Summer 2014 Vinh Kiem Huynh

We arrived at Ho Chi Minh cancer hospital for the first time, full of determination. The moment we entered the hall, a scene captured my eyes: young children (between the ages of 4 and 9) lying prostrate in the aisle. The countenance of the very first child that I saw was deformed due to pervasive cells. A very dark bruise took over his entire right eye; it looked as if his head would fall off at any second. We sat down on the bed, and his mom greeted us with a welcoming smile. She started telling their story: her only child was diagnosed hydrocephalus and his head was a ticking bomb that could blow off at any moment. Hydrocephalus took away their home, their normal life, their happiness.

After a while, with her hands in mine, she burst out crying and urgently asked for my help. I looked over to the child, and he, too, was looking me straight in the eyes, but with the brightest smile I have ever seen.

The summer brought sweltering heat, expanded its suffocating air exhausting everyone's taxed spirits. We wanted to breathe a new life, create a caring and warm environment for those children. Sitting quietly at the end of the hall, I turned on music to tear off the heavy silence in the hall and waited for my appointment with the...