Everyone has a story of his/her childhood. It could be a good memory or something we once wished to forget. Mine was not very special. Like other children in my country, Vietnam, I went to school at 7 and to bed at 10. I did Math and drew butterflies. I was a kid with my both parents working from early morning to night. My older sister went to another city to attend university, so I did not spent much time with my family. However, Doan, my best friend was there for me.
We first met in kindergarten then went to the same elementary school. Since her dad struggled to earn money for her family, and her mother was too busy with her new born brother, she spent most of the day at my house. She was the one I would first shared my thoughts and my secrets. Walking home from school with her was the best time of my day because we could talk about anything: a song we just learned, a funny friend we just met or a joke our teachers told us. We did not have money to buy ice cream on the way home, instead we bought Vietnamese “rice-papers” and enjoyed when every single piece melting in our mouths. We sang. We played. We took care for each other. I grew up to love her like my own sister.
I was not a brightest kid in Elementary years. However, I could get excellent scores for Math quizzes and tests. I was proud of myself. Math was very simple for me back then. Unlike me, Doan had troubles to allow herself apply new principles to solve problems. She was an intensely curious child. At the first time she learned about Math, she wanted where the numbers came from, and why we needed to do calculation. She frequently amazed the teachers by asking strange questions that none of elementary students can think of. Some kids thought she was weird and crazy. They teased and laughed at her questions her all the time. Even though she did not really care, I always wanted to stand for her and protect her, but I was not bold enough.
One day, we were doing Math home…