Lỗi - Error 404 - ENGLISH TRANSLATION - Plaaastic

Part 2

My mother was born in a year of Monkey so whatever was owned by me had to have a image of monkey.

I never believed in Santa Claus. I have no idea why, nobody ever told me that Santa doesn't exist i just knew like i was already born with this fact. My mother was always excited about this day: every year she rented a Santa that came to our house by motorcycle to give me a monkey toy. Every year one Santa, a slim one, a pimple faced one, a lisp tongue one but every one of them always had a monkey toy and called himself a Santa Claus. The first time i saw one i was 6 years old and i thought to myself: „Who the hell is this who do you think you are lying to." after a little bit of thinking i decided not to say anything or my mother will do something even more crazy next year. Surprised, touching his beard and thanking Santa Claus the cycle that i repeated for next seven years.

Year 2003 was a special year, year 2003 was a year when Santa for the first time brought me a lifetime present: a knowledge of how much a person can hate you. Like every year i opened the door, acted suprised, touched his beard, took the monkey toy from Santa and closed the door. At that time i suddenly heard the sound of kids from the streets coming close. About a dozen of them leaded by the Captain the oldest one from a family that sold porridge across the street, all of them got around a motorcycle and clinged onto Santa Claus. They all jumped around him and asked: „Santa, where is my gift, my gift, mine mine mine!" Santa just annoyingly shouted: „I don't have any for you only the girl on this address is supposed to got one!" and dissapeared on his motorcycle. The Captain kid holded his crying little brother, usually having tough but now with a sad face, both of them shouted after him: „Santa i promise that i will be better next year!" But he already fleed on his motorcycle and me too because the iron door wasn't thick enough to hide all the death stares that i got after Santa left. The hateful gaze of the Captain, the hateful gaze that i will never ever forget in this lifetime.

My mother never let me cut my hair. That hair everyone loved, excluding me. I was about one meter tall and my hair was 31 inches long and whenever i had to wash my hair i always cried because it was so heavy i couldn't lift my head up. My mom pitied me so she made our maid to do it so the first time i washed my hair alone was when i was 15 years old when i left to Singapore to live alone. Didn't matter if it was hot summer or cold winter every day at 6 in the morning i had to wake up and braid my hair which always took me more than half an hour before going to school. Once a month my mother made me highlights and curl my hair just for her enjoyment. Because of that hair i did not dare to go to the beach because i always spent half of the trip unbraiding my hair. Because of that hair the first time i went out to cut it i cut it all up to my ear and when i went home my whole body was shivering not sure if it was because i was afraid to get a beating when i went home or if it was because for the first time i felt the cold wind on my neck.

Did i already told you about how much my mother loved me and prohibited me from playing with any child from the nighbor? Her reason „My child can't play with anyone from the streets". I was too young to understand that the place that you lived, the place that you were born to can deeply affect your childhood so much.

I was never invited to any birthday parties. I never had and couldn't have any friends coming to our house. Nobody wanted to play with me because they said i was „a cocky princess". My mother told me to choose a friend to play with so she went and chose them alone and i was allowed to play with exactly four people all of them with parents who were famous actors too to fit the image.

That group of my friends. We only talked together when we were made to go to the parties with our parents, never thought about each other but always sat together and understood each other. All of them were from the families with a big name, all of us were the flowers vases. All of us supported each other the burden from having our names that only we knew. But i was the empty vase, i was the only one that everyone went quiet whenever me and my mother appeared. I received weird looks from my friends whenever i was at a birthday party that i was invited to only because they were forced to by their parents. And i never understood why.There was this one girl in that group a year older and her name was May. Of course May was the smart one, the talented one but so were all of us. Year 2002. When our family and the family of my friends went to a trip to China together May said that all the children will be in one room but you, Nhi, stay with your mother.-- But why is that?-- Because we don't want to play with you.-- But why is that?-- Because you are too different.-- But why is that?-- If even you don't know the answer then how am i supposed to know.And till this day i still don't know why. Later i will understand what being different means but i will still don't understand why.