After a couple of years immersing myself in other things and other people and not mentioning or even thinking of her, I, when hearing yesterday that Shandawa was reading Anne's book and said "she sounds like you a lot", felt so glad and touched. All memories came back. What I wrote was true, she was close to me and with me in my worst times, she was my friend, true friend, or actually more than a friend, a part of myself, or perhaps even my past self, but I was well aware, the older I got the greater the gap between us became. It ended at some point, the inexplicable bond between us, possibly when I said bye to the pseudonym of mine to which her name attached. Or later? I can't say. Over the past year, or 2 years, during my times of depression, I found comfort and understanding in somebody else- Sylvia. Now there's a feeling of alienation that I can't explain, as though she's a historical figure about whom I know briefly, like Florence Nightingale or Mother Teresa or Joan of Arc, as though there's never been anything personal. It's quite sad. So to hear that she sounds like me, or I sound like her, is very lovely. I didn't believe it would be completely over and I don't now. I still believe in that bond between us, which may be invisible, which may be loose, which may be hidden behind something else, but which is never completely destroyed.
May she have peace and happiness and joy and love, wherever she is now.
[Will read Anne's book in English, which I have here but haven't read because I've read the Vietnamese version several times.]