Through the portals

 


Originally published on The Ubyssey


My mom is packing a suitcase

before her 23-hour flight to Vietnam.

The smooth rolling of its wheels

intertwining with the staccato rhythm of duct tape

echo through the quiet house.

Her veinous hands organize the items

like an engineer assembling the ins and outs

of a teleporting machine

carrying capsules from this portal:

five packs of musky-scented Eagle oil

(for senior relatives constantly battling with arthritis)

two bulky boxes of chocolate

(for the innumerable nieces, nephews, grandnieces, grandnephews and beyond)

and plastic-wrapped bottles of lotion and shampoos

(for their mothers, sisters and aunties).

The destination label lying neatly on the sleek surface

The stretches of words, diphthongs and diacritics —

enigmatic codes carrying the traveller

to a bustling street in Saigon,

with motorcycles trickling down the narrow lanes

alongside which warps

the smoky grilled meat from vendors, all within

the humid city, pulsating day and night.

I could only look at the machine, now wrapped tight with tape,

longing to hop in to reach

the other end of the portal.


Thumbnail photo: A quaint recreation of the southwestern Vietnamese countryside, with the traditional riparian elements: palmwood fish tools and a gas mantle. I took this photo at Bình Qưới, a tourist village in Thanh Đa District, Saigon (their grilled squid skewers hit hard, as always).

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