When I was eighteen years old, I fell in love with the woman I married. During our five years together, we had a child and bought a house. Like most people, we had bad and good times together. Recently, my wife and I separated. Our house was filled with decorations and furnishing, but feels nearly empty now. Particular objects and things that are significant to me and remind me of the wonderful times my wife and I had are a ring, letters, and two pictures.
The first thing that I cherish is a ring given to me after I met my wife. It was my first time away from home when my friend Tong and I took a week’s vacation in Bangkok, Thailand. After checking into the hotel, we walked over to the busses and lined up on the street outside the hotel entrance. A tall, good looking girl stepped out of the bus and asked us if we needed a ride. The girl’s name was Mai, and we continued talking during the bus ride. We felt an instant attraction, and we arranged to meet later that night. During the whole week, Mai was our personal tour guide. One day the three of us went to the mall in Bangkok, and I was captivated by a ring in a window display of a quaint little shop. Without saying anything, Mai went into the store and bought a beautiful porcelain ring in festive Thai custom. She gave me the ring and said, “Whenever you look at it, I hope you will think of me.” From that day on, I have kept the ring on my finger at all times. This ring represents the beginning of my relationship with my wife and the love we felt for each other.
The second thing I value is a stack of love letters that my wife wrote when we were apart. Neither of us has some money to call, but we used to write to each other all the time. I lined a box with tissue paper, and after I read Mai’s words, I would slip the letter back into its envelope and place it in the box that I kept under my bed. As months went by, it became clear that we missed each other. Each day I would go to work, I thought about nothing else but whether there would be mail from Bangkok. My mother would shake her head and say, “Doua, you hardly know this person. She writes only what she wants you to know.” But I knew better. I thought one day Mai would write me a long letter expressing what she felt for me, and how much she wanted to be near me. I knew that when she writes a letter to me, it will come from her heart, so we were meant for each other. Today, when I reread her letters, I can remember the days when we first fell in love.
Even more important than the ring and the letters are the precious photographs of our baby on my dresser. The photo on the right shows our son at his first birthday party. What a wonderful time we had that day. Our dining room was filled with family and friends talking, eating, and singing. The photo on the left shows our son when he was newborn. I can still remember the excitement of giving birth to a beautiful, healthy boy. In the picture, I see him with just the hint of the sparkling dark eyes and mischievous smile that marks the energetic fourteen year-old he is today. Now I have the joy of being with our child, but also the responsibility of raising him alone without a mother. The photos are a memory of what used to be.
Finally, Mai and I exchanged our marriage vows nineteen years ago. I thought our love would last forever, and I thought we were a happy family. I did not understand why she cheated on me and our child. Now my growing child is my life. A ring, a letter, and some photos are all that remain of my first love.

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