I encountered with the fear of death at the age of seven.
My mother is the most successful woman in her family. From a poor farming family, she managed to finish high school, get a job at Saigon, then get sent abroad in a nursery training program. Eight years later, she came back to Vietnam and got a bright career in a famous hospital. My relatives often asked for her help with medical treatment.
When I was probably seven, there were a boy and his father staying at my house in several days. My mother told me they came from my hometown and they were waiting for their turn of medical checking in her hospital.
At that time, a portable game player was popular around - it seemed that most of my friends had at least one device. I asked my mom for one and she agreed quickly. She took me and the boy to a nearby market then she bought an average model for me and a more premium one for the boy. I became quickly jealous. I was her child while he was just any random relative, whom I had never met in my life. How could she pick a trendy player for him and a cheap one for me? I stared at him - yet said nothing.
Mom simply said: "He's sick, you should give him a nicer thing".
The envy quickly vanished, leaving sympathy grown strongly within me. Suddenly, I decided that the boy deserved what he got because he was sick.
Several days later, he and his father came back to hometown.
I visited my hometown next summer. My mother took me to visit several relatives - one of whom was the sick boy's. It had not for the player left in the table in the kitchen, I would have realized I was visiting his house.
"Where is him?" - I asked.
Immediately, silence covered around the house.
"He passed away several months ago" - sadly replied his father.
I was utterly shocked. The pocket game player still placed in the table, but he was not there anymore. He left, then who would be the one using it now?
It was probably one of the saddest stories in my childhood.
