A change in plans

Dear all,

This blog has been on hiatus for over a year, and I don’t really have a good reason for it. I do like to write a little once in a while though, so I decided to resume blogging. With lots of help from  The Biker , I’ve recently moved my blog to  http://www.roguexgirl.com . I’m still learning about CSS and other things to be able to customize the page as I like, but all the old content was moved over there. See ya there!



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Old things, new things.


So I’ve graduated for more than two weeks, and only have a few more weeks to chill before starting my summer job in Carlisle, PA, and soon after, starting my graduate program in Durham, NC. Time really flies. It feels like it was just yesterday when I booked my flight to New England to start my studying at MHC, yet it has been five years already. Several of my friends have been working for a few years with a stable position. Some have got married and have kids. We’ve said hellos and goodbyes too many times that they become casual, because we know that’s the way things are, that we have our own lives to follow, our own paths to walk. But if we matter to one another, we’ll always find ways to keep in touch.

We understand that people change and things change. Not necessarily for the better or worse, but just different. If the relationship matters, we’ll learn to embrace these changes, and maybe discover something new about ourselves, too. We realize that everyone has problems of their own to worry about (first world problem or not). The poor complain about being poor, the rich about being misunderstood, the working ones – about that horrible boss, the ones in school about the crazy loads of assignments and about the seemingly hopeless research projects. Those who are in a relationship whine about their significant other’s idiosyncrasies, those who arent whine about why it takes them too long to meet the right person. There will always be imperfect things and problematic people in our lives. We know that there will be shits to deal with, and we’ll work it out somehow, one way or another. But it still feels nice to whine with a few people you trust who will not mistake you for that pathetic queen of all whiners, who understands that you just need some company and maybe a few pats on the back. So that when you step out of that whining bubble of a break, you can take a deep breath and go back to deal with whatever craps you’re facing.

Sometimes I find myself wanting to give up on something. And then I remind myself that somewhere out there, there’s a biker who’s been determined to do a cross-country bicycle trip from Santa Monica, CA to Revere Beach, Boston. He started out with lots of problems about the gear and the trip planning; and obviously people didnt believe that he could make it. But now he’s made it to Illinois, to the last time zone, and his spirit is still going strong like a hard-headed physics student. And then I frown at myself for wanting to give up: if this bicyclist can keep on pedaling, I will keep on trying. If you’re interested in reading more about this journey, check out Josh’s Bicycle Trip.

And so, keep on living your life, don’t be afraid of changing (unless its really for the worse wtf), learn to love one another, cheers for a very hot day in Boston, and please excuse any typos – I’m using my phone to type this post up.

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On Seeing the 100% Perfect Girl One Beautiful April Morning

By Haruki Murakami
Source: Here

But the glow of their memories was far too weak, and their thoughts no longer had the clarity of fourteen years earlier. Without a word, they passed each other, disappearing into the crowd. Forever.

One beautiful April morning, on a narrow side street in Tokyo’s fashionable Harujuku neighborhood, I walked past the 100% perfect girl.

Tell you the truth, she’s not that good-looking. She doesn’t stand out in any way. Her clothes are nothing special. The back of her hair is still bent out of shape from sleep. She isn’t young, either – must be near thirty, not even close to a “girl,” properly speaking. But still, I know from fifty yards away: She’s the 100% perfect girl for me. The moment I see her, there’s a rumbling in my chest, and my mouth is as dry as a desert.

Maybe you have your own particular favorite type of girl – one with slim ankles, say, or big eyes, or graceful fingers, or you’re drawn for no good reason to girls who take their time with every meal. I have my own preferences, of course. Sometimes in a restaurant I’ll catch myself staring at the girl at the next table to mine because I like the shape of her nose.

But no one can insist that his 100% perfect girl correspond to some preconceived type. Much as I like noses, I can’t recall the shape of hers – or even if she had one. All I can remember for sure is that she was no great beauty. It’s weird.

“Yesterday on the street I passed the 100% girl,” I tell someone.

“Yeah?” he says. “Good-looking?”

“Not really.”

“Your favorite type, then?”

“I don’t know. I can’t seem to remember anything about her – the shape of her eyes or the size of her breasts.”


“Yeah. Strange.”

“So anyhow,” he says, already bored, “what did you do? Talk to her? Follow her?”

“Nah. Just passed her on the street.”

She’s walking east to west, and I west to east. It’s a really nice April morning.

Wish I could talk to her. Half an hour would be plenty: just ask her about herself, tell her about myself, and – what I’d really like to do – explain to her the complexities of fate that have led to our passing each other on a side street in Harajuku on a beautiful April morning in 1981. This was something sure to be crammed full of warm secrets, like an antique clock build when peace filled the world.

After talking, we’d have lunch somewhere, maybe see a Woody Allen movie, stop by a hotel bar for cocktails. With any kind of luck, we might end up in bed.

Potentiality knocks on the door of my heart.

Now the distance between us has narrowed to fifteen yards.

How can I approach her? What should I say?

“Good morning, miss. Do you think you could spare half an hour for a little conversation?”

Ridiculous. I’d sound like an insurance salesman.

“Pardon me, but would you happen to know if there is an all-night cleaners in the neighborhood?”

No, this is just as ridiculous. I’m not carrying any laundry, for one thing. Who’s going to buy a line like that?

Maybe the simple truth would do. “Good morning. You are the 100% perfect girl for me.”

No, she wouldn’t believe it. Or even if she did, she might not want to talk to me. Sorry, she could say, I might be the 100% perfect girl for you, but you’re not the 100% boy for me. It could happen. And if I found myself in that situation, I’d probably go to pieces. I’d never recover from the shock. I’m thirty-two, and that’s what growing older is all about.

We pass in front of a flower shop. A small, warm air mass touches my skin. The asphalt is damp, and I catch the scent of roses. I can’t bring myself to speak to her. She wears a white sweater, and in her right hand she holds a crisp white envelope lacking only a stamp. So: She’s written somebody a letter, maybe spent the whole night writing, to judge from the sleepy look in her eyes. The envelope could contain every secret she’s ever had.

I take a few more strides and turn: She’s lost in the crowd.

Now, of course, I know exactly what I should have said to her. It would have been a long speech, though, far too long for me to have delivered it properly. The ideas I come up with are never very practical.

Oh, well. It would have started “Once upon a time” and ended “A sad story, don’t you think?”

Once upon a time, there lived a boy and a girl. The boy was eighteen and the girl sixteen. He was not unusually handsome, and she was not especially beautiful. They were just an ordinary lonely boy and an ordinary lonely girl, like all the others. But they believed with their whole hearts that somewhere in the world there lived the 100% perfect boy and the 100% perfect girl for them. Yes, they believed in a miracle. And that miracle actually happened.

One day the two came upon each other on the corner of a street.

“This is amazing,” he said. “I’ve been looking for you all my life. You may not believe this, but you’re the 100% perfect girl for me.”

“And you,” she said to him, “are the 100% perfect boy for me, exactly as I’d pictured you in every detail. It’s like a dream.”

They sat on a park bench, held hands, and told each other their stories hour after hour. They were not lonely anymore. They had found and been found by their 100% perfect other. What a wonderful thing it is to find and be found by your 100% perfect other. It’s a miracle, a cosmic miracle.

As they sat and talked, however, a tiny, tiny sliver of doubt took root in their hearts: Was it really all right for one’s dreams to come true so easily?

And so, when there came a momentary lull in their conversation, the boy said to the girl, “Let’s test ourselves – just once. If we really are each other’s 100% perfect lovers, then sometime, somewhere, we will meet again without fail. And when that happens, and we know that we are the 100% perfect ones, we’ll marry then and there. What do you think?”

“Yes,” she said, “that is exactly what we should do.”

And so they parted, she to the east, and he to the west.

The test they had agreed upon, however, was utterly unnecessary. They should never have undertaken it, because they really and truly were each other’s 100% perfect lovers, and it was a miracle that they had ever met. But it was impossible for them to know this, young as they were. The cold, indifferent waves of fate proceeded to toss them unmercifully.

One winter, both the boy and the girl came down with the season’s terrible inluenza, and after drifting for weeks between life and death they lost all memory of their earlier years. When they awoke, their heads were as empty as the young D. H. Lawrence’s piggy bank.

They were two bright, determined young people, however, and through their unremitting efforts they were able to acquire once again the knowledge and feeling that qualified them to return as full-fledged members of society. Heaven be praised, they became truly upstanding citizens who knew how to transfer from one subway line to another, who were fully capable of sending a special-delivery letter at the post office. Indeed, they even experienced love again, sometimes as much as 75% or even 85% love.

Time passed with shocking swiftness, and soon the boy was thirty-two, the girl thirty.

One beautiful April morning, in search of a cup of coffee to start the day, the boy was walking from west to east, while the girl, intending to send a special-delivery letter, was walking from east to west, but along the same narrow street in the Harajuku neighborhood of Tokyo. They passed each other in the very center of the street. The faintest gleam of their lost memories glimmered for the briefest moment in their hearts. Each felt a rumbling in their chest. And they knew:

She is the 100% perfect girl for me.

He is the 100% perfect boy for me.

But the glow of their memories was far too weak, and their thoughts no longer had the clarity of fourteen years earlier. Without a word, they passed each other, disappearing into the crowd. Forever.

A sad story, don’t you think?

Yes, that’s it, that is what I should have said to her.


I thought I’d copy the story back to my blog, just in case some time from now I’d forget the title of this short story. Thanks Caroline Vu for showing me this great piece.

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DEN THANG: Teardrops on my cheeks.

 Pushing the door open, we were astonished to see over twenty little ones quietly huddling themselves up in a corner, inadequately dressed in such cold weather. Their skin were pale and slightly purple; their bodies were trembling.

 All of them crossed their arms in front of their chest. Not because they were about to greet us, but because it could keep them a bit warmer.

Without any socks, when it was only 3-4 Celsius degrees outside.

Mai Thanh Hai: The main campus of kindergarten school Den Thang (Bat Xat rural district, Lao Cai) was half-way up the path from Muong Hum to the Y Ty Peak. This path was always deeply covered with fog and clouds.

The closer it was to noon, the colder it got. Rain has been pouring down hard since the morning, helping the cold air to freeze raindrops on the leaves into tiny droplets of ice.

Sitting in the car with the heat on and covered in lots of layers, we were still shivering. The thermometer showed 3 degrees Celsius (37.4 degrees Fahrenheit), no wonder it was so cold. We stopped at the main campus right when the last of the series of shower started and drenched everyone.

It was almost noon, yet all three classrooms’ doors were tightly shut. Peeking in from a chink in the door, it looked not much different from a grain barn, since all light bulbs were burned out. The only thing that distinguished this classroom from a grain barn was the voice of the children repeating after, and singing along with the shaky hand claps of the teachers.

We entered the classroom – it was divided into two parts by a blue piece of cloth. One part was the classroom itself, the other part served as a meeting/ working place of the school administrators. Pushing the door open, we were astonished to see over twenty little ones quietly huddling themselves up in a corner, inadequately dressed in such cold weather. Their skin were pale and slightly purple; their bodies were trembling.

All of them crossed their arms in front of their chest. Not because they were about to greet us, but because it could keep them a bit warmer.

Arms crossed to stay warmer.

It was 3-4 degrees Celsius.  Even the ceramic floor released some cold air. I had a pair of thick socks on, yet I could still feel the cold air piercing through the socks, to the sole of the feet. All these kids, however, were barefoot. Only a few had socks and warm clothes on – I heard they are the children of some local administrators.

The teacher said: “Only a few have boots or sandals, the rest always walk barefoot from their homes to the school.” We pointed to the rubber mats in the corner: “Why don’t you put this on the floor to keep the feet a bit warmer?” She stumbled over her words “Well, those were sponsored by Only Rice Is Not Enough. But we want them to last for a long time, so we only use them when the children go to sleep to keep their backs warm…”

Put the mats on the floor to warm up the little feet.

Oh dear, the teachers being this thrifty was definitely a backfire to our sponsoring! Please, please, get the mats out, all of them! Put them down on the floor, we’ll replace them if they break. We acted as we were speaking: all people in the group brought the rubber mats out on the floor, and put the children in positions such that their feet rest on the mats, and they sat shoulder-to-shoulder to share the heat with one another.

Slowly and mindlessly, I touched the shoulders of the trembling children, and suddenly drew back my hand when it got to a little girl. Her wet hair was sticking on her face; her lips were completely pale.  She was as wet as a drowned rat!

I ran to our car and searched in my backpack for the only clean piece of clothing left. The little girl put it on, instead of her thin top which was completely soaked. She got a bit warmer but her teeth were still chattering. My top was a short-sleeved, thin shirt to wear inside the house; of course it wouldn’t be warm enough!

Tears were welling up in my eyes when I suddenly felt a relief: someone wrapped around her a purple big scarf. It was big enough to serve as a mini blanket, covering the tiny body.

I turned and looked behind my shoulder: Lana, the scarf’s owner, was bursting into tears in a corner.

The teacher at Den Thang told us that the little girl was Sung Thi Sua, five years old. She lives about two hills away from the school. Even in decent weather condition, it would still take an adult about an hour to cross that distance. In these days, little Sua has to wake up early and starts for school since 6 AM. When it rains, she would have no shelter to hide, and has no other options other than just keep walking to school. And that was how she got soaking wet like that.

Sung Thi Sua (first from the right), now warmer with some extra layers.

At the class for 5-year-old children, my attention kept being drawn to the pair of brother and sister Trang A Chao (born in 2004) and Trang Thi Lan (born in 2006). They both had round faces, completely resembled each other.  There was always a sad look in their eyes as if they were about to cry anytime. And it would be totally understandable if they wanted to cry. Their mother, after going to China to work in a factory, passed away a month ago (December 2011). Their father, after weeks of mourning over his wife’s death, continued her path: he also went to China to work in a factory, hoping to make enough money to raise his children up.

Therefore, during these days, the two siblings walked from one house to another in the village, asking for a place to sleep and a bite to eat. They tried to survive day by day, like swaying shadows of candles in the wind. Thus, the older brother, Trang A Chao, should have been in first grade, but the teachers had to let him stay for an extra year in Kindergarten, so he could take care of his sister all day.

Brother Trang A Chao (front) and younger sister Trang Thi Lan (first left).

I read the list of students and saw that the little girl Trang Thi Lan shared the same birthday with me(October 23rd). I couldn’t help calling home, asking for some clothes to be prepared to send for her.

Getting back inside the classroom, I saw Khanh – a volunteer with Only Rice is Not Enough, currently working for WHO in Vietnam – counting some money to give the principal. She wanted to buy a pair of socks for each kid. 260 kids, 260 pairs of socks, a total of 1,620,000 VND (~ 81 USD).

Right when I was about to thank Khanh, my phone rang again. Dr. Le Viet Duc, who lived in Sweden, just came back to Hanoi for a short visit. He asked: “It’s freezing cold in Hanoi, 9 Celsius degrees (48.2 Fahrenheit degrees). All students get a day off. Do students there get today off as well?” Choked with emotions, I told him about the children’s bare feet and their lack of winter clothing. On the other side of the phone line, Dr. Le’s voice suddenly became hoarse: “I’m flying back to Sweden tomorrow. Please let me chip in 4,000,000 VND (200 USD) to buy them each a pair of boots, okay?”

I walked back out of the door. My cheeks were all wet.  Was it from the freezing rain? No, I don’t think so. My tears fell down for the sad plight of these poor children, and also from the warmth that my friends spread to these kids of this remote area named Den Thang.


Original post by Mai Thanh Hai: Đã bật khóc, ngay tại Dền Thàng. Translated by Nghi Nguyen.


ONLY RICE IS NOT ENOUGH is a charity program that raises funds to provide food and cooking services in elementary schools of poor highland mountain regions. The children in these areas usually have only plain rice and salt everyday without any other sources of nutrition. Together with supplying food, the program also aims to expand its activities by aiding more basic needs, such as clean water, hygiene, books and learning tools.

“A Dime For A Meal to the little kid. Not much, but everyday.”

For more information, please visit:

Vietnamese page: http://www.facebook.com/Comcothit.Unitedstates                  http://www.trandangtuan.com

English page: http://www.facebook.com/OnlyRiceIsNotEnough

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Xin cám ơn Tình Yêu – Han Nguyen Thach

Đã đọc bài này nhiều lần từ khi anh Minh gửi cho cái link, vẫn thấy cảm động như lần đầu tiên. Đêm hôm qua ngồi nhà cùng những lo âu bão Sandy đến, mình tranh thủ dùng máy tính lúc còn có điện, hí hoáy ngồi dịch sang tiếng Anh bản thô. Vừa dịch vừa rơm rớm nước mắt. Những cô giáo trên vùng cao này chỉ xấp xỉ tuổi mình, có cô còn trẻ hơn. Sống trong khó khăn, khổ sở, thời tiết lạnh, thiếu thốn đủ thứ, xa gia đình, đường đi lầy lội và đối diện với nguy hiểm mỗi ngày, tất cả vì tình yêu con trẻ. Tặng các bạn bài viết rất cảm động này của blogger Han Nguyen Thach (link bản tiếng Việt gốc ở cuối bài, bạn kéo xuống sẽ thấy). Đây là những ghi chép rất thật về những trái tim ấp ám của những giáo viên không quản ngại khó khăn, cắm chốt ở bản xa….


The late cooking fire.

Our car got bogged down in the mud when the trip ahead was still long, so the kindergarten teachers gave us a good two rooms with beddings – how nice! While waiting for the rice to be cooked, we all gathered around the fire and told one another about random things: our childhood memories, the potatoes and cassavas we always had for meals as kids, about the traditional Tet sticky rice cakes, about the childish pranks we pulled. The warm fire brought us – the Only Rice Is Not Enough team members – closer together in just one day.

It was muddy everywhere, no wonder our car got bogged down. I felt guilty looking at the recently cleaned floor, now dirtied with muddy footprints no matter how gently we tried to step. Tomorrow, the teachers probably would have to spend twice as much time to clean the floor.

Meal time. Bowls of rice were passed along the tables, smiles and handshakes exchanged. Our hands were freezing cold – so what? Our hearts and minds were still warm. Stories after stories were told back and forth, revealing the hardships the teachers had to face every day.

They were all very young. The principals and vice-principals were born in 1986, 1987. Some were born in 1990, 1991, so young yet they were willing to go to the furthest, most isolated places to teach. “Staying here for half a year and we’re like men already. While pregnant, we still ride the scooters like crazy. But after giving birth, it actually scared me a little bit.” – one said.

Despite their big bellies during the last months of pregnancy, these teachers still went to class to teach and also cooked for the children every day. I attempted to ride the scooter on the muddy road. Result: I fell several, several times. And every day, these teachers had to ride on this road – sometimes even in the dark, following the talus piles closely and slowly. If they fell, they would fall towards the mountain. Well, it would definitely hurt, but would also keep them alive. On the other side of the road, a dark abyss was waiting in the menacing silence.

One teacher, while going back to visit her children, got into an accident and passed away. “We have children probably only for their grandparents!”  The joke was told with a smile, yet it felt like a punch straight to the heart.

A teacher’s room at Ta Ngai Cho, Muong Khuong, Lao Cai. On the wall was a drawing of her own son.

A border patrol got married to a teacher, and he was assigned to a position all the way in Tinh Bien, An Giang – over a thousand miles away. All his money was saved up for the trips to visit his wife. Both were very young, and they were still childless after several such trips. At the teachers’ living quarters, every room’s wall was filled with babies’ photos, chubby and adorable.

Along the border, only teachers at a commune with border defense post are eligible for a supplemental allowance of 50% of their salary – although a border commune is always a border commune, with or without a defense post.


A corner of the teachers’ living quarter.



–          How come you feed the children so late today?

–          Ah, if they eat too early, they’ll be hungry too soon!

It was colder than usual, some students didn’t go to class, and so the portion looked better. Each kid held tightly the bowl in the left hand, spoon in the right hand, scooped every last bit out of the bowl of rice and meat in a blink of an eye. Who even needed to be tempted to eat?

Tomorrow it would be even colder. The teachers, as usual, would follow that zigzag road which was as slippery as an ice patch, to reach the furthest places, to bring each and every kindergarten kid to class.



The Kindergarten school Sin Co, last year.

Ms. Chuyen, Ms. Thuyet,Ms. Huyen, and 13 little hopes for the future, at Sin Co Kindergarten.

About 30% of the teachers who were assigned to teach at such remote places would go back to the city right away. Another rather large percentage would take the job, teach for half a day, and go home in the evening. Only those with the biggest hearts, with the greatest love for the children here would stay.

For one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten years, and even more. Who knows?


Written by Han Nguyen Thach. Original post: Xin cám ơn tình yêu Translated by Nghi Nguyen. 


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Because to give is to receive.


An academic year has passed by, and now I can – on behalf of my friends – tell all the donators these simple words: The money you sent, we tried our best to make the most out of it.

Thanks to that money, the Suoi Giang kids (and not only these kids) have gained weight very quickly at the surprise of the teachers.

Thanks to that money, the kids at Lao Chai elementary school didn’t have to cook for themselves, then pass from hand to hand (the hands blackened with smoke and coal dust) the rice spatula every meal. Now they have a kitchen, a dining area, and meals with meat and vegetables.


Thanks to that money, many mothers at Muong Nha didn’t have to suppress their self-pity and embarrassment when they dropped their kids very far from the kindergarten, letting the kids running to school on their own. Those mothers were afraid of being seen by the kindergarten teachers, of being asked why they hadn’t paid the fees for food yet. Now, they can take the kids directly to the kindergarten teachers without feeling the shame and guilt like they did before.

Thanks to that money, this one boarding student at Cat Thinh (Van Chan, Yen Bai) didn’t have to skip class to watch over the crabs he caught at the brook, because those crabs would become his meals later on. Now, together with friends, he can focus on studying knowing that when classes are over, there will be a meal with meat waiting.

Thanks to that money, the kindergarten kids at Y Ty, on nice sunny days, can enjoy their meals with meat right out in the schoolyard, overlooking the valley whose other side is the country border. And the adults in the border area are ten times as happy upon seeing the kids well-fed.

I can’t list all the things that the donated money has done for those distant areas. It’s not only some [essential] nutrition for the kids. It’s also the happy tears of the teachers in mountain areas, the bright smile on the parents’ faces, the relief for the dedicated educators (There are still many such people, and no one is as happy as they are when they see their students can have meals with meat, and see that more students are going to school when Com Co Thit comes to their schools). But overall, the greatest thing it has brought to us is this feeling: We all share the Lac-Hong blood, we all originated from Hong-Bang and Lac-Long-Quan, we have to protect and help one another because we’re all Vietnamese. Vietnam still survives to this day, and will continue to do so, not because of any divine factor, but only because the above rule has not been forgotten in most of the Vietnamese minds.


From “The Talk Before the School Year” – Tran Dang Tuan, translated by Nghi Nguyen

Full (translated) version at: https://www.facebook.com/notes/only-rice-is-not-enough/the-talk-before-the-schoolyear/368969263188054

Full Vietnamese original version at: : http://trandangtuan.com/2012/07/28/noi-cung-nhautruoc-them-nam-hoc-moi-1/


ONLY RICE IS NOT ENOUGH is a charity program that raises funds to provide food and cooking services in elementary schools of poor highland mountain regions. The children in these areas have only plain rice and salt everyday without any other sources of nutrition. Together with supplying food, the program also aims to expand its activities by aiding more basic needs, such as clean water, hygiene, books and learning tools.

“A Dime For A Meal to the little kid. Not much, but everyday.”

For more information, please visit:

Vietnamese page: http://www.facebook.com/Comcothit.Unitedstates 

English page: http://www.facebook.com/OnlyRiceIsNotEnough


1. Bank account:

– Acct. holder : Yen Pham, Bank of America- Acct. No. 0046-2901-7263- Routing No. 011-000-138- Zip code 02180 (or 00000 if the other one is not accepted)

– Paypal: haiyen1029@gmail.com

2. Check, money order:Yen Pham, Apt.10, 220 Central Street, Stoneham, MA 02180(Write a note: “for Com co thit”)

3. Like our Facebook pages. Share our photos/ notes. Spread the words :).

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A Dime For A Meal – Only Rice Is Not Enough – United States

“‎In helping others, we shall help ourselves, for whatever good we give out completes the circle and comes back to us.”

(ignore my awkwardness lol)

CƠM CÓ THỊT (ONLY RICE IS NOT ENOUGH) is a charity program that raises funds to provide food and cooking services in elementary schools of poor highland mountain regions. The children in these areas have only plain rice and salt everyday without any other sources of nutrition. Together with supplying food, the program also aims to expand its activities by aiding more basic needs, such as clean water, hygiene, books and learning tools.

VND 2,000 (equivalent to 10 cents in US dollar) is enough for one meal with nutritious food. Imagine that with only a 6 US dollar donation, you have supported nutritious meals for one child in one month, and with 54 US dollars, you have supported the child for a full academic year.

More about us: http://www.facebook.com/OnlyRiceIsNotEnough
http://trandangtuan.com (Main project page, in Vietnamese)

1. Bank account:
– Acct. holder : Yen Pham, Bank of America
– Acct. No. 0046-2901-7263
– Routing No. 011-000-138
– Zip code 02180 (or 00000 if 02180 is not accepted)
– Paypal: haiyen1029@gmail.com

2. Check, money order:
Yen Pham, Apt.10, 220 Central Street
Stoneham, MA 02180
(Write a note: “for Com co thit”)

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