If I ever see those pilots who dropped the bombs on me - or any American pilots - I would say to them, 'The war is over. The past is past.' I would ask those pilots what can they do to bring us all together.

Those bombs have brought me immeasurable pain. Even now, some 40 years later, I am still receiving treatment for burns that cover my arms, back, and neck. The emotional and spiritual pain was even harder to endure.

I went through 17 operations. I had to deal with the pain every single day. I used to compare my scars with buffalo skin. And because my skin wasn't have any pores, I cannot sweat, make me feel so tired, so headache.

I have my foundation, I help the children who are victims of war, and I talk about kids and I help people to understand how horrible war is and how beautiful the world can be if we can live with love, hope, and forgiveness.

When I meet children and people who suffer, when they mention any kind of pain, emotional pain, physical pain, I know what they need, because it's the same thing I need. They need healing, they need peace, they need joy, they need hope.

I wished I died in that attack with my cousin, with my south Vietnamese soldiers. I wish I died at that time so I won't suffer like that anymore... it was so hard for me to carry all that burden with that hatred, with that anger and bitterness.

I was really embarrassed. And I asked why they took my picture when I was in such agony, and I'm the girl, in the moment that I was naked, burning, hopeless, crying - so ugly. And I asked why they took my picture at that that moment? I didn't like it at all.

I remember June 8, 1972. I saw the airplane. And it's so loud, so close to me. Suddenly, the fire everywhere around me. The fire burned off my clothes. And I saw my arm got burned with the fire. I thought, oh, my goodness, I get burned. People will see me different way.

I was as alone as a person can be. I could not turn to a friend, for nobody wished to befriend me. I was toxic, and everyone knew it. To be near me was to be near hardship. Wise people stayed far away. I was alone, atop a mountain of rage. Why was I made to wear these awful scars?

For years I bore the crippling weight of anger, bitterness and resentment toward those who caused my suffering. Yet as I look back over a spiritual journey that has spanned more than three decades, I realize the same bombs that caused so much pain and suffering also brought me to a place of great healing. Those bombs led me to Jesus Christ.

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