Nguyen Trung Hieu wrote the essay in only one night for a literature subject assignment “State your opinions on the role of money in life” at the Hanoi Amsterdam High School.

Hieu, who is an 11th grader majoring in physics, received 9 marks out of 10 for the essay.

Below is a literal translation by Tuoitrenews:

“For goodness’ sake, you must eat, don’t skimp on breakfast. Don’t be such a screwball trying to save a few pennies. You think spending some small change [on breakfast] will kill me?”. Those are the “refrains” you sing every day recently because of my decision to skip breakfast before going to school to save some money for you, for our family. There are even times when you snap at me and growl, “Why are you always agonizing over money?”

Mom, whenever you are angry, I won’t talk back. But now I want to lay bare my heart to you and explain why I have thought and behaved in such strange manners. Yes, all is about money. Only now have I realized that I was, for a long time, very immature and naïve in thinking about money. Eight years ago, you were diagnosed with a chronic kidney failure, level 4 (the highest level). During those 8 years, our family lived in desperate want and destitution because you and dad didn’t make much money, and yet you had to put aside a certain amount for the treatment of your kidney. Nevertheless, you still give me all the things you possibly could so a schoolboy like me could remain naive and carefree.

In primary school, money to me was a very small thing, multi-colored pieces of paper that could be used to buy cakes, candy, a serving of steamed glutinous rice, or a loaf of bread. I never thought money could mean, in your case, the difference between life and death, something you and dad had to save every day, something our close relatives had to chip in to pay for your blood filtering at Bach Mai Hospital, something that gives you a headache whenever you are forced to stop work because your health does not allow it.

When I reached grade 8, you grew weaker and got tired more often, and so needed to increase blood filtering from two to three times a week. The injection area on your arm swelled to the size of two chicken eggs--many times blood seeped through and the entire bandage was drenched in red. Because of the kidney failure, you were further afflicted with lung inflammation and heart failure. Then granddad became very ill, dad had to quit job to stay home to look after him. Our family became all the more destitute, and the more destitute it was, the more miserable our life became. The VND100,000 banknote was something very luxurious to our family. From that time on, my still-naïve mind began to realize that money was the sweat, tears, blood (in the literal sense of it, because without money there would be no blood filtration) and the constant worry of you and dad.

The other day, I asked about your opinion on money so I had more ideas to write an essay for the teacher. You seemed taken aback a bit by the unexpected question. You then replied with three simple words, “I hate money.” If I had been still as ignorant as I was ages ago, or had been a complete stranger to our family’s problems, I would have been very surprised. But I agree with you: I, too, hate money. It is due to money that you become over-worried each time you have a kidney dialysis. Previously, three times a week, dad gave you a ride to the hospital, but then you said it was causing too much inconvenience to him, with all his time being taken up in waiting and riding you home, and decided to switch to taking xe om (motorbike taxi). At the cost of scores of thousands of dong a day, while money is hard to come by, you decided to take the bus. Now every time you get home from the hospital, you seem out of breath and just collapse in bed, unable to say anything. Dad and I know that we should not say anything and just let you rest. It has been eight years, eight years witnessing those scenes but I can never get used to it. I can only stand and watch you from afar, grinding my teeth, wishing “if only I had some dozens of thousands of dong for you to take xe om, things would not be that bad.”

I then became hateful, hateful of money. I suddenly remember the time when you stayed in hospital. Three patients were squeezed onto one small bed in a stuffy and overcrowded room in Bach Mai Hospital. Not knowing anything then, I naively asked you: “Why don’t you move to the other room, every person has a comfortable bed and a fan running at high speed, even a TV there?”. You replied in a low whisper, “You dumb son. That’s the service room.” At that time, I did not understand anything. But it later dawned upon me that only those with plenty of cash could get entry into those rooms. People like you can’t. I hate money because of that.

I also fear money. Do you understand me, mother? I fear it because I fear I would lose you. You have four times been rushed to the hospital for emergency aid. People who suffer chronic kidney failures bear a high risk of death because the blood pressure can easily get high, and blood becomes congested and blocks the trachea, causing asphyxiation. You know this too well. Many of your acquaintances in the ‘circle of kidney dialysis friends” have met such tragic ends. Many a night I was jolted up from sleep, sweating all over, chilled to the spine because of a bad nightmare.

I fear you would have to be rushed to the emergency ward, I fear our family doesn’t have enough money for hospital fees and I could lose my most beloved person in this life. Each time you undergo a kidney filtering, dad and I are kept on tenterhooks, restless and worried. Each time you come home late, I have hundreds of butterflies in my stomach, while dad keeps pacing back and forth, wondering aloud, “When will your mother come home?”. For me the chance is 50/50, either you make it through the dialysis process and go home safely or…

My fear grows bigger when I read in the newspaper that those who don’t have money to pay 5% of medical insurance have to pack the bags and go home for “self-treatment.” For patients needing kidney filtering, that is synonymous to taking a death sentence, getting to the end of the road. I suddenly become panic-stricken and ask myself what if we no longer had medical insurance? What if granddad died? Our family’s daily expenditures depend for the most part on his pensions, and he is really old.

Mom, you surely understand better than me how much money means to our family. Whenever I think about money, I remember how dad loses sleep, worried about money to the point of exhaustion. I recall the injection marks on your arm swollen to the size of chicken eggs, the spoonful of sugar poured into hot water I bring to you every night to regain energy. You are so careful about spending money that you won’t even buy cheap Ong Tho milk [a popular condensed milk brand] for your own health.

I fear money but also desire it. I hate money but also treasure it, mom. I treasure and value money because I always bear gratitude to those Samaritans who help our family. From good-hearted monks who invited you to their pagodas at weekends to those from the Red Cross who raise money to help you and our family. And all those friends around me who may not be able to offer help in material and monetary terms but always show care and concern about your health. They warm my heart and give me confidence.

I feel extremely helpless and conscience-stricken when you disapprove of some plans of mine. There were several times when I asked you to allow me to take a job, to be a tutor, or to sell “triangle” bread like some of the students I know to help make money but you always turned me down. You kept insisting that I stay in school and told me you only needed me to do well at school. As long as I study well, you will be well.

Yes, I will do as you told me. I will go to school. I will try to be a very good student to make you and dad happy. But please let me help you, mother. I have thought about it hard. If I can’t do anything to make money, I will go without breakfast to save your money. If I can’t sell bread then I will have rice with sesame and salt. You don’t need to worry, mom. You just need to concentrate on the treatment and take care of yourself. Let me share the burden of poverty with you and dad. I sincerely beg you, mother, not to scold me whenever I miss out on breakfast. Please don’t forbid me when I take out the mortar and pestle to grind sesame. Although I have lost 8 kilos since last year, I believe that with understanding and empathy, our family can live in peace and money will no longer have any role to play in our family’s happiness.

Your silly son

Nguyen Trung Hieu

Source tuoitrenew.vn