I find it ironic that probably the most translated words in any language are cuss words. I don’t know how many times I have been asked at small get-togethers or informal dinners how to say, how shall I put it, less than dignified words. It got to point that I just started to expect it:
Excuse me, can you pass the salt and, by the way, how do you say asshole in Vietnamese?
He’s going to die. They are going to kill him. He lamented. He began trembling again. Fear is a cold no blanket or fire can ever warm. He surrendered to his bedroom and requested solace. My mother emerged from his room to the hungry stares of the crowd. Taking on the role of an understudy, she tried to address the crowd but not having fully digested the news herself, she found herself stammering underneath the spotlight.