The Little Girl in Baby Blue Pyjamas

When I say I can cry at anything. anywhere. I mean it by every word.

It was pouring again in Saigon this evening. Naturally, the route became even more congested. I was making my way home, feeling stupider than ever for going downtown in the first place. As I crawled my scooter to the bridge leading to District 7, eyes blurred and feet soaked, I couldn't help but let out profanities. No doubt the other drivers were also mouthing the same under their ponchos. We were all just trying to get this over with and go home as fast as possible.

Out of nowhere, a crisp, invigorating laugh cut through my chain of thoughts. My eyes instinctively went on to locate where it came from. At the foot of the bridge stood a little girl in baby blue pyjamas and a pink bucket hat. Her hair was in this kind of bob shape that resembled a watermelon, turned upside down, after being cut in half and scooped out the insides. The one that almost every parent gave to their kids at least once.

The little girl stood in the rain, feet bouncing up and down. No umbrella or anything to shield her from the heavy drops. She must have been waiting for her parents to buy flowers at the stall, or perhaps her parents were the florists themselves. “What are her parents thinking? Letting her stand in the rain like that. What if she gets sick?” was the first thought that came to my mind. But something switched in an instant.

The sound of her laugh kept ringing over and over in my head, hitting me with a realization: while these adults were bitter about this unfavorable weather, there was this child, a six-year-old more or less, gleefully enjoying the innocence of the rain. Tears started to well up in my eyes.

It is often these kinds of moments that give my life beauty and meaning. Something has clocked within me as I saw her innocence. I had crossed that bridge, crossed the image of her bouncing up and down to catch the raindrops, but I had also started crying. My chest tightened then expanded. I felt like a kid. I wondered what it was about the rain that excited her so much.

Was it the refreshing cool when the rain touched her face?

Was it the puddle around her feet that she might have mischievously splashed?

Or was it counting how many raindrops she could catch?

Perhaps it was okay to let her play in the rain for a bit. Perhaps, letting her discover this world with bright eyes and an innate sense of awe was the better thing to do. I wondered what kind of person she would later become, if she would ever recall that moment. When traffic didn't seem to bother her playground at all.

I wondered if she could keep her innocence once she became an adult. Became one of us. Gliding left and right, trying to make it home. Would she still love the rain by then?

mia circa 2008