This is my mother’s third brought-home shaman thus far. He muttered his vows and, just like his predecessors, whirled from the front door to the back door. After a few minutes, he would blow out the incense by holding some wine in his mouth and spraying it directly towards Huong. My mom was seated next to her, sincerely bowing and crossing her hands, as she sat motionless on the bed. My mother, her eyes filled with a mix of hope and concern, snatched Huong’s hands and shook her, pleading with her to be patient.”
I didn’t realize this was happening when I drove my dad to my uncle’s house. He used to think that what was happening was nonsense. One is forced to rely on miracles or spirituality when there is no way to reverse or stop the rot. Huong sat there, her body the only visible presence, while her soul seemed to drift somewhere unknown. Both she and my parents are people I hold dear, especially my mother. A few months have passed since she fell ill, causing her to lose ten kilograms.”
Despite being powerless if she did not already have some betel in her mouth, she did not worry herself about consuming it. After a few days, the betel root had withered, and each cluster of yellow leaves appeared to know that the betel root was no longer needed. My dad planted the main betel root when my mom was expecting Huong, symbolizing the roots of our family tree; the climbing branches that are currently present are considered the great-grandchildren’s life branches. My mother, unsure of how many times it had died, mentioned that the betel root continued to wither, believing its days were coming to an end. However, it miraculously revived itself in a few days after receiving water and care.I thought about the uncertainty surrounding the betel root’s survival this time, fearing it may not endure despite its resilient nature.
Like her only daughter, Mom adored the betel tree, which has various uses. During our puberty, Mom used to wash our faces to alleviate pimples. She would boil a fistful of betel, and the pimples would lessen as a result. Occasionally, kids from the village came to our house seeking a traditional remedy—betel leaves—for their coughs or headaches. Huong was the one who used betel leaves the most in our family, even though I was the one who plucked them the most. She tended to be sweaty on her feet and hands. Despite my irritation growing up when I had to pick the leaves for her, as I detested the overpowering scent of betel leaves, our mother told us to love our only sister. She gave birth to four sons in a row, and our parents were overjoyed to learn that the final child was a girl. Having a sister to tease every day made us happy.
Compared to the other girls in the village, Huong was not very attractive. However, she standed out as the tallest and possesses the palest skin among them all. Huong was taller than her peers as they were coming of age, and she had no childhood chores to complete. Among the farmers’ daughters, she was the happiest. While we kept buffaloes and worked as cowherds on the farm, Huong preferred to laze around the house before assisting my mother in the kitchen.
Father was stern, often emphasizing the importance of talent in cooking and housekeeping to all the girls. Consequently, Dad insisted that Mom teach Huong essential housekeeping skills to ensure her husband’s family wouldn’t blame her for any perceived clumsiness. Surprisingly, Dad never raised his voice with Huong, despite frequently yelling at us, his four sons. There was only one occasion when she attended a school musical. On stage, she danced, sang, and wore a dress, which angered Dad. Feeling the need to conceal her legs, Huong, a mature girl, became aware of the attention from boys. From then on, she always dressed subtly, not wanting to bother Dad, even when other girls in the village went out wearing shorts and skirts.
Among our parents’ sons, I am the youngest. Despite being the youngest brother in the family, I am four years older than Huong. It will be just her and me when the older brothers get married and move out. Mom often tells me stories about how we went everywhere together as kids. I would give her a lot of plank instruction, and Mom would use a broom to chase after us. I even asked Huong to accompany me to the washroom, and I used to wet my pants every night she couldn’t get up. Strangely, my younger sister was completely unafraid of ghosts at that time, while I was terrified of them. Huong is a unique person. Like her brothers, she is a big football fan. She had to sit and watch football since, I suppose, we disputed the TV, and that’s how she fell in love with the sport. Our dad, along with us, stayed up late to watch every season, be it the Sea Games, World Cup, or Euro Cup. “What a strange girl you are,” Mom would grumble.”
She brought a friend from the city to visit during her second year of college’s summer break. He played football for the school, so he had personality as well. “You are studying, if I find you are in a bad relationship, you will die under my hand,” my father forewarned them. With a gentle smile, the young man placed his hand on Huong’s shoulder. “We are just close friends.” My father swore and scowled, causing him to pale and shake. Huong only brought her boyfriend home once.
My parents encouraged Huong to bring her roommate-sharing girlfriend home for a visit the next year. The strange girl’s presence in the house made me feel both uneasy and intrigued. Huong’s female companion settled in; her voice was as sweet as candy, and she was genuinely attractive Within the first minute, I fell in love. Huong was the target of my joke, “You bring your sister-in-law home to me.” “If you can flirt with her, just do it,” she added with a smile. I found it challenging to get close to her because they spent the whole day together, laughing.”
Mom expressed her affection for Huong’s friend as well. When one of them fell ill, she encouraged them to support each other. Her purpose in cooking was to bring her joy. Mom proceeded to harvest potatoes and jackfruit from the garden, and she also gathered eggs from the chickens’ nest to take to their room. They behaved like a couple in love when she burst into the room. The girl hugged Huong, kissed her on the cheek, and spoke affectionate words. Mom cried out in terror and couldn’t speak coherently to my dad all day. Huong’s friend had to travel to the city by bus first. Despite Huong’s screams and pleas, my parents forbade her from following. “I will die if you step out of the house,” Mom firmly declared.
She insisted on staying true to herself. Taking off her wig, she once again stirred my parents’ anger. Oh Lord! Her hair is cut short. It turns out that she wears the wig at home every single day. She has never worn a dress or been overly feminine with lipstick because of this, and her father is quite proud of how simple she is. Mom said that if she was infected, it wouldn’t affect her because she was only briefly seduced. Mom asked me to support Huong during her temporary leave and to ensure she maintains her student status. Once she recovers, she will resume her studies.
“I was accidentally caught by my midwife. Like my older brothers, I am a boy. It’s not a medical condition. I wish I could not walk with grace, speak softly, and not have to endure monthly bleeding. I must go about living my life.” With that, she let out a bitter cry. My father sat silently and thoughtfully, seemingly disbelieving of everything happening in front of him His beloved daughter desired to be a boy. The night was restless and disruptive for the entire family. Regarding Huong’s friend, I felt sorry; she is not the same as Huong and appears to be a lady, but…
Dad left early in the morning, instructing me to keep the door closed and prevent Huong from leaving the house. Upon his return, Huong received a flaccid bag containing high heels, two lipsticks, a makeup powder box, and dresses in pink and red. “I can’t stop you from beautifying; you’re a girl; just be yourself,” said Dad. She flung them all to the ground and rose to trample them viciously. Once more, she cried aloud, “I would rather you kill me.” “It’s my one-month salary,” Dad sobbed. “Regardless of your gender, you ought to be treated as a human as well!”
Huong’s hands were always as wet as a sponge when she was under stress. I used to help Mom pick the betel leaves. Huong used to do it alone before. When Mom reminded her to do it at the end of the day, she was forgetful. The betel tree climbed and clung tightly to the wall; it might have been taken from the neighbor’s residence. My mother always said, “You have to ask for them,” when we did it at night. “To whom do we address this?” “Ask God.” The girl plucks nine leaves, and the boy plucks seven.” In her own words, Mom clarified: “You have to ask for it because God feels uncomfortable if you do it at night. Furthermore, you must perform the right number.” Huong’s hands were still sweaty as she grew older. She picked the seven pieces of betel leaf on her own. “Seven is enough; I don’t need much more; it will wither,” the woman uttered. At that point, I ought to know.
Mom stayed close to Huong instead of going to work. “You should not be afraid of a few hairs; it will be long in the future,” she said softly and gently. I’ve never worn a skirt, so you don’t have to. Flip-flops are more comfortable; high heels are bad for your feet. ” You have to accept it; it’s very painful to accept who I am,” Huong uttered. “Later, just sit still, and I will give everything to you if you like it,” Mom said.
Mom had never before persuaded Huong to remain silent during the first shaman’s worship. He even put a talisman on her forehead and made her hold an effigy and burn it in the river, a task she reluctantly accepted despite being annoyed by the vows. I knew she was quite restrained. Huong’s eyes glowed red the second time, and she shot the shaman a furious look. Mom bowed and requested for her to remain silent once more.”
Huong finally endured it for the third time. Mom would never again be able to turn her into the long-haired, white-skinned girl she had once been by believing in miracles. When Mom saw Huong lying on the bed with the drugs in her hand, she squealed. Luckily, I had an early break that day and was able to return home. Huong was able to weather the storm with timely first aid. My mother was heartbroken, regretful, and afraid. Dad smoked much more at night. They were both confused, not knowing what they had done wrong or why God was punishing them in this way.
I picked up a bag of betel leaves and gave Huong some cash. “Have you asked God yet?” she asked. “That tree will die if I do not pluck the leaves,” I said. It begins to dry out and wilt. Huong pleaded with me to release her. If she stayed at home, she would die. It would be difficult to save her life a second time if she was determined to die. There is nothing more I can do to help my poor younger sister. Huong herself did not choose or desire it, if fate was at play. “I’ll be back when our parents accept it,” she said.
My parents find it hard to accept that. Whenever they watch TV, attend a lottery troupe performance in the village, or hear someone on the street mention terms like “les,” “dyke,” or “gay,” they exchange puzzled looks with one another. They worry that people will find out their child is “abnormal.” Most importantly, they all remember very well that Kieu Huong was a beautiful, fair-skinned daughter whom the entire family adored and loved at the time of her birth. She enjoyed spicy food and braised chicken. Taking a chili, biting it in half, she murmured, “Okay, okay.” She did not compete, had good study habits, and did not engage in much fun. Her desire to be a boy was therefore most likely just a spur-of-the-moment decision motivated by her desire to have fun and her friends’ influence.
My mother mentioned that she wasn’t sure if Huong’s hands would still sweat after these recent days. She really missed Huong. Additionally, she had problems falling asleep at night and when she did, her dreams were chaotic. While some neighbors were inquisitive, others sympathized or gossiped. “Our village has never existed, but I have heard about these stories from the TV and the bustling city.” Once she had collected a few betel leaves to offer to the full moon, the neighbor came over and spoke to me in a whisper. She told me her son had seen someone who looked like Huong being held by the police, and her gang used drugs and raced cars… Before I could explain what was happening, my mom came around the corner. She yelled, “My daughter has no way of doing those things.”
Mom asked me to fertilize, water, and care for the betel tree. Perennials, especially this fussy and obstinate variety of betel, tend to feel depressed with any domestic mishap, but with care, they can come to terms with the situation and become more vibrant. Yes, just realize what’s happening and it will end. Maybe we should change our opinion of Huong because she was originally my mother’s child and still my younger sister. None of this has changed, after all. I made a joke with Mom that she now has the youngest son instead of the youngest daughter. With a sigh, Mom revealed that she had a dream last night. She smiled, welcoming Huong to come back and embrace her parents in her new identity..