From a young age, Minh was taught how to live like a human being.
To be human in even the smallest actions.
They eat while thinking of the calloused hands that fed them.
They only react after first noticing the lives and thoughts different from their own.
They speak words they know won’t wound themselves if they had to hear them.
A human does not merely live, breathe, or eat. They live with tolerance and compassion.
That lesson sank deep into his memory and shaped the person he wanted to become. At the same time, he gradually realized that not everyone was truly human.
One day in elementary school, the teacher asked the whole class to stand up and talk about their future dreams.
One child said he wanted to become a doctor to cure his grandfather’s cancer. The whole class clapped encouragingly. The teacher solemnly placed a paper hat on his head that read “Greatest Doctor.”
Another child said she wanted to become a pilot so she could fly into the clouds and see her father again. Her friends quickly folded dozens of paper airplanes for her, making her laugh with delight.
Then it was Ngoc Ha’s turn—a quiet, shy girl in class. She stood up hesitantly and spoke so softly that the teacher had to ask her several times before she could make out the words.
“I… I want to be a human.”
The whole class was stunned.
The teacher thought she was joking and simply smiled kindly.
“Ha… you already are a human.”
But the girl shook her head vigorously.
“Teacher is wrong. I’m not a human. I’m a doll.”
A wave of suppressed giggles spread across the classroom. The laughter was barely contained, yet completely obvious. Curious, mocking eyes bored into Ngoc Ha, making her tremble even more.
“My dad says so!” Ngoc Ha hurriedly defended herself, panicking as she tried to push away the laughter aimed at her. “Every time he takes care of me, Dad calls me his beautiful doll! He says a doll must be obedient, so I’ve been taking care of Dad the same way. But I don’t want to be beautiful… I just want to be a human!”
At that point, the children could no longer hold back. They burst into loud laughter, some slamming their desks, others covering their mouths half-heartedly but failing to stop.
A few mischievous kids even crumpled paper into balls and threw them at Ngoc Ha. The teacher quickly called for order, but the corners of her own mouth unconsciously curled upward.
Minh was the only one who didn’t laugh.
Even though he was still young and confused, he understood Ngoc Ha’s feelings through her trembling shoulders.
But all he could do was clench his fists as a wave of anger rose in his young throat.
Afterward, Ngoc Ha was given fried sausages as an apology from her classmates, and the teacher pulled her aside to comfort her. That was enough, wasn’t it?
Everyone quickly forgot the incident. Life returned to its peaceful, carefree rhythm.
..
Until one week later, when they saw her body fly out the classroom window like a small pebble tossed into an abyss.
..
For many years afterward, the image of Ngoc Ha haunted Minh. She stood silently, her small shoulders shaking, and no one had stood by her side when she needed it most.
Even he had remained cowardly silent. Cowardly enough to think that was sufficient.
He became afraid of crowds. And every time he saw someone being ridiculed, he felt as if he himself was being torn apart.
Because they always reminded him of that childhood question: *If I had stood up, if I had spoken up… would things have been different?*
And if this world truly belongs to humans, why does suffering keep repeating?
..
..
..
Minh woke up on his bed, sweat running down his forehead.
The old standing fan at the head of the bed was still humming noisily, stirring thin trails of dust in the air with every rotation.
Another nightmare. He rubbed his temples and sighed quietly. *Why do you keep haunting me, Ha?*
He stayed in bed for a few more minutes until the worn-out fan began rattling angrily. Only when the buzzing in his head finally stopped did he get up.
His day always began like this: wake up, check messages, brush teeth, wash face, check messages again, change clothes for work, check the weather, then eat breakfast while checking messages.
He waited anxiously for every reply from Thao, his girlfriend who was five years younger and had just graduated. She was the only person he could confide in these days.
His “good night” message from last night still showed as read, but there was no reply.
*Maybe she fell asleep. Or she was tired after work and forgot!*
Even as he made excuses for her, Minh couldn’t shake off his disappointment and worry. Even the bowl of rare beef pho he ate every morning tasted completely bland.
In the end, he decided to call her.
“…Hello.” A sleepy voice answered. “Vinh…? I was sleeping so well.”
“It’s Minh.”
He smiled, correcting her. Just hearing her voice made all his frustration vanish.
Thao remained silent for a long moment before asking.
“Why are you calling me so early?”
“I was just a little worried,” he said gently. “Did you fall asleep last night?”
“Yeah. I went out with friends and got home late, so I was exhausted.”
*Of course.* Minh thought to himself, his chest loosening with relief.
“Then you need to take better care of yourself! After work, try to go home early instead of staying out late. And remember to wear warm clothes—it’s getting cold… Also, if you’re going to be out late, just send me a quick message so I know. What if you run into bad people…”
“Okay, okay. You sound like an old lady!”
Minh chuckled, then suddenly remembered last night’s nightmare and couldn’t help but share.
“Oh, Thao! Guess what I dreamed about last night? I dreamed I went back to elementary school, and even the time I worked at the construction site…”
But Thao cut him off irritably once again.
“I just woke up, Minh!”
Her indifference made his heart twist. *I talked too much again.* He scolded himself and tried to sound normal.
“Sorry… So, what do you want for breakfast? I’ll order it for you.”
He spent dozens of minutes enthusiastically chatting with her and ordering food. By the time he looked back at his own bowl, the pho had swollen and gone soggy. The vendor auntie looked at him with pity in her eyes.
After breakfast, as usual, Minh bought a small flower and placed it in front of his neighbor’s door—an old man named Mr. Sang who had lived alone in the building for many years.
When Minh first moved in, he casually bought gifts for his neighbors as a greeting. At the time, he had no strong impression of Mr. Sang other than that he lived alone, was quiet, and was easily irritated by children.
But the moment Mr. Sang received the flower, a light flickered in the old man’s weary eyes—a light Minh hadn’t seen from others in a long time. The eyes of a real human being.
Since then, Minh spent fifteen minutes every day choosing a beautiful flower for him. Mr. Sang never said thank you, but the growing warmth in his eyes and gestures was enough reason for Minh to continue.
After that, he started his workday.
Not long ago, after being fired from his construction job for fighting with a coworker, Minh chose to drive for Grab to survive in this harsh Saigon.
The only reason he could endure it was the overtime until dawn and the generous tips from customers during Tet.
That day was the same as any other. He shuttled back and forth across the bustling city from morning till afternoon.
This was the richest part of Minh’s day.
He heard countless life stories—from work struggles and family life to worries about falling land prices.
Whenever that happened, he listened attentively, chatted casually with passengers, laughed at their corny jokes, grew quiet when they were sad, or stayed silent for long stretches so their heartfelt confessions wouldn’t be interrupted.
Even when passengers cursed him because of traffic jams, he simply gritted his teeth and endured.
By late afternoon, when the sky was streaked with blood-red cuts, he finally dropped off his last passenger, called Thao again, and bought her dinner.
On the way home, he spotted a man huddled on the sidewalk.
“Hey, sir,” Minh pulled over and called out. “Are you okay?”
The man slowly lifted his head. His gaunt face appeared under thick black hair. He stared at Minh as if seeing a ray of light. His dry lips began to move.
“Hey, sir. Are you okay?”
“Huh?”
Minh was surprised to hear the man repeat his own question.
*He must be delirious.*
After a brief hesitation, Minh got off the bike and quickly helped the man up.
He immediately shivered. Only then did he realize how cold the man’s body was. The thick jacket seemed to be freezing from his body temperature.
“You’re freezing! Get on—I’ll take you to the hospital!”
The man let Minh seat him in the back without resistance and gave a thin smile.
“Hey, sir. Thank you.”
Minh ignored the faint voice behind him, quickly accelerated, and sped toward the nearest hospital.
Throughout the ride, the man said nothing more. He only stared silently at Minh through the rearview mirror. His breath brushed against the back of Minh’s neck, ice-cold.
“Do you remember where your house is?” Minh asked, trying to break the discomfort.
“Hey, sir. This is my home.”
Before Minh could question the strange answer, a sharp pain stabbed into his throat.
Looking down, he saw a knife blade buried deep in his neck.
Blood gushed out—from his windpipe, from his mouth, from the corners of his eyes.
Hot. Cold. Then hot again.
His body was seized by a malarial fever.
Minh wanted to scream, but no sound came out.
The handlebars jerked violently as if writhing in pain. The bike tilted sharply and threw both of them onto the road.
Screams of horror and the screech of metal scraping against asphalt blended into chaotic noise.
Minh was flung onto the sidewalk. His shoulder slammed hard against the tiles, sending brutal pain shooting through him. He lay there motionless, blood flowing nonstop, yet strangely conscious.
An image of Thao flashed through his mind, simple and fleeting.
*What is she doing right now?*
He glanced at the crushed food container on the road, noodles and sauce smeared in a long trail.
*Damn it! I’ll have to buy another one.*
People gradually gathered around him. Some covered their mouths in horror, others rushed to stop the bleeding, and some shouted words of encouragement.
Minh shook his head frantically, his heart pounding like a drum. He hated crowds. He hated their eyes staring at him and their noisy chatter. They reminded him of Ngoc Ha, a flower being torn apart without mercy.
The last thing he saw was the man who had stabbed him—now covered in blood—screaming and crawling on the sidewalk while a circle of people beat him to death.
Then darkness swallowed everything.
