Somewhere south of Siagon. Today I am and was one of those infant children.

Twenty five years ago I was conceived and born in Vietnam. I never really learned about where I came from until I was age five and at the age six I became a citizen of The United States. As a kid I questioned all aspects in regards of my origin, though I was being raised on the mid western farm belt by my parents who had adopted me. I can't tell you anything about Vietnam. I've only seen it through the eyes of Hollywood war films and documentaries, stories from a few who had fought that war, however I can't even pretend to have known what it is like to have been there. I can tell you from my aspect what it was like for me knowing I have come from such a time and place and in a sense elaborate with you what it's like having questions that were meant to have no answers. My birth date is made up, an American soldier has been said to have found me as an abandoned infant. No papers. No names. Learning and reading of Vietnam I have always wanted to know which American Soldier to specifically thank. The one man who picked me up and got me out of there. Should that never be possible would I be wrong to go back and stand that approximated ground as a tolken of my greatest appreciation? I guess I need to know more fixed postions sort of speak. Guessing isn't doing the trick anymore. I am 25 years old today. Looking at the many photographs of these childeren I wonder which of them are living today and what story they keep sacred. In twenty five years I have never had the opportunity to speak to any other Vietnamise refugee. I keep hearing, "Maybe it's better not to know". Me. I know better than that. Who are you and what's your side of things?

*DEVIN*36

DEGAZI@NETZERO.NET