Letter to a Katrina Survivor

When I was 18, I came close to starving to death.

All right, I may be exaggerating. But it was the first time I was living away from home, and I had little money as a first-year chiropractic student near Atlanta, Georgia.

The only thing I knew how to cook was rice and beans, which I would boil together, add salt, and, half-gagging, literally force down twice a day. I would eat this dish outside on my second-story apartment stoop.

One day while choking down my lunch, I noticed an Asian student walking into the apartment across the way. He was carrying a grocery bag overflowing with wonderful-looking exotic vegetables and spices.

Every day after that, as he'd go walking past my perch, I tracked his movements with the eye of a lean wolf, waiting for the right moment to make my move.

I don't remember the moment I finally introduced myself to the Asian student, whose name was Antoine, but I'll never forget how abruptly my life changed for the better.

I went from being half-starved on prison gruel to suddenly finding myself feasting twice a day on lavish Vietnamese cuisine. Tantalizing soups, hot chili dishes, sautéed fish (head and eyes intact) would be laid out before me and Antoine's two lucky roommates both at lunch and dinnertime.

Within two weeks, I regained the 10 pounds I had lost since moving from under my parents' wings a short time earlier.

Much more than this, despite my less-than-admirable motives for introducing myself to Antoine, I quickly formed a bond with him that has lasted nearly thirty years.

Antoine was not only a great cook, he was also wise. Indeed, my new friend had a depth unlike anyone I had ever met. I would learn his wisdom and spirituality had been gained early in life, a result of having survived wrenching relocations to France and later to the U.S. to escape the conflict in Vietnam.

Having lost my sister to cancer when I was sixteen just two years before, I immediate felt Antoine to be a kindred spirit. Over the years, his wise counsel would become a major part of who I am. His sage words to me when I was in my early thirties and coping with my father's slow demise from cancer allowed me to regain the depth I thought I had lost.

Continued on page 2: His life will never be the same... »