The Eggshell Madonna and Bác Phớn

Religious arts are not usually what I prefer in my collection, but this soulful portrait of the benevolent Madonna has been gracing my gallery wall since I inherited the piece from my parents.

Painstakingly assembled together with tiny fragments of eggshells on wood, inlaid underneath a layer of glossy lacquer - this beautiful artwork was handmade by my Dad’s best friend, who I called Bác Phớn (Uncle Phớn), and it was his last eternal gift to us.

Bác Phớn was Dad’s first friend when we migrated to the US from Vietnam in 1997. His family had just arrived and settled in Tulsa, OK 6 months before we did, and thus the two families found comfort in our shared experiences as new immigrants in this country.

However, from the start, Dad and Bác Phớn immediately connected as long-lost kindred spirits who finally rekindled their friendship after lifetimes of separation. Aside from appreciating each other’s tongue-in-cheek sense of humor that was signature to the Northern Vietnamese natives, there was also an unspoken empathy between the two artistic and poetic souls whose fervent and fiery manner of expressing their thoughts and ideas are often written off as “gàn” (crazy or unnecessarily dramatic) by the normal people who just couldn’t understand their creative passion.

Despite earning minimum wages at the time as new immigrants with families to feed, Dad and Bác Phớn often set aside an hour or two every Saturday morning for a cheap cup of black coffee at the local Waffle House, and they always let me tag along.

It was a simple privilege that the 10-year-old me definitely enjoyed and one that I am now grateful for, as I will forever hold the memories of chowing down crispy Waffle House hash browns with a side of orange juice, while absorbing their impassioned conversations that spanned complex topics across philosophies, politics, poetry, history, and the humanities in general.

More importantly, Dad found one of the only people in Tulsa, Oklahoma who could mirror and complement his intricate mind, who was also a fellow countrymen. If it were not for Bác Phớn, Dad would have spent what little free time he had between his 3 minimum wage jobs at home.

One day, as I was visiting home after a long time away at college, Bác Phớn proudly showed off to me the almost-completed mural he was painting for our Vietnamese community Catholic church.

But something didn’t feel quite right. He looked unusually gaunt and pale, and there were ominous traces of crusty dried blood on the edges of his nostrils - a symptom that he assured me was “seasonal allergy.”

Shortly after that day, Dad lost his best friend to blood cancer. But Bác Phớn made sure to finish the mural - his last gift to us, to the Vietnamese Catholic community of Tulsa, Oklahoma - his second motherland.

And I’m grateful that I have a testament of his exquisite artistry displaying on my gallery wall, in a way, watching over me and protecting me, forever etched with loving memories of Waffle House coffee and hash browns.