Learning the Way of The Vietnamese

I look up today and I see Vietnamese.  After swimming, my mother and I went to a colorful Vietnamese restaurant on "Eat Street."  Yesterday, I was listening to "Cheerleader" by, Pentatonix, and I felt these Vietnamese males come through from high school.  At Como, we had a university system.  I was there to answer their need to work with these very royal children of military officers.  It was obvious to no one.  We all just worked well together, and they kept my learning experiences fun and quiet, always meeting me at the line.  At home, war was a way of life.  The imagery that Americans had accepted as reality, left them clinging to sanity around probing questions about their lives, their families, and their homeland that were just not polite.  These men were a crew I could go to with unconscious telepathy when people got too sexual with me.  I needed to be able to read publicly.  In the end, I gave them computer industry, through Unysis via a Pascal language class.  It was much more fiscally binding than their desired ability, which was math.  They were fine in class when we were together, but had problems with memory on their own.  They have had to live far too violently, for far too long, with no recognition.  Hmong never should have been brought into any community that had Polynesians (Hawaii's Very Violently "Retributional" Chief Community) coming through.  Valentine's Day was always celebrated with a Hmong charge of a favorite dog's head in a box or an ear on a chain.  They never bothered the police, who became increasingly Hmong.  Instead, they handled it themselves, but were always sure to be CLEAN and pressed around me.  They knew that I knew blood, medically, but they were aware that there was a war beneath in my eyes.  My bloodiest years were between the age of 7 and 8.  It coincided with them.  Guys, you did great.  I know that you are all ready to go back, but have opted to stay to take care of the mounting Wiccan threat here and in The Middle East.  No one even knows that I know you so well, Ho.  He is Ho Chi Min's grandson, and always sat behind me in English just in case the eyes in back of my head would appear.  Ho Chi Min's real last name was the royal Nguyen, but he wanted to hide Ho and his lineage lines in this country.  Ho Nguyen graduated in disgrace, number 3 to a man who looked American, but was Chinese (Ho thought that he was Swedish), and me and another blond girl (seeing me as German and her as Swedish) tying for second.  Just to let you know, I was number 1 and you were number 2.  They faked a very illegal, retroactive honor point system to take it away from us and make sure that you and I could never be meaningful and public friends.  I didn't get into it either.  I just went onto the deceitful and hellish land of Hamline University.  It was actually a military academy.  Just to let you know, your degree from Como IS a Bachelor of Arts through The University of Minnesota.  How about them apples?