The Ugly Daughter: A Thrilling Real Life Journey to Self Discovery, Riches and Spirituality

by Julia Legian

  My disappearance came about because one of the rich kids told me she had seen a really great cartoon called The Little Mermaid at the cinema in Soc Trang. I decided I would find a way to get there even though it was a long way away. As I didn’t have any money, I thought I could walk. I wanted to see it so badly that I didn’t care about the consequences.

  I had no idea where the cinema was and I hadn’t been to Soc Trang before. I just knew if I followed the main road I would get there. I didn’t think of how I could see the movie with no money. I was so naive that I thought I could watch it for free.

  I left very early in the morning on a sweltering, humid day, skipping work and school and everything else. The scenery along the way left me in awe. Rice fields dotted the route. Young Cambodian boys urged buffaloes along in the waist-deep water of the rice paddies. Small rivers beckoned with their lush, green water hyacinths and the graceful plants with their purple flowers floated peacefully on the surface.

  I came across a small village where people dressed in sarongs. I knew they must be Cambodian, as I remembered some Cambodian people who lived next to Grandma in Cau Di who dressed in the same way.

  Dark grey clouds covered the clear blue sky and drenched me in a sudden downpour. I picked my way along the muddy walkway and a short while later mud was up to my ankles. It slowed me down and I was as mad as hell, as it would take me longer to get to Soc Trang. I needed to get there and back before sunset.

  I reached a suspended wooden bridge with missing rungs that stretched from one side of the river to the other. It looked like it would not hold my weight and I was fearful that I would fall into the swollen, muddy river below.

  But I’d come this far and nothing could shake my determination to see that movie. I took tiny, careful steps onto the bridge. When I came to a hole in the planks, I got down on my hands and knees and crawled over it, hanging on to the sides of the bridge for dear life. The mighty river raced by below and I knew if I fell I would drown and it would sweep me away.

  I was about halfway across when I heard a bus approaching. I looked up. It stopped on the side where I wanted to be. It was packed, with many people hanging off both sides. A dozen or more passengers sat on the roof.

  When it stopped, the people piled off, taking their belongings with them. They started crossing the bridge past me, making it sway in a terrifying fashion. A kind man reached out his hands to me.

  “Oi little girl, here hold onto my hands I’ll take you across.”

  “Thank you, kind Uncle, for your help. Can you tell me why the people got off the bus. Why didn’t they stay on it?”

  “See those missing planks ahead of us? Look how unstable this bridge is; it’s not strong enough to hold the heavy bus with all the passengers on it.”

  Once safely across to the other side I watched the bus driver drive at turtle’s pace over the bridge. When it had navigated the wobbly structure, the passengers hurried back on board and off they went.

  By the time I got to Soc Trang, I was so hungry I could have eaten a whole cow and my entire body was covered in dirt. It was already late afternoon. I asked a stranger for directions to the cinema and for some water to drink to stop the hunger that clawed at my stomach.

  Thousands of motorbikes and bicycles were creating chaos on the roads in this large city. The constant deafening honking and the high-pitched ringing of bike bells came from everywhere. People rode in all directions and there appeared to be no logic in their movement. I thought someone must be killed with the way the bikes moved.

  A number of young kids and old people had turned themselves into walking food stores. Food, fruit, candies and cigarettes hung off every part of their bodies. They yelled and shouted, clamouring for customers. Strangely enough order prevailed.

  I had to get to the opposite side of the road - the cinema side. But I couldn’t get across and I knew no one would stop for me. They were too busy getting to their own destinations. An old lady shuffled close by. I asked if I could join her cross the road. She wasn’t happy but she let me to hitch a ride.

  “Now, young lady, do as I tell you. Step off the kerb and move as slowly as you can. Try to keep your arms close to your body so people won’t run you down. Just keep walking - don’t stop no matter what. Let the riders dodge you.”

  I stuck to the lady like superglue as we stepped off onto the road, ignoring the moving sea of bikes coming straight at us.

  When I reached the cinema, I tried to go in the front door. A guard stopped me from entering and asking me for my ticket. I tried to sweet talk him into letting me in but it didn’t work.

  He told me to leave so I went outside and sat there for a long time, watching the rich kids dressed in their beautiful clothes come and go. Some gave me dirty looks, disgusted at my appearance. But no one bothered me.

  “Why are you still here?” the guard asked. “Where are your parents?”

  I looked at him with sad soulful eyes.

  “I don’t know.”

  He looked at me doubtfully. “How could you not know where your parents are?”

  I cried and told him that I had walked for more than half a day without food or water so I could see the movie. I wasn’t going home until I saw it.

  “You’re a silly kid, expecting to see a movie without paying.”

  I nodded.

  “Yes, Uncle.” Tears trickled down my face. “I didn’t know I would have to pay. I don’t have any money.”

  He walked away and I sat back down. A little while later he came back and I thought he was going to tell me to go home again, but he didn’t. He said I could go in but I had to promise I would never come back without a ticket again. I burst into tears and thanked him and ran into the cinema where I found the darkest corner, making sure he wouldn’t see me, in case he changed his mind.

  It was the first Western movie I had seen in my life. I bawled towards the end as my favourite mermaid died. I’d walked for more than half a day for that? Wasn’t my life sad enough?

  I left the cinema as dusk fell. Reality set in. Scared and suffering from severe hunger pains, I realised I wouldn’t make it back to Ba Tu’s until sunrise. Darkness crept over the sky and I knew I wouldn’t be able to see the road. How would I make it back over that bridge in the dark with no way of seeing the missing planks? Fear paralysed me as I remembered that our people were at war with the Khmer Rouge and tens of thousands of our people were being slaughtered.

  I’d heard stories of young children killed, their heads smashed against concrete walls, and of them being torn limb from limb while they were still alive. I panicked and started to cry because I had to pass the Cambodian village I had seen that morning. The fear of dying wasn’t as bad as the thought of being tortured.

  “Dear God, please help me!” I cried. “Please protect me from the Khmer Rouge. Please give me enough strength to walk home. I promise I will be a good girl from this day on if you help me.”

  But instead of being able to run faster, my pace got slower and slower, until I got so weak it was difficult to put one foot in front of the other. On the outskirts of the village, I sank to my knees, having no strength left in my skinny, shaky legs. A motorbike approached and to my horror it stopped.

  “Oh no, please God don’t let him kill me,” I cried.

  A young man with curly, black shoulder-length hair sat astride it.

  He smiled. “You’re Inh’s daughter, right?”

  Round-eyed, I nodded my head. I had no idea how he knew who I was.

  He looked me over.

  “You’re a long way from home. How the hell did you get here?”

  “I walked.”

  “I’m not surprised. I have heard of your fierce reputation,” he said as he smiled again.

  “You must be mad, walking at night here in the dark. Hop on, I’ll take you home.”

  I was reluctant to get on the bike with him.

  “Don’t worry, I’m not a kidnapper. I’m your third cousin. I am Thanh Hung and I’m r
elated to your father.”

  I was happy that he was not Cambodian. Without another thought I jumped on the back of his motorbike. I didn’t care if he took me away to another planet, anything was better than being slaughtered by the Khmer Rouge.

  Ba Tu was waiting for me with the famous bamboo stick.

  “Where the hell did you disappear to, you demon?”

  She charged at me, beating me all over. When she got tired of beating me she pushed me out the front door and ordered me to kneel until sunrise. I knelt for hours in the darkness, being bitten by mosquitoes and I was frozen with fear so my eyes were closed half of the time. I was too frightened to open them in case I saw ghosts wandering around.

  After several hours of kneeling, the hunger pains were still there and with killer sore knees I decided that I had had enough and I wasn’t going to do that any more. Ba Tu had beaten me once too often and punished me to the point where I couldn’t take it any longer. I ran away. It wasn’t a smart move as I had nowhere to go, no one to turn to.

  I ran into the cold, dark night, hungry and scared and trying to put distance between my tormentors and me. I found myself at the bay. I sank down into the sludge, weak from lack of food, scared out of my mind and exhausted from the lengthy run. I lay on my back.

  “Please God, please rescue me,” I cried.

  The sheer beauty of the black sky with millions of bright stars winking down seemed to have a sudden calming effect on me. A feeling of warm air and a strange ecstasy settled in my bones. I felt that each star was shining directly on me.

  “I’m sorry, God, for being a bad girl. I promise I’ll be good if you just give me another chance.”

  Tears flooded my eyes. “Please take me away from this miserable place. I don’t want to live with Ba Tu one minute longer. Please, please help me. I love You and I believe in You; I know You can hear me. I promise to repay You when I grow up.”

  The roar of the sea water and the calm of the sky washed over me and lulled me to sleep. I must have slept for some time. I remember being awakened by Ba Nam, one of the wealthiest women in our village. She lived a few houses down from Ba Tu.

  A widow, she’d raised three children - two sons and a daughter - and her family was well known and respected by just about everyone. Even Ba Tu spoke highly of Ba Nam. Despite my bad behaviour, I knew I should always show respect for Ba Nam and her family. I made a point of saying hello to her and her children whenever I saw them because they were nice people. They were influential and rich and you never knew - they might adopt me one day. I had been dreaming about it for a long time.

  Ba Nam took me home to her house and Co (Aunty) Mong Hoa served me a huge breakfast of pork meat - a delicate meal with rice and exotic fruit. I couldn’t believe my luck.

  “Come with me, sweet girl - I’ll give you a hot shower. Put these sandals on,” Mong Hoa said.

  My face lit up like a Christmas tree when I saw a pair of magnificent, colourful Chinese sandals. I’d been barefoot for so long that the sandals felt like foreign slabs on my feet. My fairytale continued when they asked me to sit down and actually talk with them.

  My eyes took in the wonder of the elegant furniture and expensive pieces scattered throughout the house, speaking of opulence and good taste. Ba Nam’s house was much larger than Ba Tu’s. In this larger-than-life setting, the furniture seemed bigger, the polished timber looked deeper and richer and vases of fresh pink, red and yellow flowers filled every room.

  The beds made from polished wood had soft, thin mattresses that were covered with floral silk sheets. The high ceilings gave the impression this was a mansion, rather than a house.

  The kitchen held the most appeal for me, with its smorgasbord of gourmet food and fruit. A glass cabinet full of fine china stood to one side. I stared at this phenomenon with eyes as big as the intricate china saucers in the cabinet. Ba Nam’s children, curious to know why I’d become so wild, asked me many questions. They said that from the very day I’d arrived to stay with Ba Tu, they thought I was a lovely child. They thought I’d been courteous and intelligent. It was as if they had peered into my very soul and found the real me hiding under the angry personality.

  “What happened to that adorable twelve year old child?” asked Ba Nam. “Where did she go? How could someone as sweet as you turn into such a rebel? What happened?”

  Her tender caring made me cry. I sobbed out my story, leaving nothing out, finally able to unburden myself to someone who listened and understood. When I had calmed down, Ba Nam patted my hand. “Would you like to stay with us?” she asked.

  I was excited out of my head. Of course, I said yes.

  “My children are very fond of you. They’ve always wanted a little sister. They would love to have you around,” she said.

  I couldn’t believe it when they all nodded their agreement.

  “Ba Nam, are you serious?” I asked. “I’d love to stay here. I’ll stay here for the rest of my life if you want me to.”

  I beamed with happiness.

  Ba Nam laughed. “Stay here with the boys and Mong Hoa. I’ll go to see Ba Tu.”

  She returned a short time later with the news that Ba Tu had agreed that I could stay. The condition was that as long as I agreed to work for Ba Tu during the day I could sleep at Ba Nam’s house at night. I danced with joy, kissing, hugging each of them in my excitement.

  For the first time in a long time, I experienced hope and contentment about being at a place where I felt loved. My life had changed to days of wonder, filled with abundance and eternal happiness.

  Chu Tu, Ba Nam’s eldest son, spoiled me like there was no tomorrow. He was in his late twenties and he enthralled me with his kindness. To a child, ice-cream and fresh bread to eat after a long day working for Ba Tu was a blissful treat. Chu Tu had a wonderful way of showing his love and kindness.

  The biggest and best gift of all was when early one morning Chu Tu took me for a ride on his motorbike. We visited many beautiful places, watched a live Cambodian opera and didn’t get home until midnight. Through Chu Tu, I found that not all Cambodians were bad people. Hundreds of thousands of Cambodians were also being slaughtered by the Khmer Rouge.

  Chu Tu had talked to Ba Tu about letting me off work for the day and I couldn’t believe she didn’t give me hell afterwards. Chu Tu constantly remind me that I was special in his own cheeky way.

  “Dear baby Loan, can I please borrow your magical smile and divine big brown eyes to wear to the party? I bet with those drop dead gorgeous features I could make the angels fall in love with me.”

  Chu Tu said these words to me every time we met. He was a sweet loving uncle. Chu Tu was my newfound favourite uncle.

  My nights, sleeping in a big soft bed with Mong Hoa, surpassed anything I could imagine since I’d left Grandma’s house. Mong Hoa read me fairytale stories like Sleeping Beauty, Cinderella and Snow White until I fell asleep. What a difference from huddling on wooden slats with mangrove logs for pillows!

  Blissful months went by and I began to think this would last forever. Until one dark, cloud-filled night, when the calm sea seemed to mock me as I walked home to Ba Nam’s house. The impression of impending danger increased as I entered the living room and saw Ba Nam and her kids huddled together.

  The sadness that showed on their faces brought back the memory of Uncle Chinh’s moody face just before he shot himself. The rerun of that incident flashed through my mind. I shook my head, trying to forget it. Ba Nam said she had some serious family issues she needed to discuss with her children and she asked me to go back to Ba Tu’s house.

  Puzzled and against my will, I agreed to go back because I wanted them to know I was a good girl and would do anything to please them to repay their kindness. They hugged and kissed me and all the while everything felt strange. A sense of foreboding settled into my bones. I had the impression this might be the last time I would see them.

  Chu Tu let me piggyback on his back to Ba Tu’s house.

  “I’m g
oing to miss you terribly, my darling. I love you as if you were my own child. We tried really hard to contact your parents because we wanted to adopt you but Ba Tu couldn’t tell us where your parents live.”

  With the innocence of a child, I looked him directly in the eyes.

  “Chu Tu, is everything okay? Am I going to see you tomorrow?” I cried as if I knew he was saying goodbye.

  His eyes clouded, he turned his head to avoid my question. He put me down outside Ba Tu’s home, gave me a bear hug then kissed me on the forehead.

  “You are a beautiful lost angel, you’ll find your way back home some day. Don’t let life or anyone bring you down. Be strong and be a good girl. Will you promise me that?”

  I nodded with tears streaming down my cheeks. He stroked my hair and walked away without looking back.

  “Goodbye Chu Tu, I’ll see you tomorrow,” I cried out.

  Chu Tu just bent his head to look at the ground and kept on walking.

  I couldn’t sleep that night, I had a sick feeling that something was wrong. Around four in the morning I asked Ba Tu if I could go to Ba Nam’s house. For some reason she agreed without arguing.

  I ran the short distance to Ba Nam’s house. Ba Nam’s front door stood wide open, her beautiful house had been trashed and looted. I choked as I saw that the windows had been broken and the walls inside had been damaged.

  “Ba Nam? Chu Tu? Chu Phuong, Co Mong Hoa? Where are you?” I cried hysterically.

  My pathetic cries echoed in empty rooms.

  I collapsed on the floor, knowing the answer while not wanting to know it. They had escaped Vietnam. They had left me behind. Their house was a testament to their sudden desertion. I’d seen this before.

  The emptiness and desolation loomed before me. I cried, great heaving sobs racking my body as I experienced the betrayal of the only family I thought had really loved me.

  Anger welled up in me all over again. I picked up an empty bottle from the floor and smashed it against the wall. It shattered into tiny splinters. I watched them glint in the early morning light as I stomped my feet into them, driving the sharp shards into the soles of my feet.