What are you thinking?

My friend joked that Facebook has power because it cares for others. Every time you open your personal page, you see "Mr." Face asking: "Le, what are you thinking about?...". It's just a short question but full of concern and affection. And once, you said half-jokingly, half-seriously, that your children spend more time on Facebook than on their mother, blaming them but also blaming yourself, never knowing how to ask: "What are you thinking about?". Even because you never ask, sometimes when you do ask, your children just look at you like a strange object.

One of the books that I read over and over again during my childhood was Tot To Chan, the little girl at the window. And don't you think it's funny, when I see one of my impressions of the book is Tot To Chan's eagerness when she often asks what other people are thinking, what they are doing... Sometimes, even when no one is there, she is interested in a bird that has just stopped by the window.

After many years, many memories of my first boyfriend have faded, but I still remember clearly the gentle look of your mother when she asked "What are you thinking about?" - At that time, I was sitting silently. And I also remember clearly the kiss on my forehead when she left, along with the sweet words: "Goodbye, daughter". That question, that kiss, no adult has ever given me. Suddenly, in that moment, I was surprised to find my heart filled with bustling melodies of singing. Actually, that was not only strange to me but also to many girls who grew up in poor working families, with parents busy making a living. But it was not strange to my brothers and boyfriends, when from childhood to adulthood, the two of them had received such sweet attention from their mother.

I often ask my daughter, “What are you thinking about?” And she often asks me the same question in return. Sometimes, she asks me more specifically: “What are you thinking about that makes you smile? What are you thinking that makes you sad?” One day, when I was so disappointed that tears were streaming down my face, she accidentally saw me and asked, “Mom, why are you crying? What are you thinking, tell me.”

Although, if I explain a disappointment that makes me cry to a 4-year-old girl, she probably won’t understand much. But indeed, when I’m sad, someone comes up to me and asks me what I’m thinking, I feel half as sad.

And my daughter, when presenting her thoughts, often starts with “I think that…”. Some people might think that it’s too formal, but I see the natural confidence when she says things that way. Sometimes, her confidence even makes the other person want to laugh, like when she said to her father: I think you shouldn’t shout, because shouting makes me sad.

The artist friend shared about his mother, the only thing he did for her, if anything, was to hide his sadness. Because of his sadness, his mother knew she would be twice, three times sadder. And he hid it as if it had never happened in her life. I was also a girl who hid her sadness like him. I hid it so well that there were things that one corner of the world knew about, and considered my sadness as a storm to any young girl, while the other corner, my mother's side, remained calm as if nothing had happened, still thinking my life was very peaceful. Until my mother knew about it, the sadness had passed, and she accepted it with joy in her eyes because her daughter had the courage to overcome it.

I always assumed that if my mother often asked me, “What do you think?”, then perhaps I would not have tried to hide my sadness. Hiding my sadness from my mother is not a lie, nor is it a sign of bravery or filial piety. It is the situation that forced me to do so.

A friend who is a businessman, said that his parents are also businessmen, of course very busy. And they never care about what their children are thinking. To give him the best life possible (according to them), he was sent to a boarding school, where nuns would instruct and teach him all week. He only came home to his parents on Sundays on the weekends. And they were pleased to see their child grow up, mature, and become healthy. Good, good at both studying and sports.

Then one day, he built free playgrounds in many provinces and cities across the country, with the sole hope that parents could sit with their children, see what they were playing, and ask them what they were thinking. What they were thinking – it was that simple, but not every child was cared for. He did not have that in his childhood, and so he knew that children craved it. Toys were just an excuse for parents to sit with their children and ask and share.

This morning, my 4-year-old “girl” said after waking up, “Last night I dreamed about my mom. I think I dreamed about her because I missed her.” And I felt that those things were sweeter and more fragrant than a cup of morning coffee.