"I kept groping my way upward, but couldn’t get past the wall of sorrow."

"I kept groping my way upward, but couldn’t get past the wall of sorrow." These haunting words from Vũ Thành An’s song Đời Đá Vàng have echoed in my mind for years. When I first heard them as a teenager, I thought they spoke only of romantic heartbreak—of love lost between two people. But life has a way of deepening our understanding. Only through experiencing the irreversible loss of loved ones did I begin to feel the full weight of each word.

There are moments in life when grief feels like a vertical cliff—sharp, unyielding, and impossible to scale. We try to climb out, to move forward, but the more we struggle, the more pain we uncover. It’s not just the absence of someone—it’s the silence they leave behind, the memories that suddenly feel heavier than ever.

"I searched for a word of love, but found only sorrow." Love, in theory, is simple. But in practice, it can be elusive. Sometimes, the word “love” is never spoken at all. And when someone departs forever, we’re left wondering what that word could have meant—what it could have changed. The thought alone can summon a flood of sorrow.

"The dreams of childhood—I’ve never been granted even a little." Childhood is fleeting, yet it leaves the deepest imprint. For many, it’s a time of wonder and dreams. But for others, it’s a chapter that never truly existed. Those unfulfilled dreams linger like thirsts that can’t be quenched—scratching at the soul, reminding us of what could have been.

This post is my quiet apology to the friends I didn’t reach out to during that time. I’m grateful to have people who walk with me through joy and sorrow. But sometimes, I’m simply overwhelmed by my own emotions. And in those moments, I retreat—not out of indifference, but out of fragility.

Thank you for understanding.

NTTN

10-2021