An impulsive decision brought me to Vietnam in December 2023. I was exhausted, overworked, and slowly morphing into just another hamster on the capitalist wheel. When I saw a license plate that read "HAIPHONG," I instantly booked my flight. I was terrified but did it anyway. The fatigue I was experiencing at that time made me careless. I couldn't care about how I would survive being away from home for the first time. All I needed was to get away and I needed to get away now.
In the final month of 2023, I found myself alone and mesmerized by all that North Vietnam had to offer. I'd wake up to the sound of motorbikes and face the challenge and confusion of crossing the chaotic streets of Hanoi. I visited Vietnam's Women's Museum and the Vietnam National Fine Arts Museum. I was astounded to learn about Vietnam's resilient people and, most importantly, came to love and respect the Vietnamese people.
What to do with all of my lonely?
After visiting Vietnam, a wave of loneliness hit me that I couldn't shake off. I wasn't tired anymore; the thing I had been running away from had disappeared. But now, I was alone and lonely. After the initial high of traveling wore off, I found myself close to tears nearly every day. I was too afraid to let it out, too afraid to sit with my grief, too afraid to see what could possibly be on the other side of all this grief.
I sat with my lonely in Hanoi, Haiphong, Ha Long Bay, Da Nang, and Saigon, with all this lonely. There were moments where I would forgot about my little lonely. When strangers passed by me and said the little English they knew, I'd forget. When I looked at something ordinary and somehow it became magical, I'd forget. When a son would cradle in the arms of his mother, I'd remember. Lovers holding hands silently at a cafe, I'd remember. I'm not a teenager anymore. I can't ignore my lonely. Voices you ignore only get louder.
When I would remember, I'd choose not to forget.
I have to make room for my lonely to make space for my fullness.
My lonely is what makes me whole.