Trần Nhật Quốc

I was the grand champion of stupid. Aside from my mom suppressing any notions of my dabbling in photography, I read an article in a magazine that told me that no one would ever want to see my European pictures inflicted on them in endless carousels or albums. “Take your pictures with your head,” the article cried, “Your pictures are awful and boring! Don’t torture friends and family with them; they don’t deserve it!”
The article was probably satirical.
Notwithstanding, I have no pictures of nearly two years in Germany and other places. I vaguely remember what I saw and felt, but a picture or two would be nice. I don’t even have pictures of my buddies. Or my barracks. Or the little town we visited for its Gasthauses and the beer. I remember the beer…