought Wait 32 was pulling my leg, so I made a joke: "How many mad men can you endure?"<br /><br />"Nine at least."<br /><br />"I don’t believe it!"<br /><br />I shut down the computer.<br /><br />This time I messaged Wait937. "Are you a male or a female?" I asked.<br /><br />"Male."<br /><br />"What are you waiting for?"<br /><br />"I’m waiting for the time when I can stand on my two legs."<br /><br />"So are you in the wheelchair?"<br /><br />"No. I am lying on my side."<br /><br />"For how many years?"<br /><br />"38 years."<br /><br />"What are you doing while waiting?"<br /><br />"I’m working."<br /><br />"In what way?"<br /><br />"With three fingers."<br /><br />"What are you doing with three fingers?"<br /><br />"I write newspaper articles."<br /><br />"How long does it take you to write an article?"<br /><br />"I write twenty five articles a month. I’m sorry. I’ve got a phone call."<br /><br />I did not feel like sitting idle, so I searched online for Lam Anh, asking him if he knew any mad men. He seemed well prepared for the question, sending me the link to an article about a man who used his house as a poorhouse for mad men he found on the streets. He also sent me a series of e-articles written by a man who could move only his three fingers. Having read all these stories, I sat dumbfounded.<br /><br />After that, I spoke to someone waiting whenever I logged onto the net. One of them told me that when he was a little boy he stood and waited for his mother, who was going to buy an umbrella to protect them from the sun. His had been waiting for her to come back for 13 years. I thought the boy was cultivating his hatred for his mother. But on the contrary, he had become a poet, who won high prizes for poems on his mother – the gentle mother, the mother who had devoted all her life to her children. I began to show my admiration for him, because I knew life had ignored me and I had showed an even colder attitude towards life.<br /><br />Wait133 was the 27th waiting person I had met on the Internet. Her situation was similar to mine, the same disease. She asked me the same questions I had put them to others: "What are you doing while waiting?"<br /><br />I gave her my sincere answer. "I eat, I sleep, I read books and I surf the net."<br /><br />"So what, you read and surf the net?"<br /><br />"To kill the time."<br /><br />"I’ve got a very interesting book. Shall I send it to you through the Net?"<br /><br />"Yes, please!"<br /><br />So Wait133 sent me the book. It took almost two hours. The book told of the life of an Irish boy in dire poverty. I read it with great interest in two weeks. And then I found out that Wait133 had translated the story. So I wrote to Wait 133:<br /><br />"How do you put aside your feeling of loneliness, your pain, the disease that is gnawing your body day in and day out? How could you forget everything to translate the book?"<br /><br />"Wait937 can work with three fingers, while I can move my ten fingers, you know. And we all have our head safe and sound! Without that nobody would want to keep waiting."<br /><br />"I also know English. My father taught me when I was still a little girl."<br /><br />"Oh, you’re much luckier than me. I’ve no teacher, only books."<br /><br />"But I haven’t used my English for a long time. Actually I’m not sure I even need it."<br /><br />"Each foreign language is a treasure. You’re a rich person, you know."<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="fullpost">***</span><br /></div><span class="fullpost"><br />One afternoon my father came home from a meeting, looking thoroughly drunk. This was the first time I had ever seen my father in that condition. I was told that he had become drunk after tossing back the fourth cup of whatever they were drinking. But he only cried and cried – he didn’t curse or say anything foul. Maybe he had been forced to drink too much.<br /><br />My father was an English teacher at the district’s English centre, which helped people who wanted to improve or brush up their English. He taught English with all his heart. On the day my father got drunk, a woman came in with a boy, earnestly asking father to teach English to her son, because she wanted him to learn in the district’s school instead of going back to a mountainous school. After hearing this, I said I could help instead of father. Mother was very glad and quickly went to get a stool for the boy. I began to teach the boy. He was completely ignorant of any English, so I had to be patient to teach him and wait for father to get a hold of himself.<br /><br />The next day, I mentioned this to father who said: "You accepted the boy, you should teach him!" I thought of it as a challenge and I accepted. The boy wrestled with English through all those sultry summer afternoons. He made progress and the news about him spread to the school. The principal said that he would invite the boy to attend the school’s English lesson and, if his English was good enough, he could stay for the school year. After nearly three months of teaching the boy, I was anxiously awaiting the result. I was on the edge of my seat as I waited for the school bell. The boy ran straight from school to see me and informed me that he had been accepted at the school. It was enough for me, for the boy and his ecstatic mother.<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="fullpost">***</span><br /></div><span class="fullpost"><br />Word that the boy had successfully finished a two-year English learning programme in only three months spread throughout the elementary school. Children’s parents came to see me with a proposal to set up a class and teach their children. I was not ready to treat teaching as a real job until one day father took home five big boys, saying to them: "My daughter will help you learn English with ease".<br /><br />"Dad, you’re so funny!" I cried in surprise.<br /><br />"They are all eager to learn," he said stubbornly.<br /><br />In the end I accepted it and helped these mountainous boys learn English. At the end of the school year, they all passed their final examinations. I was so happy that I told all my "Wait" friends on the Net. They all shared my joy and persuaded me to register my name on the list. The owner of the webpage sent me an e-mail to congratulate me:<br /><br />"Congratulations to you for being put on in the list. I would like to inform you that you are now classified as 62nd. This is not a modest rank at all. It is not the number of years that makes you the best waiter. It is how you live while waiting – this is the main thing. We know that when you hit the 10 year mark for waiting, you sent a message to your friend saying ‘hopelessness’. Your friend never told you, but he has done everything he can to stop your hopelessness from destroying your expectations, but only you yourself can separate that hopelessness from you forever."<br /><br />I burst out crying. I knew the owner of the webpage was really Lam Anh, the friend who had been waiting together with me for all these years.<br /><br />Translated by Manh Chuong<br /><br />(from Viet Nam News)<br /></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7072101274549351397.post-92096343053870376472009-05-28T21:54:00.001+07:002009-05-28T21:57:08.383+07:00A starry night<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_7S1Dwv_bxL8/Sh6mNrMNENI/AAAAAAAAApI/3jDoYlBx4-s/s1600-h/2009-05-28_215402.png"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 165px; height: 243px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_7S1Dwv_bxL8/Sh6mNrMNENI/AAAAAAAAApI/3jDoYlBx4-s/s320/2009-05-28_215402.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5340888961970409682" border="0" /></a>by Trong Bao<br /><br />After the death of her mother, little Chuyen turned taciturn and became visibly depressed. Her two-year-old brother Can was the exact opposite. He cried and called out his mother’s name everyday, because he thought she had either just gone to the market or was standing behind the door playing a hide-and-seek game with him when he returned home from pre-school. Poor little thing, he did not know that after the traffic accident that day, she would never come back to him.<br /><br />On the afternoon of the accident, after receiving a bonus for her hard work at the office, Chuyen’s mother had taken her to the market to get some presents and candies for both her and her brother. Then they had gone to pick up her brother after pre-school and had taken both of them to the store to get some ice-cream.<br /><span class="fullpost"><br />Chuyen still remembered every detail of that terrible accident quite well. While they were eating their ice-cream on their bike by the side of the road, Chuyen had been boasting about her good result at school: eight marks for her composition about a starry night. Suddenly, a motorbike with two teenagers on it going at maximum speed crashed into them from behind so violently that their mother had lost her balance.<br /><br />Everyone was tossed off their bikes. Her mother’s face hit the ground hard and scraped against the pavement; Chuyen suffered a minor head injury. After a few days in the hospital in a coma, Chuyen’s mother passed away. Chuyen’s head had to be shaved to stitch up a long gash.<br /><br />After the accident, Can followed his father to the hospital to visit his mother and sister. He was too young to understand what had happened and kept asking his dad a string of endless questions such as: "Why are the two nurses in white?" or "Why can a police car enter this place?"<br /><br />He felt sad because his mother did not even smile at him. Suddenly, he shrank back and hid himself behind his father after he spotted the nurse holding a big syringe approaching his mother’s bed. Then he burst out laughing, when he saw his sister’s shaved head. Chuyen just bit her lips tightly and tried not to weep.<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="fullpost">***</span><br /></div><span class="fullpost"><br />Since her mother’s death, Chuyen had become another girl; actually she had been forced to become an adult. At the age of eleven, she was now responsible for almost all housework and chores for the family. Every morning she had to go to the market to buy food and vegetables. Then she would return home and cook instant noodles for breakfast for her three-member family and prepare everything for dinner. When her father was busy at work, she was responsible for her brother’s schooling. Even when her father returned home extremely drunk and vomited everywhere, she would have to wipe the place clean. These were all things her mother had previously done, and now Chuyen whole-heartedly took on all the responsibilities herself.<br /><br />One day, after she returned home from picking up her brother, she noticed a stranger sitting in the living room with her father.<br /><br />"This is Miss Oanh. Say hello to her, dear," he said.<br /><br />"Good evening!" Chuyen greeted her in a low voice.<br /><br />Oanh tried to give Can a packet of cakes and a plastic car. Can reached out to accept the toy, but Chuyen held his hand back. Oanh appeared crest-fallen.<br /><br />Chuyen dragged her brother, who looked like he might begin to cry, into the kitchen. Chuyen told him: "I’ll get you a better car some day." Can was not persuaded and insisted on receiving the toy at once.<br /><br />"If you insist on taking that woman’s gift, I’ll tell mom," she threatened him. Remembering his mother, he shouted out, "mom… mom!"<br /><br />"Stop crying, and be good! Some day when mom returns home, she’ll get you lots of presents," she said in an effort to console her brother.<br /><br />"No, I want mom to be here right now," he insisted.<br /><br />"If you behave properly, I’ll take you to where she is," Chuyen said.<br /><br />For dinner Can ate a lot more than usual. Instead of taking the toy car down from the top of the cupboard, he only snuck covetous glances at it.<br /><br />After dinner, Can dragged his sister into the courtyard. Ever since their mother’s death, he had a habit of going out there and whispering his mom’s name before going to sleep. In the courtyard, Chuyen pointed at the sky and told him that their mother was staying up there. She pointed to a blue star and said that was their mother, but he pointed to a red star he insisted was her because it twinkled at him. A moment later Can fell asleep and his sister took him inside.<br /><br />Each time she looked at the starry sky, she believed that her mother was somewhere in the firmament, and that she would come back to them astride a shooting star traveling rapidly across the sky. There was a myth that the soul of certain dead people could be carried on a shooting star down to Earth.<br /><br />The next day, on the way home from school, Can touched his sister’s hand and reminded her of her promise. "Dear sister, today you must lead me to mother’s place," he said. Chuyen was startled for she thought that he had forgotten what she had promised.<br /><br />"But you look very sleepy. How can you go see mom later tonight, if you are sleeping?" she replied.<br /><br />"I’ll stay awake tonight, you’ll see," he said resolutely. It seemed she had no choice but to agree.<br /><br />Once back at home, their father was nowhere to be found. Chuyen made instant noodles for dinner, and then made two cups of strong tea. She drank one and gave her brother the other.<br /><br />"It’s too bitter! I can’t drink it, sister. Please give me some milk," he implored after tasting the tea. "If you don’t drink it, how can you stay awake to see mom?"<br /><br />He refused. "No, I can’t stand strong tea anyway."<br /><br />"Well, I’ll drink it myself then." She drank his cup of tea, and then led him into the courtyard to wait for their mother’s appearance in the sky.<br /><br />Unfortunately, there were too many clouds to see the sky. Chuyen locked the door, put the key under the flower pot, and then led her brother to a high hill behind their home in the hopes of seeing the stars more clearly and of being closer to their mother if possible. At first Can seemed in high spirits and kept up with her easily, but a few minutes later he became weary and asked to be carried on her back.<br /><br />Weighed down by her brother, Chuyen could barely trudge uphill. After a while, she had to stop and let her brother down and rest; then she made herself get up and continue the climb. When she finally reached the peak, she was exhausted, and her brother looked like he was almost asleep. His eyes were drooping shut.<br /><br />"When mom comes down, wake me up, sister," he said to her before falling asleep.<br /><br />"Yes, surely, my dear," she assured him.<br /><br />She felt a bit frightened, because it was quite dark on top of the hill with only faint light reflected up from the street lamps and vehicle headlights below. With such dim light, the bushes looked like ghostly dancing figures. All of a sudden the wind blew violently and cleared away the clouds. Millions of stars appeared through only a little bit of haziness. It became quite cold, and Chuyen took off her coat to cover her brother and kept her eyes fixed above. A few shooting stars chased each other across the sky; each time she was going to wake her brother up, but they disappeared as rapidly as they had appeared.<br /><br />She thought they should go back, because it must be almost midnight. Her efforts to wake up her brother didn’t work he was sleeping so soundly. Finally, she gave his cheek a good pinch, and he seemed to wake up but didn’t open his eyes.<br /><br />"Mom, mom!" he shrieked happily. That was the way mom had always gotten him to wake up. After opening his eyes and not seeing his mother anywhere, he was about to cry when Chuyen exclaimed: "There comes a shooting star!" Can stood up. There was a whole group of shooting stars traveling together across the sky. Their brilliant long glares seemed to tear the atmosphere apart.<br /><br />As the stars were gliding past overhead, Can made a desperate wish that his mother would come home. He squeezed his eyes shut and thought about how much he missed her and loved her, and then opened his eyes wide and stared up at the sky again. Suddenly, he clapped his hands in excitement.<br /><br />"Sister Chuyen! Stars, stars! Lots of shooting stars! Please come here, mom!" he shouted joyfully. She looked in the direction he was pointing, which was the foot of the hill.<br /><br />It was not shooting stars at all, but many torches that were spreading their light along the path. Their names were being called again and again.<br /><br />Obviously, their father, relatives and many neighbours had been in searching for them throughout the night.<br /><br />"Dad! Dad! We’re up here," Chuyen cried out at last.<br /><br />Translated by Van Minh<br /><br />(from Viet Nam News)<br /></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7072101274549351397.post-25633949478222544432009-05-16T12:14:00.010+07:002009-05-16T17:22:20.169+07:00Shayne Ward, No Promises<object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/R8b9Iu2DLZg&hl=en&fs=1"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/R8b9Iu2DLZg&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Shayne Ward - No Promises</span><br /><br />Hey baby, when we are together, doing things that we love.<br />Every time you're near I feel like I’m in heaven, feeling high<br />I don’t want to let go, girl.<br />I just need you to know girl.<br /><br />I don’t wanna run away, baby you’re the one I need tonight,<br />No promises.<br />Baby, now I need to hold you tight, I just wanna die in your arms<br /><br />Here tonight<br /><br />Hey baby, when we are together, doing things that we love.<br />Everytime you're near I feel like I’m in heaven, feeling high<br />I don’t want to let go, girl.<br />I just need you to know girl.<br /><br />I don’t wanna run away, baby you’re the one I need tonight,<br />No promises.<br />Baby, now I need to hold you tight, I just wanna die in your arms<br /><br />I don’t want to run away, I want to stay forever, through Time and Time..<br />No promises<br /><br />I don’t wanna run away, I don’t wanna be alone<br />No Promises<br />Baby, now I need to hold you tight, now and forever my love<br /><br />No promises<br /><br />I don’t wanna run away, baby you’re the one I need tonight,<br />No promises.<br />Baby, now I need to hold you tight, I just wanna die in your arms<br /><br />I don’t wanna run away, baby you’re the one I need tonight,<br />No promises.<br />Baby, now I need to hold you tight, I just wanna die in your arms<br />Here tonight.<br /></div><span class="fullpost"><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_7S1Dwv_bxL8/Sg5NKQ08TVI/AAAAAAAAApA/gEWnqjK05uw/s1600-h/Shayne+Ward.png"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_7S1Dwv_bxL8/Sg5NKQ08TVI/AAAAAAAAApA/gEWnqjK05uw/s320/Shayne+Ward.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5336287447191670098" border="0" /></a>Shayne Thomas Ward [born October 16th 1984 in Clayton, Manchester, England] is a British pop singer of Irish background, who rose to prominence in the UK and Ireland after becoming the winner of the 2005 series of the talent show The X Factor. His first single, 'That's My Goal', was released in the UK on Wednesday, December 21st 2005 and became the Christmas No.1 in 2005, and stayed there until June 2006. It sold 313,000 copies on its first day of sales [though technically it was not in one day because sales of downloads for this song were around 70,000 which had been on sale for four days before the physical release], making it the fourth fastest selling single of all time. His second single 'No Promises' [a cover of a Bryan Rice song] was released on April 10th 2006, and it reached No.2 in the UK Singles Chart. His first self titled album was released on Monday April 17th 2006 and it sold over 95,000 copies on the first two days of release. By the end of the week, the album had sold 201,266 copies at No.1. To date the album has sold 480,000 copies in total in the UK.<br /><br />Two years after winning The X Factor, Shayne Ward follows up his eponymous 2006 debut. While that album was predominantly composed of ballads, this release sees Ward "acting his age" with a collection of infectious, uptempo, RnB-influenced pop. Produced by pop supremos extraordinaire Maratone [Britney, Westlife, Celine Dion] and Ryan Tedder [J-Lo, Natasha Bedingfield, Leona Lewis], it includes the singles 'Breathless' and the no.2 double A-side hit 'No U Hang Up'-'If That's OK With You'.<br /></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7072101274549351397.post-48669421143799551392009-05-08T19:23:00.004+07:002009-05-08T22:29:01.263+07:00Best of Celine Dion<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_7S1Dwv_bxL8/SgQlzR8S70I/AAAAAAAAAo4/x-cJVpn4t7s/s1600-h/CelineDion.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_7S1Dwv_bxL8/SgQlzR8S70I/AAAAAAAAAo4/x-cJVpn4t7s/s320/CelineDion.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5333429421633367874" border="0" /></a>Chia sẽ với các bạn, những người yêu thích giọng hát ngọt ngào và êm dịu của ca sĩ Celine Dion những tình khúc hay nhất.<br /><br />01. Fallin into you 04:25<br />02. Game of Love 05:31<br />03. Thats what it takes 04:14<br />04. I dont know (Life without you) 04:40<br />05. Misled 08:48<br />06. Call The Man 09:08<br />07. Talk About Love 05:15<br />08. No Living without Loving You 04:24<br />09. Where Does My Heart Beat Now 04:37<br />10. My Heart will go on [TITANIC] 04:41<br />11. A New Day Has Come 04:20<br />12. I am Alive 03:31<br />13. I hate you then I love you 04:46<br />14. When I need You 04:16<br />15. Immortality 04:13<br /><span class="fullpost"><br />Download Link:<br /><br />- <a href="http://www.mediafire.com/?n5mgjongudh">Best of Celine Dion - Phan 1</a><br />- <a href="http://www.mediafire.com/?yjzk3yimkin">Best of Celine Dion - Phan 2</a><br /><br /></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7072101274549351397.post-12282287454977448402009-05-07T22:09:00.000+07:002009-05-07T22:10:11.918+07:00Every Day A Story 4So tired... from all that's happening inside and around me. There is nothing to rely on, everything is crumbling down and it makes me feel like an extra in the theatre of the absurb. My only joy is the fresh breeze, the rain and the winter leaves. The beauty of the land indicates that the end is near... But I am aware of eternity and that's what keeps me sane. A day doesn't always last a day. The aftermath is that of wisdom, peace and light... The magical journey of our lives... cause Every Day A Story...<br /><span class="fullpost"><br /><br /></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7072101274549351397.post-1468852871600188872009-05-05T18:40:00.001+07:002009-05-05T18:42:16.299+07:00Ithaca<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_7S1Dwv_bxL8/SgAmAZvpIeI/AAAAAAAAAow/rCvD3rRczlI/s1600-h/Ithaca.png"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 207px; height: 158px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_7S1Dwv_bxL8/SgAmAZvpIeI/AAAAAAAAAow/rCvD3rRczlI/s320/Ithaca.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5332303747159237090" border="0" /></a>by Phan Viet<br /><br />He had heard about her through some friends. The stories always went like this, "Oh, Cornell University? Well, at Cornell, there was a young lady getting her PhD in psychology. I heard she was such and such." He didn’t remember much; just a lady, one year older than him, getting a PhD at a good school.<br /><br />But then, in his third winter in America, he had to go to Ithaca for a conference on elementary particles. Before leaving, he entertained the idea that perhaps he would email her when he got there. He would say, well, I had heard so much about you and would love to meet you; that is, of course, if you have time.<br /><span class="fullpost"><br />But having arrived at Cornell, it seemed impossible for him to write that email. What now? To write the email and to meet a lady who might be quite pretty, quite fun, quite this, and quite that... but so what? What could possibly come from a meeting with a lady living 6 hours from him by car and who is a year older than him? What can possibly come from any meeting any more?<br /><br />The last day at Cornell, just three hours before he had to leave, he dad nothing to do. He checked his email and surfed the Internet. There was nothing new in his mailbox except a few spam emails. He deleted the spam and replied to some older emails. Then, out of boredom, he started reading emails that were a few years old. They were the ones he had sent out when he first arrived in America, in hopes of making new friends. It was bizarre to read them now and realize he no longer talked to any of these friends. There weren’t any arguments or tragic breaks during those three years, as far as he could remember, but somehow things just seemed to end.<br /><br />Still two more hours to go, he thought, checking his watch. He clicked on the "Compose" button and typed fast without thinking.<br /><br />"I am on campus for a conference and only heard about you a few minutes ago," he wrote. "If you have time, I hope we can meet. That is, of course, if you receive this email before 3pm." Then he shut down his laptop and prepared to wait until it was time to leave for the airport. "She won’t reply," he thought. "If I were her, I wouldn’t."<br /><br />But 30 minutes later, his cell phone rang.<br /><br />"Have you left yet?"<br /><br />"I’m still waiting for you," he said.<br /><br />"Oh good. I was afraid you had gone."<br /><br />They met in a Starbucks cafe overlooking the college town and the pine forests – the only thing still green in January. In the days that followed, he could not remember what she wore. He only remembered that voice. A voice that sounded like the wind on the barley fields after the crop has been harvested. The wind would take up the seeds left scattered on the field and swirl them into tiny tornadoes, which danced happily across the fields.<br /><br />For the first 10 minutes, he busied himself with ordering coffee, commenting on the cold January weather in New England and talking about Cornell – trying to get comfortable with her presence.<br /><br />"Do you know Urie Bronfenbrenner?" she asked. "I came to Cornell because of him."<br /><br />They talked about Hanoi and common friends in Boston and Chicago. Then they talked about America, the illusions they had when they first arrived, their illusions about the PhDs and what it took to be a true scientist.<br /><br />"Why do you study physics?"<br /><br />"Ah, that’s hard to answer. I don’t think I have enough time," he smiled.<br /><br />"No no... You only need to give me an example. Something that, when you see it, you say to yourself, ah, this is why I want to study physics."<br /><br />She leaned back, waiting. The waiting emptied his mind.<br /><br />"Well, let’s see... I don’t think I have revealing moments like that. Things always come to me gradually. Naturally, I mean."<br /><br />"Oh, I don’t mean revealing moments. I mean, what makes you still excited about physics after all these years? In my case, whenever I read an experiment that is designed beautifully, I get excited. I remember the first time I read Piaget’s notes. He wanted to know how children distinguished the square from the circle and rectangular. Have you ever sat for four hours to watch a child play?"<br /><br />He said no, he never had. He said he didn’t know how to play with children. And perhaps he didn’t know how to play with adults either. She laughed.<br /><br />But they had bypassed the question about physics. Why were they talking about physics? Good God, physics, of all things! Yet, it seemed natural.<br /><br />"You know," she said, "I think one day people will find out that your physics and my psychology are not that far from each other. Western psychology only touches on the idea of the unconscious but they don’t believe in things like previous-life knowledge. And your modern physics doesn’t believe in Buddhist ideas about the origin of the world. Like The Four Noble Truths or the Original Karma."<br /><br />"Well, Einstein said Buddhism comes closest to the truth about the universe."<br /><br />"I believe him," she said and suddenly added, "It’s almost three."<br /><br />"I’d better go back to the hotel," he said.<br /><br />Outside the coffee shop, they stood facing each other. While he was trying to find something significant to say, she extended her hand.<br /><br />"I will see you again."<br /><br />"Sure. I will see you again."<br /><br />They shook hands, smiled, then turned and walked away. He never turned around to look back.<br /><br />Back in Baltimore, he googled the psychology department of Cornell and found a profile picture of her on the department’s website. The picture was accompanied by two lines saying she was studying speech development in children. Then he started searching for Piaget on JSTOR. He read Piaget’s experiments with children; then Bronfenbrenner’s ecological theory. He thought the next time they met, they must talk about psychology. He would say:<br /><br />"You know, I think Bronfenbrenner’s ecological theory has serious problems. That theory is like taking a snapshot of life, rather than seeing it as a course. It focuses on a moment, not the process. Just a random, particular moment. Which is pretty meaningless when one wants to examine the nature of things."<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="fullpost">***</span><br /></div><span class="fullpost"><br />But there was a year between that first meeting and their second. In that one year, he did not contact her once. No email. No phone call. Nothing. He just couldn’t.<br /><br />It was funny how things happened. The first week back from Ithaca he was obsessed with reading about psychology; he was sure they would meet again very soon. He was sure there had been a connection that, like gravity, would draw them closer to each other. It must happen, there was no other way around it. But then a week passed and it suddenly occurred to him that he should have emailed her right after he returned to Baltimore. He should have done something to acknowledge what had happened. Even gravity would have remained thin air if Newton hadn’t acknowledged it.<br /><br />He thought about it for two weeks, half wondering if he should do something now and half wishing she would write him. When there was no contact from her either as the weeks passed by and when the psychology readings became so complicated that they pushed him into a strange world, he started thinking that he had been right not to email. It would have been a burden to her and it would have exposed him. "I must be mad to think there was a connection. It’s just me and my old tricky mind," he thought.<br /><br />He had more reason to believe this after they met accidentally at a friend’s birthday party in Washington DC. It was March and a year had passed since Ithaca. When he saw her sitting on the couch of his friend’s sitting room, he thought she was a mirage. But when he realized it was really her another thought occurred to him. She had come to DC without letting him know, even just as a friend.<br /><br />Especially when, for the past year, he had waited for a "natural" chance to go to Cornell once again.<br /><br />"I am here to see the cherry blossoms," she said. "I’ve been in the US for four years and have never been to DC."<br /><br />"Well, there’s not much to see in DC but it’s still the capital and worth visiting in that sense. If you are not familiar with the city, I can take you around."<br /><br />She looked straight into his eyes when he spoke. Immediately, he knew something was not right.<br /><br />"Oh thank you," she smiled. "But I am going home tomorrow."<br /><br />Before he could figure out what he was feeling, a man and a young girl came up to them. They told her that the others traveling in their group decided they would stop by Philadelphia on the way back to Ithaca. She nodded, then introduced them. The man had recently come to Cornell for a master’s degree in public administration, and the girl was a first-year student. Their group of 8 people had been visiting DC for the last few days.<br /><br />He said hello, made some brief small talk and then excused himself. Their paths didn’t cross for the rest of the evening. An hour passed. At 8 o’clock, he told the host that he had to leave. He did not stop by the couch to say goodbye. He took his hat and winter coat from the closet, then opened the door and walked out.<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="fullpost">***</span><br /></div><span class="fullpost"><br />Time trudged on. Since that second meeting in DC, he had met other girls – quite a few girls in fact. He knew that she was in Hanoi the next summer, when he was also there. Then the next fall, he had another conference in Cornell, which he attended, but never told her about. The following winter, he met a 24-year-old girl earning a master’s degree in public health from Johns Hopkins. They soon started dating. When the next summer came, he heard she had returned to Hanoi to get married to the public administration man from the party. He broke up with the public health girl. From then on, news about her was always accompanied by news about her husband or vice versa. As for him, he went on many more dates with more girls but somehow the excitement often faded away before he started to care how he felt about the girl. He never really thought why. It all seemed natural.<br /><br />He received his doctorate the next summer. In the fall, he went to Cornell for his post-doc. She had graduated that summer and returned to Hanoi with her husband. After the one-year postdoc, he left Cornell to work at the Fermi Lab in Illinois. Time kept passing.<br /><br />A year later, they met again in Hanoi at the wedding of a mutual friend. She was at the wedding alone, on behalf of her husband, who was in Belgium for business. In the corridor outside the wedding hall, they had some time alone. Neither one was nervous any more. Smiling easily, he said:<br /><br />"You know. I think Bronfenbrenner’s ecological theory doesn’t make any sense. It only takes a snapshot of life, rather than viewing it as a journey. It doesn’t look at the process and only focuses on a moment. A random moment. Which doesn’t make any sense and has no significance whatsoever because a random, silly moment can say nothing about a man’s life. Only the journey is important."<br /><br />He stopped, surprised that he still remembered that stuff and even felt excited to talk about it.<br /><br />"You really think so?" she replied.<br /><br />The question was simple. She didn’t even seem to expect an answer. He looked straight into her eyes. Suddenly, a thought seized him like a strong wave crashing down on him. It was obvious. The last 5 years of his life, with all its ups and downs, the vague longing, the unnamed fear, the doubt, the diminishing excitement and the prolonged but unacknowledged lovesickness. They all originated from that random moment when he wrote her the short email from Cornell, only two hours before he had to go to the airport. Perhaps his whole life had been determined by that silly moment, which seemed to come out of nowhere. Nothing that came before it seemed to warn him of that moment nor prevented what happened afterward. No prior experiences seemed to have been able to stop him from writing that email; and all his free will and reason could not help him in the years that followed. There was no process. There was no journey into and out of that moment. It was just a random particular moment; a gigantic disruption that had no place in his life. Even he did not have a place in it.<br /><br />And while he stood there, surrendering unconditionally to the present, he heard a soft laugh from her.<br /><br />"You and I, we are always like two drifters."<br /><br />Two drifters! Two drifters! "Two drifters off to see the world". That afternoon in the Starbucks in Ithaca, he had heard those Moon River lyrics while they waited for their coffee. He had held on to reality by repeating these words in his mind while watching her from the corner of his eye. That day, she wore a long white winter coat, with a light gray scarf that had tiny white fringes.<br /><br />Two drifters. Two drifters. She knew it. She had known it all along.<br /><br />From then until the end of the wedding, they did not exchange another word. They sat opposite each other at a table that was arranged for former students in the US. He did not look at her once and she didn’t look at him either. But he felt he knew every one of her thoughts. He knew them all because he knew she had been thinking of him and waiting for him in the years after the afternoon in Ithaca. They had been both scared and stupid.<br /><br />But he had no regrets.<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="fullpost">***</span><br /></div><span class="fullpost"><br />The years passed by. They sometimes ran into each other here and there, one time at a reunion of former New England expats, another time at a conference and another time at a house-warming party for a friend they didn’t even know they had in common. At these chance encounters, sometimes they were arranged to sit next to each other. But they rarely talked to each other nor to other people at the table. They just sat and listened; and answered only when they had no choice. If her dress accidentally touched his trousers under the table, she would apologise and draw her chair further away. Or if his elbow touched hers on the table, he would excuse himself and pull back. But then, at the end of the conference or party, they would find a minute to be alone at the door. There, they would look straight into each other’s eyes and hold the look for a moment while they bowed slightly in farewell. — VNS<br /></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7072101274549351397.post-6895112450260238282009-05-05T18:22:00.002+07:002009-05-05T18:25:42.467+07:00The Economist, May 2, 2009<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_7S1Dwv_bxL8/SgAiLeXDPEI/AAAAAAAAAoo/JW-kzLeDXcA/s1600-h/TheEconomist_2009-05-02.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 263px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_7S1Dwv_bxL8/SgAiLeXDPEI/AAAAAAAAAoo/JW-kzLeDXcA/s320/TheEconomist_2009-05-02.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5332299539330317378" border="0" /></a><span style="font-weight: bold;">Pandemics: The pandemic threat</span><br />It's deadly serious; so even if the current threat fades, the world needs to be better armed.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Italy: Regrettable Berlusconi</span><br />What a pity Italy's prime minister does not use his political muscle to reform his country.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">South Africa: It needs an opposition</span><br />Jacob Zuma has proved he can win votes. But can he run a serious democracy?<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Latin America's economies: That fragile thing: a good reputation</span><br />A reformed region cannot escape recession but it can mitigate its impact.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Tax: A nasty Brown mess</span><br />The politics behind Britain's tax changes are ugly. The economics are worse.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Warfare: All at sea</span><br />Foreign military bases have both political and practical difficulties. "Seabasing" may offer a solution.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Psychology: Life in thin slices</span><br />An ancient smile may predict a modern divorce.<br /><br />PDF | 2.1 MB<br /><span class="fullpost"><br /><a href="http://depositfiles.com/files/ogb26g2n6">Download link 1</a><br /><a href="http://kewlshare.com/dl/5a496f055a72/TheEconomist_2009-05-02.zip.html">Download link 2</a><br /></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7072101274549351397.post-36347561805241606342009-05-05T18:14:00.003+07:002009-05-05T18:21:52.089+07:00BusinessWeek, May 11, 2009<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_7S1Dwv_bxL8/SgAgY-95mZI/AAAAAAAAAog/t0ZbOU5rKSU/s1600-h/BusinessWeek_2009-05-11.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 266px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_7S1Dwv_bxL8/SgAgY-95mZI/AAAAAAAAAog/t0ZbOU5rKSU/s320/BusinessWeek_2009-05-11.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5332297572398242194" border="0" /></a><span style="font-weight: bold;">CEOs of Tomorrow</span><br />BusinessWeek picks 20 big-company executives most likely to ascend to the corner office.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Help Wanted</span><br />Some 3 million jobs are going begging in the U.S. Blame a skills deficit and reduced mobility.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Germany</span><br />Berlin's reforms have kept unemployment from leaping.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Info Tech</span><br />SAP's double headache: The Oracle-Sun deal and false start in cloud computing.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">The Internet</span><br />As it monopoly status comes under fire, Google works overtime on a charm offensive.<br /><br />PDF | 10.8 MB<br /><span class="fullpost"><br /><a href="http://depositfiles.com/files/7d6z9a3je">Download link 1</a><br /><a href="http://kewlshare.com/dl/61d04ae5100b/BusinessWeek_2009-05-11.zip.html">Download link 2</a><br /></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7072101274549351397.post-14422864873771226702009-04-29T09:59:00.003+07:002009-04-29T10:01:54.736+07:00The Science of Self-Confidence [AUDIOBOOK]<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_7S1Dwv_bxL8/SffDEBKFlSI/AAAAAAAAAn4/-AUGm3kMcwg/s1600-h/Self-Confidence1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 256px; height: 262px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_7S1Dwv_bxL8/SffDEBKFlSI/AAAAAAAAAn4/-AUGm3kMcwg/s320/Self-Confidence1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5329943157813908770" border="0" /></a>Author: Brian Tracy<br />Publisher: Nightingale Conant (1999)<br />File size: 80,7 Mb<br />File type: mp3 (bitrate 32 Kb/s)<br /><br />This step-by-step system is based on power principles. Use them to become virtually unstoppable. Learn how to harness the power of purpose…align it with your core values…and achieve a deep, inner sense of strength.<br /><br />By using these ideas and practicing these principles, everything becomes possible. Your belief in your ability to succeed in all areas of life becomes unshakable. Your life will never be the same, once you learn to practice The Science of Self-Confidence.<br /><span class="fullpost"><br />If you find this audiobook helpful to you, please drop me an email, I will give you the link to download and enjoy listening.<br /></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7072101274549351397.post-5337212988966941642009-04-29T09:21:00.000+07:002009-04-29T10:23:45.404+07:00Execution: The Discipline of Getting Things Done<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_7S1Dwv_bxL8/SffIHTp-TkI/AAAAAAAAAoI/t36KWZWRD28/s1600-h/Execution+The+Discipline+of+Getting+Things+Done.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 190px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_7S1Dwv_bxL8/SffIHTp-TkI/AAAAAAAAAoI/t36KWZWRD28/s320/Execution+The+Discipline+of+Getting+Things+Done.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5329948711877234242" border="0" /></a>Amazon.com Review<br />Disciplines like strategy, leadership development, and innovation are the sexier aspects of being at the helm of a successful business; actually getting things done never seems quite as glamorous. But as Larry Bossidy and Ram Charan demonstrate in Execution, the ultimate difference between a company and its competitor is, in fact, the ability to execute.<br /><span class="fullpost"><br />Execution is "the missing link between aspirations and results," and as such, making it happen is the business leader's most important job. While failure in today's business environment is often attributed to other causes, Bossidy and Charan argue that the biggest obstacle to success is the absence of execution. They point out that without execution, breakthrough thinking on managing change breaks down, and they emphasize the fact that execution is a discipline to learn, not merely the tactical side of business. Supporting this with stories of the "execution difference" being won (EDS) and lost (Xerox and Lucent), the authors describe the building blocks--leaders with the right behaviors, a culture that rewards execution, and a reliable system for having the right people in the right jobs--that need to be in place to manage the three core business processes of people, strategy, and operations. Both Bossidy, CEO of Honeywell International, Inc., and Charan, advisor to corporate executives and author of such books as What the CEO Wants You to Know and Boards That Work, present experience-tested insight into how the smooth linking of these three processes can differentiate one company from the rest. Developing the discipline of execution isn't made out to be simple, nor is this book a quick, easy read. Bossidy and Charan do, however, offer good advice on a neglected topic, making Execution a smart business leader's guide to enacting success rather than permitting demise. --S. Ketchum<br /><br />From Library Journal<br />Bossidy, an award-winning executive at General Electric and Allied Signal, came out of retirement to tend to Honeywell (and bring it back to prominence) after it failed to merge with General Electric. Charan has taught at Harvard and Kellogg Business Schools. Collaborating with editor and writer Burck, they present the viewpoint that execution (that is, linking a company's people, strategy, and operations) is what will determine success in today's business world. Bossidy and Charan aver that execution is a discipline integral to strategy, that it is the major job of any business leader hoping not just to be a success but to dominate a market, and that it is a core element of corporate culture. Details of both successful and unsuccessful executions at corporations such as Dell, Johnson & Johnson, and Xerox, to name a few, support not only their how-to method for bringing execution to the forefront but also the need for it. Each author addresses specific topics in paragraphs that begin with either "Larry" or "Ram," and this easy style adds to the appeal of a very readable book. Recommended for academic and public libraries.<br />Steven J. Mayover, Philadelphia<br />Copyright 2002 Reed Business Information, Inc.<br /><br />If you find this audibook helpful to you, please drop me an email, O will give you the link to download and enjoy listening.<br /></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7072101274549351397.post-68749767713376421162009-04-29T09:10:00.001+07:002009-04-29T10:43:10.483+07:00Wayne Dyer-Change Your Thoughts-Change Your Life (AudioBook)<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_7S1Dwv_bxL8/SffMwP5itbI/AAAAAAAAAoY/R4ycG3lWWEA/s1600-h/Wayne+Dyer-Change+Your+Thoughts-Change+Your+Life.png"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 303px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_7S1Dwv_bxL8/SffMwP5itbI/AAAAAAAAAoY/R4ycG3lWWEA/s320/Wayne+Dyer-Change+Your+Thoughts-Change+Your+Life.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5329953813289940402" border="0" /></a>Whether it’s a financial crisis, a family issue, a troubling illness or addiction, a distressing obstacle at work, or a problem in your relationship, you can have access to a solution for every difficulty you face.<br /><br />The New York Times #1 best-selling author and world-renowned inspirational teacher, DR. WAYNE W. DYER has discovered the secrets to achieving a way of life that guarantees integrity, joy, peace, and balance, and he reveals these to you in his newest book, Change Your Thoughts—Change Your Life.<br /><span class="fullpost"><br />Product Description<br /><br />Five hundred years before the birth of Jesus, a God-realized being named Lao-tzu in ancient China dictated 81 verses, which are regarded by many as the ultimate commentary on the nature of our existence. The classic text of these 81 verses, called the Tao Te Ching or the Great Way, offers advice and guidance that is balanced, moral, spiritual, and always concerned with working for the good.<br /><br />In this book, Dr. Wayne W. Dyer has reviewed hundreds of translations of the Tao Te Ching and has written 81 distinct essays on how to apply the ancient wisdom of Lao-tzu to today’s modern world. This work contains the entire 81 verses of the Tao, compiled from Wayne’s researching of 12 of the most well-respected translations of text that have survived for more than 25 centuries. Each chapter is designed for actually living the Tao or the Great Way today. Some of the chapter titles are “Living with Flexibility,” “Living Without Enemies,” and “Living by Letting Go.” Each of the 81 brief chapters focuses on living the Tao and concludes with a section called “Doing the Tao Now.”<br /><br />Wayne spent one entire year reading, researching, and meditating on Lao-tzu’s messages, practicing them each day and ultimately writing down these essays as he felt Lao-tzu wanted you to know them.<br />This is a work to be read slowly, one essay a day. As Wayne says, “This is a book that will forever change the way you look at your life, and the result will be that you’ll live in a new world aligned with nature. Writing this book changed me forever, too. I now live in accord with the natural world and feel the greatest sense of peace I’ve ever experienced. I’m so proud to present this interpretation of the Tao Te Ching, and offer the same opportunity for change that it has brought me.”<br /><br />About the Author<br />Dr. Wayne W. Dyer is an internationally renowned author and speaker in the field of self-development. He has written numerous bestselling books and has created a number of audios and videos. He has appeared on thousands of television and radio programs, including The Today Show and Oprah.<br /><br />If you find this audiobook useful to you, please drop me an email, I will give you the link to download and enjoy listening.<br /></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7072101274549351397.post-81836422787221899112009-04-29T09:05:00.001+07:002009-04-29T10:34:20.114+07:00Jim Rohn - The Day That Turns Your Life Around [Audio Book]<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_7S1Dwv_bxL8/SffKSgqgoYI/AAAAAAAAAoQ/Mz0IYTVShoU/s1600-h/214l-7dToIL.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 195px; height: 237px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_7S1Dwv_bxL8/SffKSgqgoYI/AAAAAAAAAoQ/Mz0IYTVShoU/s320/214l-7dToIL.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5329951103370961282" border="0" /></a>Author: Jim Rohn<br />Publisher: Nightingale Conant<br />File size: 78.5 mb<br />File type: mp3 in rar<br /><br />Some people waste years, decades, even their entire lives waiting for that extraordinary lightning bolt that will change everything for them. But those whose lives really do change in dramatic ways can almost always trace the change back to something much simpler. One subtle, unsuspecting moment. One episode, one realization, one action. One seemingly insignificant step that put them on a completely different path... and ultimately led them to their dreams.<br /><span class="fullpost"><br />If you know you want something in your life to change, then all you need is just such a moment. The good news is you don't have to wait for it to show up. You can make that magical, transformational moment appear. And you can do it right now - today!<br /><br />In The Day That Turns Your Life Around, esteemed motivational master Jim Rohn shares the essential elements of a life-changing day with you, and shows you how to consciously create the conditions that make dramatic, lasting personal transformation not merely possible, but inevitable.<br /><br />In this powerful and compelling program, you will discover the four emotional states that can change your life, and how to generate them within yourself at will, rather than waiting for external circumstances to activate them (something which may never happen).<br /><br />Once you've put yourself in the ideal emotional state, Jim will show you how to direct that momentum toward the specific circumstances of your life that you want to change. Using the unique and powerful set of tools he provides, you'll be able to target any situation with laser-like focus and begin to transform it instantaneously.<br /><br />With the wit, wisdom, and down-to-earth insights that have made him famous, Jim covers it all - from how to sail through the coming Social Security crisis, to improving your marriage, to living a life of true style, grace, and professionalism. Wherever you're looking to change, you'll find the tools to make that change happen immediately.<br /><br />The Day That Turns Your Life Around marks a new direction in the work of Jim Rohn. He has stepped off the stage and into the intimate surroundings of a studio, for a conversational presentation of ideas and strategies he's covering for the first time anywhere!<br /><br />The result is an amazingly powerful listening experience. You'll feel as if Jim is right in the same room, speaking directly to you in a one-on-one coaching session focused on your unique goals, needs, and challenges.<br /><br />There's no reason for you to live with lack, unhappiness, or dissatisfaction - no matter how great or small. At any moment, you can choose to transform any circumstance in your life. The Day That Turns Your Life Around will give you the tools and information to achieve any change you want to. And you'll be astonished by how quickly and easily it happens.<br /><br />If you find this audiobook useful to you, please drop me an email, I will give you the link to download and enjoy listening.<br /></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7072101274549351397.post-5001615309826236792009-04-29T09:04:00.000+07:002009-04-29T10:09:19.397+07:00Louise Hay - 101 Power Thoughts [AUDIOBOOK]<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_7S1Dwv_bxL8/SffEvPWKG-I/AAAAAAAAAoA/EB_NaZir-80/s1600-h/101+Power+Thoughts.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 279px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_7S1Dwv_bxL8/SffEvPWKG-I/AAAAAAAAAoA/EB_NaZir-80/s320/101+Power+Thoughts.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5329944999868636130" border="0" /></a>Author: Louise Hay<br />Publisher: Hay House; Abridged edition (May 1, 2004)<br />File size: 91,3 Mb<br />File type: mp3 (bitrate 192 Kb/s)<br /><br />Louise Hay reads her power thoughts to you in her own warm, nurturing voice. Listen to one power thought each day or a few at a time. However you decide to play this cd, you'll find that you may begin to think more positively and create exciting changes in your life!<br /><span class="fullpost"><br />Product Description<br />Now enjoy 101 Power Thoughts on CD! Louise Hay reads her power thoughts to you in her own warm, nurturing voice. Listen to one power thought each day or a few at a time. However you decide to play this cd, you'll find that you may begin to think more positively and create exciting changes in your life!<br /><br />About the Author<br />Louise L. Hay is a metaphysical lecturer and teacher and the bestselling author of numerous books, including You Can Heal Your Life trade — 0937611018, which has sold 30 million worldwide; You Can Heal Your Life Gift edition—1561706280; and Empowering Women—1561706094. Her works have been translated into 25 different languages in 33 countries throughout the world. Since beginning her career as a Science of Mind minister in 1981, Louise has assisted thousands of people in discovering and using the full potential of their own creative powers for personal growth and self-healing. Louise is the founder and chairman of Hay House, Inc., a publishing company that disseminates books, audios, and videos that contribute to the healing of the planet. Louise lives in San Diego, California, where she spends her time loving life, gardening, and writing.<br /><br />If you find this audiobook helpful to you, please drop me an email, I will give you the link to download and enjoy listening.<br /></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7072101274549351397.post-27270202352503813302009-04-27T22:07:00.002+07:002009-04-27T22:10:02.194+07:00The Economist, April 25, 2009<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_7S1Dwv_bxL8/SfXKtPP3CGI/AAAAAAAAAnw/fRImTQsL8N8/s1600-h/TheEconomist_2009-04-25.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 262px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_7S1Dwv_bxL8/SfXKtPP3CGI/AAAAAAAAAnw/fRImTQsL8N8/s320/TheEconomist_2009-04-25.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5329388612598827106" border="0" /></a><span style="font-weight: bold;">The world economy: A glimmer of hope?</span><br />The worst thing for the world economy would be to assume the worst is over.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Politics and the British budget: Desperate measures</span><br />Gordon Brown's budget is a dishonest piece of pre-election politicking.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">The United States and Latin America: A new start in the Americas</span><br />Barack Obama has dangled a carrot for Cuba and Venezuela. Time for Brazil and others to show a bit of stick.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Sri Lanka's war: To the bitter end</span><br />The Sri Lankan army could turn triumph into disaster unless it shows restraint.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Cyberwar: Battle is joined</span><br />A behind-the-scenes conflict appears to be under way -- but not the sort you might think.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Computing: Mr Ellison helps himself</span><br />Oracle's takeover of Sun Microsystems is a surprise, but fits an industry trend.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Germany's high electricity prices: Power to the people (at a price)</span><br />Change is slowly coming to Germany's dysfunctional electricity market.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">The PCCW case: Split decision</span><br />A pivotal ruling strengthens the hand of Hong Kong's small shareholders.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Sir John Maddox: The nature of Nature</span><br />The man who reinvented science journalism.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Treating cancer: Illuminating surgery</span><br />A clever way of highlighting tumours to make them easier to remove.<br /><br />PDF | 2.3 MB<br /><span class="fullpost"><br /><a href="http://depositfiles.com/files/1ctugza4l">Download link 1</a><br /><a href="http://www.filefactory.com/file/agd3egh/n/TheEconomist_2009-04-25_zip">Download link 2</a><br /></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7072101274549351397.post-54194795984671184962009-04-27T21:55:00.001+07:002009-04-27T21:58:20.535+07:00Like salt and like that<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_7S1Dwv_bxL8/SfXH9tMM_cI/AAAAAAAAAng/8bNw4YBbxHQ/s1600-h/salt.png"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 155px; height: 256px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_7S1Dwv_bxL8/SfXH9tMM_cI/AAAAAAAAAng/8bNw4YBbxHQ/s320/salt.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5329385596979576258" border="0" /></a>by Pham Thi Diep Giang<br /><br />I wondered why I suddenly wanted to become a grain of salt. A tiny salty grain lying in silence somewhere in the white salt holder on a spice rack in a small kitchen. Or a grain of salt crusted on an old La Vie bottle, which my father used in the old days to gargle after waking up. Or a grain of salt perched on the brim of a glass of red wine, as red as a ruby. Or a grain of salt shining brightly in the sun amid the grains of sand in the Mediterranean Sea, where I hope to travel sometime in the distant future.<br /><span class="fullpost"><br />All of a sudden, I earnestly wanted to become a grain of salt more than ever before. What was I expecting from this incarnation? What was I hoping for from this grain of salt which was me? Was it possible for a grain of salt to have a mind? Or when I became a grain of salt, would I live a life different from the other grains of salt, because I was myself, even though I was a grain of salt?<br /><br />Now I am going to tell you a funny story. One day my niece came back from school and threw herself onto my lap and said that she wanted to become a skunk. "A skunk!" I said in great surprise, because I did not know what a skunk was like – what sound it made, what colour its fur was, and didn’t it give a really unpleasant smell? So I asked her why she wanted to become a skunk. She grinned, showing the gap in her teeth.<br /><br />"You know, a woman called me a skunk today. She is a fruit seller at the school gate, and I like the name very much!"<br /><br />I thought I needed to meet the woman. And I did meet her. She was a fat and slovenly woman of about 60. She had tousled hair and a wrinkled face. The fruits she sold were all placed on a small wooden table near some small stools upholstered in leather. The scene was like a badly made silk painting. I sat down on one of those small stools in silence and after a moment asked her in a serious voice:<br /><br />"May I ask you? Do you know what a skunk is like?"<br /><br />The woman looked greatly surprised, as if I had fallen from somewhere high above and was not a girl made of worldly flesh.<br /><br />"What did you ask? What a skunk?" – she asked as if she did not believe her ears. This meant that even she did not know what a skunk was like. It also meant that the woman had only said it accidentally.<br /><br />I chose to make a fuss about it, because if I wanted I could have just gotten the answer by searching Google. It was like a breeze to get an answer there.<br /><br />But how could I tell my niece only the scientific information I had picked up from the Net? That’s not what she wanted. On the other hand, I also did not want to stuff her head with all that information. So, my meeting with the fruit seller and my search on the Net were fruitless.<br /><br />But man still does many pointless things. I used to have long, time-consuming arguments with my university friends on the Net about whether banh troi Tau, Luc tao xa or Chi ma phu were better, even they were merely the snacks that some of my girl friends and I would eat often at street stalls. We let our days pass in that same fruitless manner. We were so concerned with these meaningless things that helped us kill time. Anybody could get scared of time and anybody could say "Oh, time flies, and I haven’t done anything yet". Often someone will remark they wish there were forty eight hours in a day, so there would be time to do everything. What a fool! If time could be lengthened to no end, if each day was prolonged to a year or even a hundred years, we would still while away our time with these fruitless things. Yes, we have to live with these trifles. There is no other way!<br /><br />It was the same here as I sat in the dark, unable to get a wink of sleep, watching the last minutes of my thirtieth birthday roll by and wishing that I could become a grain of salt. At least as a grain of salt, I could be more useful than I was as my human self. Yes, it was true!<br /><br />Once during a meal, my father and mother had an argument over the tasteless braised fish. Father said: "If you would only add a grain of salt, it would be much better!" So had I been turned into that grain of salt, could I have stopped the bickering? But I could not. They had that first argument, because father complained that a tasteless braised fish was worthless. Mother should have kept mum about it as usual. But out of the blue, she began arguing the scientific benefits. She said aged people should eat less salty food, particularly men, because it would cause trouble with his kidneys, if he ate too much salty food. Argument turned into argument. Mother began arguing a lot when she retired, and she spent a lot of time listening to the radio or watching television. She followed almost all the programmes during the day. She had even learned the names of the actors and actresses on soap operas, science and current affairs programes by heart. She had been well-taught by those doctors on TV, and she had even copied the instructions on how to teach school children to make decorations.<br /><br />The argument between mother and father ended abruptly when he began coughing. A fish bone had gotten stuck in his throat because of his fighting. His face began to turn blue, and he clawed at his throat and coughed, trying to get the fish bone out. I could feel something looming large in front of us. I thought he was about to do something destructive.<br /><br />It was a divorce! It was a stupid thing to do, but he could not bear another argument with his wife! I myself at that time thought I would live an easy life when I got old. I was so afraid of becoming a fastidious old woman, critical and demanding, even though I was that person already. But mind you, if you get fastidious when you get older, you will live longer, but more unhappily. Because the longer you live, the more unacceptable things you will have to accept. For this very reason, it was difficult for me to imagine that father had divorced mother just because the braised fish she cooked for him was tasteless, lacking only a single grain of salt.<br /><br />But my father was like that. It was said that men are like children and it was also said that old people become like children, if they live long enough. It means that an old man has got inside him two children, or in other words, he easily becomes sulky, angry, hurt and flies off the handle. If this is true, my father was a typical person in that sense. The next day, father threw all his personal belongings into a suitcase and told us he had to go to his country home for a while. Mother was not sensitive enough to understand. She insisted on going with him, and of course father refused pointblank.<br /><br />The lack of a singe grain of salt for a pot of braised fish made father decide to live seperately from mother. And I could not turn myself into that grain of salt in time. I was thirty years old that day. I was sitting in the dark, feeling the heat of early summer days and wishing in silence to be a grain of salt.<br /><br />When I was a first-year student, I read a moving story titled "Salt Coffee", where a young man loves a young girl. The young man went to a coffee house one day and joked with the waitress by ordering a cup of salt coffee. The waitress thought his order was real, so she went to put some salt in the coffee. Day in and day out the man drank it; he got addicted to this coffee, and they fell in love. A really romantic love story, isn’t it? Back then, we girls all wished for a dream boy, so we could give them this beautiful love story. And one day this story lost its poetry when I met a young guy in the middle of this summer, who gave me a pack of coffee with the brandname Tuy Hoa. He told me I would find the coffee a bit salty. I asked:<br /><br />"Do they roast coffee with salt?"<br /><br />"Not with salt, but with shrimp paste" – the young guy answered, smiling.<br /><br />So, I understood that salt coffee was real, and it was salty not because of salt, but because of shrimp paste. Salt and shrimp paste are in two different categories. They have different smells. But now, at the age of thirty, what was I expecting? Something romantic? No. I was sitting in the dark of my room to dream about becoming a grain of salt at the age of thirty one.<br /><br />Recently, my girl friends wanted to set me up on blind dates with some of the their guy friends. I was no good at all, if I did not get married at this age. My girl friends were all married and had one or two children already. So they showered me with their pity. However, at first they all told me they were envious of me – that I could travel here and there without any heartache, without thinking about caring for my any husbands, singing lullabies to any children. Even one of my closest friends said to me:<br /><br />"I wish I could step into your shoes!"<br /><br />And by looking into her face, I could tell she was telling me the truth. She had two beautiful children and a good husband, but she was unable to go out because she had to take care of her children and her household chores. She was up to her eyeballs in work. One day, we went to a cafe where she ordered a glass of salted apricot juice. Taking a small sip, she grimaced, complaining about the salty juice.<br /><br />"You see, life is as salty as this glass of salted apricot juice. That’s why I am as thirsty as ever!"<br /><br />I smiled, understanding that she was thirsty for my life. I was a free girl. I could eat or wear anything I wanted. So I thought about my dream of becoming a grain of salt. If I were like that, I would probably arrange something for myself. It was my habit to arrange everything in life. I was thirty-one years old now and it was true, and I was still unmarried. Actually when I was twenty eight, I did think about marriage; if I had done it, I would have a child already. But I could not arrange anything for father and mother. I never could have predicted that father would live separately from mother. This event cut off the chain of my life. I had to look back and draw some conclusion. I would marry a man who would leave me if I agreed. I would always be the person who took the initiative in things.<br /><br />Even when I was a grain of salt, it would be better to be a grain of salt lying amid grains of sand and amid the shining sea shells on the Mediterranean beach. This grain of salt would be lying a bit higher than the shore to avoid the tide, of course, to avoid being dissolved, to avoid going another round of the life cycle. But I thought, the life of a grain of salt was so tasteless, if it should lie for all its life under the blazing sun, amid those grains of sands and sea shells on the beach.<br /><br />I was thirty-one years old now. The clock was ticking, and it reminded me of the fact. The Mediterranean sea had disappeared, those bars and pubs smelling richly of brandy had also disappeared, the glasses of salted lemon juice were gone. Only I was left here, thirty-one years old, in the dark of the room, with my lips tasting of the salty tears running down my face.<br /><br />Salty as salt.<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: right;"><span class="fullpost">Translated by Manh Chuong</span><br /><span class="fullpost">(from Viet Nam News)</span><br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7072101274549351397.post-85750639801863101092009-04-27T21:01:00.000+07:002009-04-27T22:06:05.035+07:00BusinessWeek, May 4, 2009<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_7S1Dwv_bxL8/SfXJsEEBDwI/AAAAAAAAAno/EIyLSKMSjFA/s1600-h/BusinessWeek_2009-05-04.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 265px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_7S1Dwv_bxL8/SfXJsEEBDwI/AAAAAAAAAno/EIyLSKMSjFA/s320/BusinessWeek_2009-05-04.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5329387492904865538" border="0" /></a><span style="font-weight: bold;">Philip Morris Unbound</span><br />Under CEO Camilleri, the tobacco giant is racing to find new smokers across the globe before restrictions spread.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Digital Health</span><br />The dubious promise of electronic records.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Economics and Policy</span><br />The unequal tax burden on companies.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">How to Play It</span><br />Tobacco stocks.<br /><br />PDF | 11 MB<br /><span class="fullpost"><br />Download link 1<br />Download link 2<br /></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7072101274549351397.post-48462134843457694152009-04-26T15:28:00.001+07:002009-04-26T15:32:13.203+07:00Spring returns<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_7S1Dwv_bxL8/SfQb9SNWCkI/AAAAAAAAAmo/o1KRNoUbne4/s1600-h/spring+return.png"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 167px; height: 264px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_7S1Dwv_bxL8/SfQb9SNWCkI/AAAAAAAAAmo/o1KRNoUbne4/s320/spring+return.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5328914998759918146" border="0" /></a>by Luong Anh<br /><br />My father's family name is Hoang. My clan was the biggest in the Ha village, so it was treated with indulgence and respect by the villagers. On moonlit nights, father often spread a mat in the middle of the yard, smoking, sipping green tea and telling stories about the Hoang clan's exploits in the olden days when they came to reclaim this wild land, and turn it into the present-day villages. This history was the great pride of the clan's descendants. Years later, when immigrants from other areas wanted to settle in the area, they had to get approval from the clan's ancestors. As great as the clan's past was, the men were generally unsuccessful. Most of them had to toil in the fields all year round. Few of them had ever ventured beyond the village's bamboo groves. Because of this, most men in the village were addicted to gambling, to playing to tom, a five-person card game using a deck of 120 cards.<br /><span class="fullpost"><br />When I was four years old, my mother died suddenly from a fatal illness. My brother Hoa and I were so young when she died that we can no longer picture her in our minds. Our sister Hien, left teacher's training college at the age of 19 and started teaching at the village's primary school. A border guard unit was stationed at the foot of a small hill near her school. One day the soldiers were training in the woods near the school and marched by a field where her class was having a lesson. The class stopped and sang out a greeting, "Good morning, soldiers!" Sister Hien had to postpone her lesson, waiting for her students to calm down after the soldiers went way. After that day a soldier called Hoang often came to visit my family. I remember how agile he was with his hands. Once he made me a grasshopper out of coconut leaves and a top made of a guava pit. Sometimes he would play with us. Nothing made us happier.<br /><br />Since my mother's death, the running of the household had fallen squarely on sister Hien's shoulders. She had become our family's main support. Our father was head of the family, but he didn't pay attention when something needed fixing or his children needed to be fed. He only had eyes for the mat where he would sit down with other men from the village to play to tom. All the players were relatives in the same clan. One day the players got a visitor: Mr. Tai, whose son had just come from a foreign country as a guest worker. It seemed that Mr. Tai wanted his son to ask sister Hien's hand in marriage, so he had come to see my father. He seemed to lose the game on purpose to please all the players. And when the gambling was over, he invited all the players to eat with him at the dog meat shop. Drinking loosened father's tongue and he managed to slur out a reply:<br /><br />"Don't worry about it. I'll marry my daughter Hien to your son Loc. If any other guy flirts with my daughter, I'll break his legs!"<br /><br />Sister Hien taught a class every morning. After she was done teaching, she hurried home to work in the field and then finish the housework in time to prepare dinner for us. When soldier Hoang came to visit, he offered our sister a helping hand. Sometimes he split firewood or built a fence around the vegetable garden to keep out the chickens.<br /><br />Father was always gone for the whole day. If he was not on the gambling mat, he could usually be found officiating at one of the wedding ceremonies or funerals in the village. One day after arriving home from a wedding, he called out Hoang, who was absorbed in repairing the leg of a table for sister Hien:<br /><br />"I warn you that you and my daughter Hien are only friends. You don't have my permission to go any farther! I'll never agree to it!"<br /><br />Then father collapsed on the plank bed and began to snore loudly. Sister Hien quickly drew Hoang to the corner of the yard, whispering something in his ear and then giggling, her cheeks rosy as a ripe persimmon.<br /><br />The traditional Lunar New Year was drawing near. You could feel the excitement building in the atmosphere. It was the morning of the 29th. We were enthusiastically cleaning up the house, sweeping the garden and cleaning rush leaves to make banh chung (sticky rice square cake). The peach tree in front of the house was blossoming. It was a cold winter and the flowers seemed to brighten up the house. Hoang chose the most beautiful branch and put in it a vase.<br /><br />On the afternoon of the 30th of Tet, we fished the banh chung out of a large pot and placed it on a long wooden plank. Then we weighed them down with bricks to shape them. Sister Hien selected four of the best-looking banh chung and put them on the altar for ancestor worshipping. After that we finished up the cooking and Hoang sat down to enjoy the New Year's Eve party with us. He was wearing his best clothes and wanted to ask father permission to bring his parents from Thai Binh province in late January to ask for my sister's hand in marriage. Father did not come home until it was nearly dark. He burned incense and prayed for quite a time before the ancestor's altar. Hoang waited. Father seemed to read his mind. He asked immediately:<br /><br />"You have something to talk to me about, don't you?"<br /><br />"Yes, I've been wanting to ask your permission for quite a long time... Hien and I..."<br /><br />He was interrupted right away. Father went into a rage, screaming at Hoang with foul language. Sister Hien rushed into the kitchen, tears streaming down her cheeks. Hoang sat there like a stone. His face was white and the atmosphere was so tense you could feel the air thicken. Hoang stood up.<br /><br />"Good-bye, uncle," he said, walking out.<br /><br />"Hoang..." sister Hien called from the doorway, her voice faltering.<br /><br />"Hien!" father shouted, his face turning purple with rage.<br /><br />She rushed out of the room, sobbing bitterly.<br /><br />Father was sitting there, smoking a bamboo pipe and exhaling smoke. Brother Hoa and I sat by the untouched tray of Tet food. Not until father lay down on the plank bed and began to snore loudly could we tiptoe into the room and lie down next to Hien. She was still crying, her body shaking with grief. I embraced her tightly.<br /><br />Never had I found Tet so dull and tedious as I did that year. Father had gone away for several days. When he was at home, he drank and scolded us. On the morning of the third day of Tet, Mr. Tai and his son came to visit us. Loc tried to find ways to be near sister Hien, who was drifting through the house like a shadow. After New Year's Day had gone by, I came to ask sister Hien:<br /><br />"Sister, why didn't Hoang come to see us?"<br /><br />Sister Hien hugged me, crying.<br /><br />"He'll never come here. He's gone far, far away."<br /><br />Years passed by and I was fully-grown. My sister Hien's youth had come and gone. She was still beautiful, but tinged with an air of sadness. She never paid attention to any of the village boys. After a few years they lost their patience and most of them married. But she still waited anxiously in silence. She had tried everything to contact Hoang over the years because she knew that he was waiting for her somewhere. A friend of Hoang's gave her his address, but her letters never received a response. Yet she kept writing them- day after day, year after year. Until her 40th birthday. That day she took every last clean, white sheet of writing paper and burnt them in the back yard.<br /><br />Father's health had begun to deteriorate, even though he was just over sixty. A lifetime of drinking and gambling had destroyed him. My brother Hoa had settled down in Da Nang and married a girl there. I had gone with my husband and moved to Ha Noi. The house was left in the care of father and sister Hien. We phoned them often, making sure they were taking care of themselves. Father quit playing cards and began to stay in the house all day. It was clear he felt sad and guilty to see his daughter's youth passing her by. Sister Hien did not feel anything and she did not cry any more, but she managed to feel a great pity for father.<br /><br />This Tet, father wanted us to have a family reunion, because it had been a long time since all his children and grandchildren had been together. Brother Hoa and his family had booked their plane tickets months ago. My son always asked me when he could return to see his grandfather and aunt Hien.<br /><br />We began preparing food for Tet, just like the old days. Sister Hien made beautiful banh chung again. The peach tree was blossoming brightly in front of the house, as if no time had passed by at all.<br /><br />This Tet we all agreed not to cut a peach branch. Sister-in-law had bought a bunch of gladiola flowers and was arranging them in a vase. The grandchildren were hanging around their grandfather. Father looked decades younger. Sister Hien stopped arranging food on the altar and said:<br /><br />"Look, dad is very happy now. He's stopped drinking, but still smokes a lot. I think we should ask him to stop smoking so much for his health. Don't you agree brother sister?"<br /><br />New Year's Eve had begun. The moment of transition between the New Year and the old year was a sacred time. Father went out to the yard and prayed to heaven and earth. Then his grandchildren rushed to sit on his lap. All of a sudden, father said:<br /><br />"My dear children, I want to tell you something. First of all, I want to apologize to Hien for all these years." He choked, tears streaming from his eyes. "Today I want to tell you everything that I have regretted in my life, things I will regret even when I'm dead and buried. I've made your sister unhappy for over twenty years now. There are no words to express how sorry I am for that. If I did not say anything that day to..." he stopped, feeling for the key in his pocket and giving it to brother Hoa. "Open that wooden trunk and take out that blue nylon bag for me..."<br /><br />Hoa opened the bag and dropped a pile of letters onto the table. None of the letters had been opened, but we could clearly see they were addressed to Hien. They were Hoang's letters. We were all stunned. Sister Hien picked up the letters in her trembling hands and pressed them to her breast. Her eyes clouded over with tears and Father called out, his voice shaking.<br /><br />"This is my mistake. This is my mistake!"<br /><br />Hoa helped father into bed. My husband left and my sister-in-law tucked the children into bed. I arranged the letters in chronological order and took them to sister Hien. She was lying on her mat, facing to the wall, remembering what had happened that day.<br /><br />On the afternoon of the 30th of Tet that year, father had just stopped playing cards and gone home. He was in a temper because he had lost the game. Mr. Tai had poured oil on the flame, saying, "You're unlucky in gambling but lucky in love. You're going to have a son-in-law whose name is your family name...."<br /><br />By the time he got home Father was furious. When Hoang brought his proposal to father, he refused, pointing at Hoang:<br /><br />"You see, you're a deceitful man! Your name is Hoang and my family name is also Hoang. If you do anything wrong later, the world will scold you with my name, so my whole clan will have to hear it. Get out now! If my daughter tries to marry you, I'll kill you!"<br /><br />The next afternoon, Hoang had registered to volunteer to work in the far-flung border area in the west of the country. He sent letters encouraging her and asking her to wait so that they could be together one day. But he had never received a response.<br /><br />Now twenty years had gone by. I slept in that morning and awoke to father's murmuring prayers. Sister Hien was helping the children get into their Sunday best. Happiness seemed to shine from inside her. Her eyes were bright and happy. Sister-in-law drew me into the kitchen and said:<br /><br />"Tomorrow morning, sister Hien is going to take an early train to see Hoang in his unit. What a pity for them! They've been waiting for each other for these twenty years. By now Hoang will be an elder in the hamlet up there, I guess!"<br /><br />Out there in the yard, the spring rain was drizzling onto the buds and onto the roofs of our house. Happiness was stretching towards the light. Spring was returning.<br /><br />Translated by Manh Chuong<br />(from Viet Nam News)<br /></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7072101274549351397.post-60418202496780770482009-04-26T11:25:00.001+07:002009-04-26T11:27:34.662+07:00A good life to live<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_7S1Dwv_bxL8/SfPipa4dtqI/AAAAAAAAAmI/tGsglF75KWc/s1600-h/a+life.png"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 182px; height: 214px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_7S1Dwv_bxL8/SfPipa4dtqI/AAAAAAAAAmI/tGsglF75KWc/s320/a+life.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5328851985328092834" border="0" /></a>by Nguyen Dinh Tu<br /><br />Doan decided to bring his crow to Vu.<br /><br />The coal-black bird was given to Doan by a relative from his home village. After caring for it for a while, however, it had not grown healthier and still cowered in the corner of its cage if anyone came near. Doan’s friend, Vu lived alone in a small flat with a narrow yard filled with a dozen ornamental plants. Doan had already given Vu a wild rose plant that he had gotten as a gift, because like everything Doan touched that was alive, the plant failed to grow and only bloomed once before starting to wither. That was why he had brought it to Vu, who was vastly better with these things.<br /><span class="fullpost"><br />Doan and Vu had gone to the same school, but had pursued different studies. After graduation, Doan worked in the banking sector and Vu worked as an editor for a publisher.<br /><br />Recently, Doan had been staying at Vu’s place, while Vu was on a business trip abroad for a book exhibition. The crow, under Vu’s care, had for a time become livelier, but it still had not made a noise. This kind of bird is very sensitive, so Vu had covered much of the cage with a shirt to make it feel safe. Before he left, Vu said to Doan:<br /><br />"It takes great effort to feed your bird, you know. I had to buy live worms and grasshoppers to feed it. When the bird moulted, I even gave it some ant’s eggs. This crow is very greedy and wild, so I hope to tame it and make it less shy. When I am away, don’t let it go hungry!"<br /><br />Doan planned to stop by Vu’s to water the plants and feed the bird and then leave. However, it was a weekend, so he decided to stay overnight at Vu’s. The next morning, he woke up to a rapid knocking on the door. A woman appearing to be in her 40s stuck her head into the room, asking:<br /><br />"Oh, where’s Mr Vu?"<br /><br />Still half-asleep, Doan looked at the strange woman with disdain. She looked like an unkempt sack of bones with buck teeth.<br /><br />"He’s gone on business!"<br /><br />"Has he? Oh, I’ve brought him some sticky rice like I do every morning. If he isn’t at home, would you please eat it?"<br /><br />Doan took it and closed the door quickly.<br /><br />He was too awake to go back to sleep after that. So he tidied his sleeping space and washed his face. It was eight am. He was about to take his motorbike to go out for breakfast, and then go home to check on his parents before going to the office. When he opened the door, a woman was walking by with an old white-haired lady on her arm; the old woman was walking with great effort on trembling legs.<br /><br />"Are you leaving now? I can cook your lunch today, if you want!" The woman looked at Doan, smiling with delight.<br /><br />"Thank you, but I can’t tell you when I’m coming back." Having replied, he started the engine and darted down the lane.<br /><br />Doan did not go back to Vu’s house until late in the afternoon. He had brought his laptop and some clothing, because he had decided to stay at Vu’s for a few more days. He stopped at a tea stand near the house and ordered. The owner asked:<br /><br />"Is Mr Vu away from home again?" Doan nodded in affirmation.<br /><br />"Whether you listen to what I have to say is up to you, but I have to advise you that you should both get married now. You’re over thirty. If you don’t do it soon, by the time you have children you’ll be too old to keep up with them!"<br /><br />Doan looked away, feeling depressed. He constantly had to listen to his parents telling him to marry, and now he had to hear it from this old woman.<br /><br />As soon as he looked away, he caught the sight of the woman he had seen with the old lady on her arm that morning. Again, she was helping the older women struggle her way down the alley. Doan followed them with his eyes, until they disappeared in the house. It turned out that they were Vu’s neighbours.<br /><br />"What a pity for the old woman over there! She had a massive stroke ten years ago," said the tea stand owner.<br /><br />"Is that younger woman her daughter?" The woman intrigued Doan.<br /><br />"No. She is a housemaid. The old woman has very wealthy children who now live elsewhere, so they have hired this woman to take care of their mother for nearly ten years. The maid is a little foolish, but she is very good at caring for the old lady."<br /><br />"Is she married?"<br /><br />"Her home village is in the South. And yes, she was married, but her husband left her and married another woman. She has a thirteen or fourteen-year-old daughter, but the girl is mentally handicapped and now lives with her maternal grandmother. The maid is paid about $60 a month and has her room and board paid for. So, she sends her money back home to her mother. Some rickshaw drivers at the other end of the street like her very much, even though she is so plain, but she is not interested in them."<br /><br />That night, Doan was watching a European Champions League football match of the on TV, when he heard a knock on the door. The maid from next door looked panicked and said breathlessly:<br /><br />"Please come and help me. I don’t know what is happening to the woman I take care of."<br /><br />Doan said: "Why don’t you call her children?"<br /><br />"I did, but all of them must be off on a trip somewhere. I can’t get ahold of them. The old woman has had a lot of little strokes over the last few years, but this time something is really strange."<br /><br />Doan quickly put on a shirt and rushed to the neighbour’s where the old woman was doubled up and looked like she was having a seizure.<br /><br />Doan said, "Shall I call an ambulance?"<br /><br />"The other day I had to call her son, and everything was all right then. But now that he’s not home, I don’t know what I should do," the maid said.<br /><br />Doan was still contemplating what they should do, when the maid started shouting, "Oh, it looks like she is regaining consciousness!"<br /><br />Doan and the maid rushed to the old woman’s bed. The old lady had stopped convulsing, and she opened her eyes a crack to look at them.<br /><br />"Am I still alive?" The old woman’s voice was barely audible.<br /><br />"You’ve given me such a fright! Is there anything wrong with you? Shall I call an ambulance?" .<br /><br />The old woman replied: "Where’s my husband?"<br /><br />"He’s gone to work. Please lie still, and he will come home in a moment."<br /><br />Doan found the conversation between the two women difficult to understand and was impaitent to get back to watching the football match.<br /><br />He asked: "What are you going to do now?"<br /><br />"Thank you. The old woman is getting better. Nothing to worry about. You can go now."<br /><br />Doan looked at the two women with concern in his eyes. Before he left he turned and said: "If you need me, don’t hesitate to call me."<br /><br />After the football match, Doan was about to go to bed when some of his friends came, asking him to go to a restaurant. He said "yes" immediately and took the motorbike out of the house. He came home at two in the morning and slept until noon.<br /><br />He had just gotten dressed and opened the door to head out for a cheap meal, when the maid from next door came by with a tray of food.<br /><br />"I’ve been waiting for your door to open for some time. I got up very early this morning, and bought a chicken to cook into a broth for the old woman; I saved a bowl of it for you. Please eat it!"<br /><br />Doan took it with a word of thanks. Once he was back in his house, he took the cover off of the bowl of broth. What a nice smell! He quickly ate a leg of the chicken, and drank all the broth. After that, he wondered, if the old woman was eating the broth now. Maybe she was eating the other leg of the chicken. What about her husband? What would he eat? I have to buy another chicken for them, he thought. He was about to wash the bowl when the woman came in.<br /><br />"Is the broth delicious? Let me wash it for you. Don’t worry! I’m used to doing it. Just a minute, and I will be done!"<br /><br />The maid took the bowl from Doan and walked briskly to the back door. It seemed that she must usually come and help Vu, so she was familiar with everything in the house.<br /><br />He ventured to asked her: "Does the old woman feel better?"<br /><br />"Yes, she is better. This morning, I took her for her morning exercise, you know!"<br /><br />"What about her husband?"<br /><br />"Who’s her husband? Oh, he already died a long time ago."<br /><br />"Last night, I heard you and the old woman talk about him," Doan wrinkled his eyebrows in confusion.<br /><br />"The old woman forgets things sometimes. I am told that in the old days her husband often told her not to die before him, because if she died before him, he said nobody would take care of him. Then she had a stroke and was thought to have died. Yet, she regained consciousness, and said she had had a strange dream, so she could not die!" The maid had finished washing the dishes and placed them on the rack to dry.<br /><br />"What was the dream?"<br /><br />"This is what the old woman said. In her dream, she says she was standing in front of a cave with the fragrant smell of burned sandalwood and fireflies surrounding her. Some of her old childhood friends were waiting for her there. She could hear lovely music, as if they were preparing to have some kind of ceremony. She was about to enter the cave, when her husband stopped her. He whispered in her ears: ‘Please don’t. You did promise me not to die before me. Who will care for me if you do this?’ Suddenly some of her friends ran to her and tried to pull her along with them. She fought with all her might against them. It was because of her fighting them, that she was able to open her eyes and come back to life."<br /><br />"Was this a long time ago?"<br /><br />"Yes, it was long time ago, when her husband was still alive. A few years later, he died and I came to help her a few days after that. She had some severe health problems, and right about that time her dreams about the cave had reappeared in her mind. She had fought hard to live on, because of her husband. So whenever she regains consciousness, she always asks: ‘Am I still alive?’"<br /><br />Doan had chills running up and down his spine. The old woman’s squinted eyes from the night before haunted him. It was strange to have such a will and vitality. If one day the old woman regained consciousness and knew that her husband had died, she could have let herself die in peace! Now she lived with dementia. What was the use of living in that way? And what about the maid? Didn’t she feel so dispirited by living with and caring for the old woman for all these years? The old woman’s children should have tried to take care of their mother, if she was in this condition.<br /><br />"Has your daughter ever come to visit you here?" Doan ventured to ask the woman.<br /><br />"Oh, yes, she has. She’s a good girl. She can do many things, and the old woman likes her very much. I’m advised to send her to a school for the deaf and mentally-challenged, but the fee is beyond my means. So, I had to send her back to my home village."<br /><br />Doan suddenly remembered that the bank where he worked had sponsored this kind of special school, and many students had been accepted there on scholarship. So, what he needed to do was to ask the bank to sponsor the girl."<br /><br />"Oh, I’ve got to go now to make sure my old woman is okay."<br /><br />The maid carried the clean dishes back to her house.<br /><br />That afternoon, Doan’s mother phoned to ask him to come home. So, he packed everything up and left Vu’s house. Before he went, he did not forget to leave some food for the bird, and asked the maid from next door to tend to it while giving her the key. A few days later, he stopped by to check if the bird had been fed and the plants watered.<br /><br />Doan came into the house and found to his amazement that all the plants were in bloom, and especially his dog-roses were blossoming in great profusion. And, what was even more strange, was that his bird was singing. He was standing there, dumbfounded, when the phone rang. It was Vu calling to check on the situation at the house, and Doan could only give a short answer:<br /><br />"Don’t worry! The flowers are blooming, and the bird is singing!"<br /><br />After the phone call, Doan looked out of the window and again saw the maid from next door walking in the lane. Oh, God! He had forgotten to talk with the head of the school for special needs children about the woman’s daughter. How could he have let it slip his mind? So, he phoned immediately. While waiting for the response from the other end of the line, he heard the bird twittering and smelled the wonderful fragrance from those plants in the corner of Vu’s yard.<br /><br />Translated by Manh Chuong<br />(from Viet Nam News)<br /></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7072101274549351397.post-40052408274920603832009-04-26T09:03:00.001+07:002009-04-26T09:05:17.581+07:00Spring<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_7S1Dwv_bxL8/SfPBTFN52kI/AAAAAAAAAlE/x2zyMcSbjQU/s1600-h/spring.png"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 153px; height: 244px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_7S1Dwv_bxL8/SfPBTFN52kI/AAAAAAAAAlE/x2zyMcSbjQU/s320/spring.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5328815317671598658" border="0" /></a>So I had officially become a city girl. It was a city on the delta, the most important metropolis in the country.<br /><br />I used to be a country girl, a mountain girl, but I became a citizen in a wink. So simple. A Ha Noi guy loved me, and I felt the same for him. At the end of the day, we decided to go to the altar.<br /><br />The wedding was organised only a fortnight before I received my graduation diploma from college. My girl classmates, from the same part of the country as me, all said that I was born with a silver spoon in my mouth. Others retorted that I was lucky, because I was beautiful. I said nothing about it, only smiled, expressing my gratitude to heaven and earth for helping me marry the person I loved and rid myself of my rural life in that desolate far-flung area.<br /><span class="fullpost"><br />My husband’s name was Nha, Dang Tuan Nha, an architect of urban planning. He was not so special, apart from his bright eyes and clever face. He was a man taciturn by nature. It was good for me, but I sometimes felt dull about it, because I was a woman.<br /><br />We met at a friend’s birthday party. I was still a law student then. After that our relationship developed, simply as a tree grows from the soil. The crucial moment came on a Saturday night when he rode his bicycle to my boarding house to take me to the cinema. Once we’d arrived at the cinema, he said it was too stuffy that day and suggested going back to his house so we could enjoy the cool air on the terrace. Anything would do for me, I said.<br /><br />Back at his house he told me to go and wait for him on the terrace. A moment later, he was back with two roasted sweet potatoes, one for him and one for me. The potatoes smelled delicious. I ate quickly as I was used to doing at home, without thinking, and urged him to do the same:<br /><br />"Please eat up! What are you thinking about?"<br /><br />"Oh, nothing. I just wish... "<br /><br />I burst out laughing.<br /><br />"What do you wish for?"<br /><br />"I.... I wish to marry you!" he said, looking stupid.<br /><br />"Me too!" I said to him, still chewing the potato.<br /><br />Having heard my response, he immediately pulled me downstairs, straight to where his parents sat watching television. He addressed them with a serious face:<br /><br />"Mum, dad, we’ve decided to marry each other!"<br /><br />"What? Why have you delayed until today?" – his mother said, her eyes were wet.<br /><br />"It’s very.... very good!" his father said, hesitating for a minute, then continued, "Thuy, you should concentrate on your coming graduation exams. If you have anything difficult in terms of your subjects, don’t hesitate. But Nha should get everything ready for your wedding now, so that we can take your wife home at the end of the year!"<br /><br />"We’ll have a grandchild next year, won’t we?" his mother said, looking far away, then she smiled a happy smile.<br /><br />All these things had made me so happy that I felt over the moon, floating through the clouds. I could not sleep. I tossed and turned all night.<br /><br />My husband’s house was on Hang Gai Street, near an ancient, large leafed banian tree in downtown Ha Noi. His family were intellectuals. His grandfather had been a railway engineer. His father was a senior economic expert in the city, and his mother was a university lecturer, specialising in folk literature. In short, the street I lived in was in an ancient quarter and my neighbours were all polite and civilised and respectable. What more did I want?<br /><br />After the wedding, I remained unoccupied for only about 10 days, and then I wanted to go and find a job. I applied for a job at the city’s Justice Department and luckily, I got it.<br /><br />My husband and I lived on the third floor, and we had a small terrace with a lot of vases of flowers and bonsai trees. My husband liked nature. He watered the flowers and trees every morning but he had never pruned them.<br /><br />One early morning, when we were still in bed, out of the blue, we heard a bird singing somewhere. He moved and slowly got up out of the bed to tiptoe to the door and opened it. He stood in silence there, looking dumbfounded like the stone lion in the yard of the communal house. Having come back, he looked blue.<br /><br />"I haven’t heard a bird singing for a long time. It seems that birds are coming back these days and make their nests on that banian tree.... But if you listen to it attentively, its song is quite different from that when I was still a little boy hearing it. Do you think it is because I am now an adult?"<br /><br />It did not matter to me if the bird sang or not, but to please him, I smiled in agreement. After that, for several weeks, before going to bed he did not close the door to the terrace, saying:<br /><br />"We can hear the bird singing more clearly this way, it is the music of heaven and earth, you know!"<br /><br />All was well until one morning, which started off like all the other mornings. The bird started twittering as before, but my husband suddenly jumped to his feet, rushed to the door and closed it. A dead silence fell upon the room. I was greatly surprised at it.<br /><br />"Why did you close the door, dear? The bird is singing!"<br /><br />"The music is so flat!" he cried.<br /><br />"Nothing different from the other days, I think." I tried to hold back a laugh, because the "music" was the same as all the other days.<br /><br />He looked at me.<br /><br />"When I returned from work yesterday afternoon, I discovered the bird song came from some birds in cages outside Mrs. Lanh’s house," he said.<br /><br />For goodness sake, I thought, the birds are all the same. I started to think my husband was a bit queer.<br /><br />Some time had passed after our marriage when my husband said:<br /><br />"I haven’t been to your home village yet, so when spring comes, we’ll go and visit your parents up there. What do you think?"<br /><br />"Oh.... yes!" – I said indistinctly. I was really happy at heart, but felt a bit worried. My family lived in a mountainous area with no convenience and comfort. But I thought I could not delay the visit for long. So we prepared everything and headed off in the car on the second day of the Lunar New Year.<br /><br />***<br /><br />My home village was in Son La, a mountainous province in the northwest. My great-grandparents had settled there for several generations. My house was located in Hoa Dao (Peach Blossom) Hamlet, quite separate from other houses and far from the district market. So, whenever we wanted to go to market, we had to get up so early; when we got home, it was late in the afternoon.<br /><br />My house was made entirely of wood. In the corner of the yard, there was a peach tree which never failed to bear blossom. The back of my house was against a hillside, looking down a small valley with rice fields. Beyond the valley were the lavish green forests that ran as far the eyes could see.<br /><br />Sitting by the balustrade of the house, you could see a small stream running along the foot of the hill. On either side of the stream there were a lot of peach trees. That scenic view was very familiar to me.<br /><br />We walked for over 10km. I was a little bit tired, even though I was a mountain girl. My husband seemed so happy. He looked around at everything with great interest. We arrived home when it was getting dark. My family welcomed us with open arms. There was a festive atmosphere in the house.<br /><br />At dinner that night my mother prepared some special food of fish boiled with soya paste. The small fish were caught by my brother, Thuan, in the stream that afternoon. I was worried my husband couldn’t eat it. To my surprise, he wolfed it down without a word. When night fell and we went to bed, he whispered to me:<br /><br />"The fish is so delicious! When we get back to Ha Noi, will you cook it for me?"<br /><br />"Do you really mean it? You’re not joking, are you?" I felt a bit sensitive.<br /><br />"No joke at all!" he said in a serious voice. "The fish your mother cooked has a special taste. Do ask your mother how to cook it if you don’t know!"<br /><br />I did not feel hurt at his joke, but I flushed a bit.<br /><br />The next morning after a breakfast of some boiled manioc dipped in honey, he asked to go with my parents to the terraced field. My father said no, for fear that he was still tired, but my brother said:<br /><br />"Brother-in-law, I just discovered a very big bee hive. Do you want to go into the forest with me?"<br /><br />My husband was overjoyed upon hearing it.<br /><br />They returned home when it was rather late with a canful of honey in their hands. Their faces were covered in it too.<br /><br />"Why are you so late?" I whispered into my brother’s ear.<br /><br />"Actually, we could have been home by noon, but your husband was like a little boy. He was captivated by everything he saw. He asked me questions constantly and stopped to look at everything he met on the way. When we passed Mai Waterfall, not so strange, you see, he stopped there for a long time, looking bewildered. It took me a long time to get him to leave. On the way home, he still lingered with no intention to part from the rows of peach trees along the stream," he stopped for a moment and continued, there something the matter with him?"<br /><br />I smiled, rubbing his head gently with my fingertip.<br /><br />That night my husband pulled me into his lap, caressing my hair and speaking as if to himself:<br /><br />"This mountainscape is wonderful, beautiful. No wonder....you’re very beautiful!"<br /><br />"I would still be beautiful, whereever I was born," I teased him.<br /><br />"Nonsense! You’re ungrateful to heaven and earth!. Please, pray tomorrow or else your beauty will be taken away!"<br /><br />The day we were about to go back to Ha Noi, my husband asked my father for a branch of the peach tree. Having heard his words, I stopped him:<br /><br />"It would be very cumbersome to take a peach branch! They are sold everywhere, you know."<br /><br />"Oh, that kind of peach tree? It would never look as beautiful as the peach tree here."<br /><br />I smiled and stopped my interference.<br /><br />Having arrived home in Ha Noi, the first words he said to me were:<br /><br />"Next spring, we will go to your home village again. Do you agree?"<br /><br />I gave him a funny look and nodded.<br /><br />***<br /><br />The next spring, I gave birth to our first child, so I could not go with him to my homeland. I felt worried that he would be sad to go alone. But he was over the moon when he came home. He was full of stories that made me feel guilty. Why did I feel jealous of the spring in my homeland!<br /><br />Gradually I came to admit that it was thanks to my husband that I discovered the beauty of my native land, of the natural landscape there. Through him, I could feel the purity of those transparent petals of the peach blossoms, enjoy the twitter of the sky birds and recognise the difference between those birds and the ones in cages. It’s like the difference between trees grown in a natural way with those in vases. Spring in my native land was permeated with bird song and the smell of tree sap.<br /><br />When my son was two years old, we were able to go to my native land together. During the visit, my husband took us to Mai Waterfall for a day. We hit the road, my son perched high on his father’s shoulder, laughing, while I trudged behind them carrying a knapsack.<br /><br />Finally, we found a resting spot on a green grass by the waterfall, ringed by white peach blossom. But then something happened that would change everything. A scorpion bit my son on his foot. We rushed him home, and my father went to get some herbs to heal the wound. After that my son stopped crying and slept, but he had a high temperature. The whole family had a restless night that night.<br /><br />The next day he was better and my husband heaved a deep sigh of relief. But there was a change in him. For the next few days, he stayed inside the house, with a pensive expression. When he went out and was crossing the road, he looked to either side like he was guarding himself against something. He looked so troubled and absorbed.<br /><br />He sat there by the window, his eyes set towards that far away forest, touched with perplexity and fear. Deep inside his heart, it seemed that there was something being cracked and broken. I looked at him, my heart filled with pity and sympathy.<br /><br />The years after that, we still visited my parents as usual, but it was not with the same feelings as before.<br /><br />Years later when my son had grown up into a fine young man, I understood that if standing before an early morning in spring, you should try to feel all the brilliant mixture of colours and sounds full of vitality. But don’t get too sure of yourself, because you will recognise that amid that magnificent and glorious space, there are scorpions and poisonous insects. When spring disappears, you will find it hard to feel it again in your heart and soul.<br /><br />Translated by Manh Chuong<br /><br />(from Viet Nam News)<br /></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7072101274549351397.post-59972078960644804582009-04-25T10:34:00.003+07:002009-04-25T10:41:36.036+07:00G20 đồng ý chi 1000 tỷ đô<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_7S1Dwv_bxL8/SfKFr0RiLNI/AAAAAAAAAk0/lX3AOjpzETI/s1600-h/20090403141318g20_leaders_203.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 254px; height: 191px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_7S1Dwv_bxL8/SfKFr0RiLNI/AAAAAAAAAk0/lX3AOjpzETI/s320/20090403141318g20_leaders_203.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5328468296945773778" border="0" /></a>Hội nghị thượng đỉnh lãnh tụ G20 đồng ý tăng đáng kể nguồn vồn cho IMF để giúp các nước bị khủng hoảng tài chính. Hội nghị đề ra các kế hoạch có thêm các quy địhh tài chính mới trong tương lai.<br /><br />Nghe toàn bài<br /><br />The G20 have come up with <span style="font-weight: bold;">a package of plans</span> that add up to well over a trillion dollars to tackle the recession.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">One key component</span> is an agreement <span style="font-weight: bold;">to treble</span> to seven hundred and fifty billion dollars the resources available to the International Monetary Fund for lending to <span style="font-weight: bold;">countries in trouble</span>. They also want <span style="font-weight: bold;">a tenfold increase</span> in what are called <span style="font-weight: bold;">special drawing rights</span> which is rather like an IMF currency and which strengthen the foreign exchange reserves of its member countries.<br /><span class="fullpost"><br />The G20 also <span style="font-weight: bold;">plans closer regulation of</span> financial firms with <span style="font-weight: bold;">curbs on executive pay</span> and new oversight of large <span style="font-weight: bold;">hedge funds</span>.<br /><br />The British Prime Minister, Gordon Brown, described the summit as marking a new <span style="font-weight: bold;">consensus</span> on tackling global problems.<br /><br />Andrew Walker, BBC News, London<br /><br />Nghe các từ<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">a package of plans</span><br />một loạt các kế hoạch có liên quan tới nhau(ở đây là mọi kế hoạch này nhằm giải quyết cuộc khủng hoảng tài chính toàn cầu)<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">one key component</span><br />một yếu tố quan trọng nhất, ở đây là một trong những thành quả quan trọng nhất trong các kế hoạch của nhóm G20<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">to treble</span><br />làm tăng gấp ba<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">countries in trouble</span><br />những nước đang gặp khó khăn do tình trạng kinh tế suy giảm<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">a tenfold increase</span><br />mức tăng gấp 10 lần<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">special drawing rights</span><br />quyền đặc biệt được vay tiền, ở đây là vay thêm tiền từ ngân quỹ dự trữ của IMF nhằm giải quyết trước các tình huống situations where a country's economy or trade suddenly worsens<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">plans closer regulation of</span><br />có kế hoạch hay ý định sẽ có quy định chặt chẽ hơn, trong trường hợp này là giám sát, và nếu cần, kiểm soát các hoạt động<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">curbs on executive pay</span><br />ngăn chặn, đặt ra các giới hạn về việc các nhà quản lý cao cấp được trả lương như thế nào<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">hedge funds</span><br />quỹ đầu tư nhiều rủi ro<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">consensus</span><br />sự đồng thuận giữa tất cả các bên<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: right;"><span class="fullpost">(from BBC Vietnamese)</span><br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0