Hand

Yesterday I went to get my nails done at a salon, down the street from where I live, at 6.45pm. A 55 year old Vietnamese woman (Hahn) was the only one in the salon.
She was quick to explain that she was working late because of my appointment.
I blushed and apologized for keeping her here so late, and made a mental note to tip her generously.
We got to talking and Hanh (pronounced 'hand') started to tell me about her life as an immigrant in a foreign land, divorced and alone in a strange country, with the heavy responsibilities of a single mother of two.
A refugee from the tribe of the 'boat people', some 40 years ago, she talked about the struggles of being 'traded' in as a virgin bride, escaping Vietnam and traveling to Thailand in the dead of the night. The fears that came with landing in Thailand, the most notorious capital of pedophilia and the sex trade. Evading all of that and finally landing in the US, the land of hope, that promised equal rights to citizens and immigrants alike.
Being discriminated against and forced to bankruptcy at the first business her husband started. Being married to a drunk, and the pain of having to leave him.
Watching her grown up son throw his life away by dropping out of college, and her now promiscuous teenage daughter, who is giving up all her mother risked to bring her to this country, to join the notorious profession of aspiring models.
Then there are the everyday worries of health insurance and bills. I quote Hanh, "I have oyster when there's money at the end of the month, and on other months I eat oatmeal, every month is a struggle". "All I can do is live with the faith that I have been a good daughter to Buddha"
I wont go into explaining her story in graphic detail here, but it will suffice to say that at 8.45 pm, I hurried home, through the darkened streets, wondering why there were so many bad people in the world and if it would ever be safe.