Incognito

I turned right from the road to get to the small alley. When I was a few meters from home, I turned off the engine of the Jupiter so that the motorcycle slid silently towards the gate of the house. I opened the gate and managed to get myself and the motorcycle inside as quietly as possible. It was late and I did not want to wake anyone up, particularly tonight that I would like to write something.

I tried to write once every three or four days. It was a habit that I had when I was doing my Master degrees abroad and tried to keep after coming back to Viet Nam. I stopped writing a few years after our marriage and having the first child. Too busy working and going out drinking at night. There were various reasons to drink, whether to greet someone from Ha Noi, to celebrate a newcomer or to please some kind of future partner. Or sometimes just between friends or so-called friends to indulge ourselves with beer, brandy or whiskey. We had quite a lot of them these days. This evening while we were drinking Heineken with our friend coming home from abroad, a tall long legged girl came to invite us trying Sapporo, a few minutes after a gentleman recommended us some Cuban cigar and Latino brandy. This country was deluged with alcoholic drinks. Afterall, what is the point of not drinking and staying sober at the present time? There is no point.

But since a few years, I tended to drink and go out less at night. Particularly since last year when they discovered dead fish along the coast in the Centre of Vietnam. The less I drunk, the more I wrote, and of course read. At the beginning no one noticed the change. However with time, some of my colleagues and friends begun to pose jokes and after that even questions: “Staying at home taking care of wife huh?” Even some advises: “Women do not need you that much, get out with us,” “Or you have more than one women guy? Lucky you. Present her to us!” I just smiled away or laughed out, citing various pretexts and felt happy that they don’t know. Who could know and even care that I write? Is it that such a crime that I write? Anyway, I tried my best not to let anyone know that I wrote or even I read, let alone what I wrote. I changed my password regularly, and used any possible means to keep people away. I never let any trace in any social network, I liked no one, I commented nowhere, I expressed nothing, no anger, no sad, no tear, no laugh. I even tried to use incognito when I search for things and read. I shared nothing. I kept them all for myself, no one ever knew or will know. I put all in only me mode.

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