Saturday, September 12, 2009

How can I forget?

Everybody felt very strange because of the first meeting but then that sensation was disappeared. We became more friendly. Did you think so?
We had 1 month, it was not long and not short but it voiced all things. It was honest sentiment that we shared!
- Xuan, Tom, Angie, Sonny and me came to Duc Son orphanage with 4 weeks. We taught English to childrens. We had a highly valuable lesson: that was affection!
- We (Xuan, Tom, Jan, Diem, Nhan, Albert, Jeannea) had a good time together.
I will remember a good time when we spent together! I really didn't want to say goodbye! I miss all of you so much!
Thank you David!
Thank you Co Hong Anh!
Thank you Xuan, Tom, Jan, Albert!
Thank you everybody!
I hope we will have chances to meet again!
I want to say: "Nice to meet you!" and "good luck to you!"
I love all of you!

Tuesday, September 8, 2009

Until Next Time

I've said a few words outside airport gates and beside taxi doors in Hue and in Saigon. I've sent some messages through email and facebook to people in Asia and America. Now, I want to leave one unified message to all the people I met this summer.

You all mean more to me than words could express. I will cherish my experiences this past summer for all my life. I've never felt such pain in a goodbye. I wasn't prepared to be hit by the numbing realization of seeing it all come to an end as I sat on an airport bench in Saigon. I wouldn't give up any of these feelings, though, because it was the price of having so much fun with everyone for 5 great weeks. I don't have any regrets. I'd pay the price a hundred times over to relive one minute of our time together.

Some of you, I'll see around campus. Others, I might see again on a return trip to Vietnam. For everyone else, through effort of our own or happy circumstance, I'm sure we'll meet up again somewhere down the road. I look forward to the day we can again say hello and goodbye. Until then...you know how to find me online or leave a comment if you really don't.

Thursday, September 3, 2009

Hen Gap Lai, Hue!

It seemed to me that the morning we left Hue was the most beautiful one. As if though every color on the earth had been magnified, every hue sharp and clear as the clouds that stood out from the sky. Starting around 5 AM, the hallway in Thanh Noi hotel slowly woke up to a quiet buzz of activity. Strolling down between the rooms, perhaps the passing stranger heard the noises of suitcases being squeezed shut, zippers being pulled, things being tossed aside, and soft sobs as reality came with the dawn. I sat on the edge of my bed, staring at my now empty room. Somehow, I felt sad to be leaving this hotel room, phuong so 40, that had been my home for the past five weeks. After weekend trips I'd rushed back to this room and thrown myself on the mattress, glad to be back. My two suitcases sat upright, stuffed to the brim with dirty laundry and souvenirs, quiet mementos of Hue. I paced up and and down between beds, searching with my eyes to make sure I'd left nothing behind. A bag with hotel donations sat on a nearby chair. Outside my room, I could hear the voices of other students as they knocked on doors to request back rented items. I opened the door to my room, palming the mushroom shaped key in one hand; pushing the door back into place with one last, final jerk. Students nodded to each other as we passed by in the hallways, still dressed in bed clothes. I heaved my luggage into the front lobby, a heavy finality settling down in my chest. Slowly, the sleek wooden chairs in front of the front desk filled up with luggage: duffle bags filled with clothing, suitcases with wheels, non la hats balanced as if it were an identifying marker on luggage.
We gathered together to say our last goodbyes; too soon the van was in the driveway. Secret and open tears were wiped away on shirt sleeves, hugs were exchanged. Goodbyes were whispered in ears, low voices murmured consolations. We would be together again, soon, one day. We believed with all our hearts. A month seemed too short. A month brought all of us together, bonded us the way things do when you eat together, learn together, travel together.
Luggage was handed up and packed in uneven piles in the van. We waved, cried our goodbyes one more time.
Hue seemed to know we were leaving. The sky was never bluer, the clouds white in bass relief. I watched the passing scenery closely as we made our way to the airport, trying to memorize Hue. The bridge that we'd often passed on many a evening, wind whistling through our hair as we laughed on motorbikes. The familiar, sleek shape of Big C, with its green and yellow colors. The daily whiz and rush of the locals on their commutes to market, to work, to family. The women, hefting loads of fruit, bread, and anything else, on shoulder poles, trotting down dusty streets. If I could, I would have rolled down the window to hear the now familiar Hue-accented Vietnamese, as familiar (although not as understandable) as English. Were we leaving? It seemed too soon.
Hue Phubai Airport rolled up, and soon we were in the mad airport rush to check in, get through security, and line up to board the plane. Before we knew it, the rickety plane was rushing down the runway, and we were soaring in the air. Hue now lay like a small green jewel beneath us, becoming smaller and smaller, until it was now an indistinguishable emerald mass bordered by a long strip of white coastline.
Tam biet, Hue. Thank you for having us for a wonderful 5 weeks. I will never forget everyone I met there--the teachers, the hotel staff, our Hue friends from the college. Thank you for opening our eyes to a new and different culture, of realizing the joys and simple pleasures of living in another country. Coming back to San Francisco, I was shocked by how large everything seemed: the airport seemed too big, the long highways with its mass of shiny cars, the rows of multi-storied houses. I started to miss Hue, to realize how appreciative I had come of Vietnam. For a month, I'd started to forget the comforts of home and realized the material luxuries I have at home--things that I didn't need. I found myself wanting to ride a motorbike through streets lined with green trees, lily-pad covered moat on one side, a wide shining river on the other. The sights of Hue filtered through my mind: children and adults flying neon-hued kites against an evening sky, streets of yellow lights strung between a canopy of trees, a man waving to us from his restaurant--his only voice the smile on his face, a gesture with hands. The old crumbling walls of the citadel, a red flag with a proud gold star waving against piles of white clouds, a pagoda with eaves like bird's wings. People squatting on the sidewalk or on miniature red chairs in the morning, gathered together around glass cups of golden tea and sugarcane juice. Sun-dappled leaves sliding against my helmet, the wind plucking at my sleeves. The noisy hum of the marketplace, the tiny corners covered with people and merchandise, women waving their hands at us, apologetic smiles and nods. The flash of a camera. A pile of leaves and trash burning in the night, a pillow of gray smoke filtering through the air. Squabbling over a restaurant bill. Laughing and poking fun at each other on a crowded morning bus ride to a school by a hillside graveyard. Woven reed sampans bobbing in the canal, framed by an arching bridge on which men and women zipped by on bikes. Stray dogs sniffing a lone bicycle wheel, lifting a leg. A trail of ants reclaiming a dead cockroach. A bridge at night, reflected in purple, blue, white, yellow, on the mirror calm surface of the river. A man dragging a bike with a stereo recording: fresh pork buns, banh bao. Tiny birds flitting in cages, birdsong like the call of a bamboo flute. The giggle of a baby boy, the excited chatter of a little girl. A bodhi tree with gnarled roots, lit up at night by white lanterns. The song of guitar strings, strummed to murmured singing.
Hue, and so much more.