Dear Vietnam,
Who even are you? I walk your streets like any other streets. The people exchange nods, smiles, an occasional hello or good morning. . I order your food, I drink your tea, I shop in your shops. All is well. But you have another side. Aside from what I see on the surface, you have your secrets.
Dear Vietnam,
I walk your streets. You approach me and ask if I want cocaine. I decline. Marijuana? No thanks. You whisper it again. I said no thanks. From my balcony I watch. I watch you pull young men into your massage parlors. I see you yelling at tourist, “happy hour!” Over and over again you yell it.
Dear Vietnam,
Your park is beautiful. And it holds a secret. I walk and I meet your people. They smile and speak of their dreams. Big dreams. Dreams of change. I walk on. I see your students. They ask me about my life. “Out of all the places you could travel, why would you come here?” They slip in comments about your government. Corrupt. They don’t care about us. Strict. They keep us here but don’t offer us enough jobs.
Dear Vietnam,
You have unsung heroes. They speak of dreams. They tell me, “The ones who have no hope, they are the ones who stop chasing their dreams.” They sit with us and teach us about you. They teach us your language. They invite us to see everything you have to offer. They smile with us and laugh when we pronounce things incorrectly. They give us advice. They tell us of your most beautiful hidden secrets.
Dear Vietnam,
It’s only week one. Show me more.
