I am a rat

I am a rat. A water rat. Deserted in the West and praised in the East. A rodent of sewers, a wise animal. When An Min gets on the car he tells me: You are 36, you must’ve been born in 72… you’re a rat. Yes, I confirm. Don’t know much about it… but I do know I am rat.. Sleazy and tactful… I can smell raw flesh miles far. You’re wise but stubborn, he says… and you’ll have money some day… focus… stay focus! Hard for me. My mind always goes in every direction. What else? I ask. Wear green, and blue… or beige… it’s safe. He goes on to talk about other elements of my sign. His accent needs concentration and I loose it at times. I go off to the wealth I would gain some day. A lot of fortune tellers have predicted it; I don’t quite see it yet. I see myself full of resources… I’ve done more than I ever thought possible, I’ve been to places far, far away… but… I often struggle to reach that state of balance… but, I’ve found love… and it is my source of inspiration.

My neck is sore. I stretch it throughout the drive while Min goes on. He’s a PHD student at Ottawa U: economy. He’s got a Masters in Physics and a bachelor in Math. He must be smart, he should be rich… he’s humble. An Min’s wife and three kids live in Toronto. An Min lives in Ottawa… he has for the past ten years. I don’t ask about his arrangements… it’s not my business. He tells me that his son, 16, is great in math. Vietnam is still a patriarchal society. The father owns the wife, his kids and his kids’ kids. When his father died, his mother became the head of the family so she owned Min until he got married. Then he freed himself and owns his family. He’s a great mathematician and must know a lot about economy, but is his wife who handles the money at home. It is tradition he says, we men don’t know how to deal with it. I give her money, she gives it back to me when I need it. He must’ve married when he was in his early forties. He’s 58 now… born in 1950… a rooster. He was imprisoned and learned how to work with wood. He escaped communism. First to Indonesia, soon after Malaysia and Singapore, then Canada. Here for 20 years. A Canadian citizen. Wow, I understood all that! His voice became familiar as the highway 416 brought me to the 401.

He’s brought two kinds of bread for me to choose: Red bean or coconut? I go for the latter… I must have palm tree sap running in my blood. He’s had a hot dog stand... he's seen it all. Veteran of the war, dislikes the Americans, does not hate them… but hopes they pay. They are paying for their sins in a way, I say. He’s a catholic, he knows about sins. Vietnam, a colony of France in times of Indochina. Threatened by China but never feared them. Destroyed by the Americans but holding the pride of having defeated them. Vietnam, a growing nation with fantastic Pho. An array of beliefs and religious syncretism. I believe in God but not in religion, he says… Nevertheless, he knows the Catholic church across from my building in Ottawa. It used to be Vietnamese, but they overgrew the temple… they sold it to the Koreans. I don’t like this Pope, he sighs… he’s too human… and he visited the enemy in Washington. How could he? After all the killings in Iraq… Benedict didn’t condemn it… he’s after power, not with the poor.

I posted an ad on Craig’s list looking for a travel partner. Min emailed me. I charged $40. He bargained; wanted to pay $25. I settled for $35… the price of gas is high. I used to fill iup my tank with $40, then $50, now almost $60. $50 takes me to Toronto. $35 was a good deal… though, when I dropped him off at the Eaton Centre in downtown TO I felt guilty. I should not charge you, I said. He smiled and left. He will email me again and invite me for a vegetarian dinner. I would bring the wine. Share