Last Night I Dreamed of Peace: The Diary of Dang Thuy Tram

by Đặng Thùy Trâm

The reader will find it helpful to keep in mind that she wrote in the flowery literary style of her era; she was innocent in the ways of the heart, an inexperienced romantic; and she died without knowing anything more intimate than kisses. Such were the traditional values of her generation.

Oh, be calm my heart, seek the peaceful rhythm of the sea on a windless afternoon.

One comrade falls down today, another tomorrow. Will these pains ever end? Heaps of flesh and bones keep piling up into a mountain of hatred rising ever taller in our hearts. When? When and when comrades? When can we chase the entire bloodthirsty mob from our motherland?

The seconds I spent in the arms of my beloved have become only images from the distant past.

I have decided that “to live is to face the storms and not to cower before them.” In fact, these trials of mine are merely end-of-summer storms, light and inconsequential. Be happy with the affectionate smiles of the patients. Find cheer in the affection of your acquaintances, friends, and local comrades as well as of those who know you in the district and the province. That is enough—oh, Thuy, don’t ask for more.

If someday we find ourselves living in the fragrant flowers of socialism, we should remember this scene forever, remember the sacrifice of the people who shed blood for the common cause. Who has brought this suffering upon us, comrades? They are the devils31 robbing our country…. Oh, wounded warriors, I love you as my own brothers. Laugh even as you suffer, hold on to this immense optimism you have maintained for such a long time, regardless of countless difficulties.

Last night I dreamed that Peace was established, I came back and saw everybody. Oh, the dream of Peace and Independence has burned in the hearts of thirty million people for so long. For Peace and Independence, we have sacrificed everything. So many people have volunteered to sacrifice their whole lives for two words: Independence and Liberty. I, too, have sacrificed my life for that grandiose fulfillment.

Oh! War! How I hate it, and I hate the belligerent American devils. Why do they enjoy massacring kind, simple folks like us? Why do they heartlessly kill life-loving young men like Lam, like Ly, like Hung and the thousand others, who are only defending their motherland with so many dreams?

Everybody tells me things will pass, and we will reunite as all have hoped. But in my heart, I know it’s over—how can a broken mirror be whole again? How can a spilled cup be full again?

Now I understand why people can sacrifice their whole lives for our cause, and how they can remain absolutely faithful to the revolution. The revolution has forged a noble people and bound them into a unit firmer and more solid than anything in this life. Could anything make one prouder than to be part of this family of revolutionaries?

How can I describe all the feelings we have for each other? Standing beside you, I am in bliss when you take my hand in yours and place in it all your love and trust. There are times when I cannot help thinking about us, our actions, and these intense, consuming emotions.

Now, beneath this mountain of work, I am still a person with a soul burning for life.

Oh, San, when you arrive in the North, remember to tell people who are living in the land of socialism that the South is still suffering, that there is real life only when the American bandits are no longer here.

The dreams now are of the American bandits’ defeat, and Independence and Freedom for the nation. Only when those dreams are fulfilled will I be able to have my own wishes. Like other adolescents, I have gone to the front. Our youths have vanished in the explosions of bombs, the sounds of bullets. My youth has been soaked with the sweat, tears, blood, and bones of the living and the dead.

Oh, what’s there to say when life is counted by seconds, by minutes? I don’t want to think far ahead. I only want to talk about things before our eyes. That is, each minute of our lives must be a proud minute. There are innumerable hardships in front of us.

The mountains are raked and scarred by bombs, the raw red earth like open wounds. Since I stepped onto this steep road full of perils, lined with trees withered by poison, parched beneath a burning sun, I have encountered cool streams with flowers and fragrant blossoms…. And the faces I met on the road have been kindly. There are shiny eyes, looking at me with affection. There are inquiring eyes, trying to understand me. And there are also crafty eyes here, trying to cheat me with jealous looks and fake smiles….

Come to me, squeeze my hand, know my loneliness, and give me the love, the strength to prevail on the perilous road before me.