Carpe diem

"Why does Saigon never sleep at night?

How can I feel good when nothing's right?

Vietnam

You don't give answers, do you friend?

Just questions that don't never end."

These lines are in the song "Why, God Why?" from Miss Saigon, a musical that I've recently caught the bug off. Honestly, nothing feels better than relating to such a masterpiece in every aspect, from the settings to the emotions expressed by Chris, the character singing this song. Decades have passed since the historical context of the musical, yet its atmosphere still lingers among the very corners of Saigon. The city never sleeps at night, with the roaring sounds of traffic, the bustles from street vendors, and the chattering night diners toasting their beers. Having been here for my entire life, I thought all this roundabout would never stop. I was wrong: this pandemic turned everything upside down. I need no magic carpet ride to see a whole new world, as it is enclosed within me ever since.

It was waking up to silence instead of the clangor of dental tools from Dad's clinic downstairs. Many of the times when I played "Two Truths and A Lie" with friends, no one seemed to believe that I have been living inside (to be precise, upstairs) a dental clinic ever since I was born. The truth is, I could not remember the first time going to the dentist's - whoever remembers the first time stepping into their childhood home? I became familiar with shoes left over by oblivious patients who left with the clinic slippers on, or children screaming so loud that my parents should switch to offering hearing tests for our neighbors. Honestly, my careers goals are still hiding in the thick mist of future uncertainty, but at least I learned from watching Dad and his colleagues that medical gloves leave an ugly white powder on your hands. Still, I can't fathom how I miss all the commotion at my family's dental clinic every day, hoping that one day, I can smell clinic disinfectants all over the house. Until then, I will just bring the plants to the clinic's living room upstairs to have them enjoy a bit of sunlight.

It was lying on the sedge mat on the rooftop after every dinner, looking for the Polaris until being distracted by the rare sound of a plane. Quarantine has brought me closer to a hobby I've never imagined before: gardening. No backyard mowing fuss, no backaches after a day baked under the sun, just very poetic proximity with the vegetables growing on my rooftop. We even grew a cantaloupe, of which the sweet flavor still dances on my tiptoe every time I recalled the first tasting. I spent many late afternoons cutting water spinach (rau muống in Vietnamese), sniffing the pungent scent of Thai basils and mints, or just simply adoring lush loofa gourds swinging in the wind. Then, the family would gather together and harvest the herbs to prepare for dinner. As the night dew came on the rooftop, I would conquer my acrophobia and climb to the rooftop again - just to lie on the rusty mat and do nothing - until mosquito bites would force me to go back downstairs. Who needs to go camping anyway when you have an entire rooftop to yourselves?

Moonrise from my rooftop garden

It was getting used to staying at home after the 6pm curfew imposed upon the city, hearing nothing but silence from the streets. Long gone are the days of moped rides to night food stalls, boba hangouts with friends, or trips to the seaside. It is just mooching around at home listening to the rain falling on the rooftop while ambulance sirens unnerve me to the core. Now, what lights me up are steamy homemade baos on rainy afternoons, my hibiscus plant blooming in the midday sunlight, and the flocks of swiftlets returning to their nests from a long day finding food all over the Indochina Peninsula. Thus, spending an immense amount of free time, I come to my all-time favorite hobby: reading. Now that all of the books on my shelves are dog-eared, the only way for me to find new books is by visiting the public library's website and gawking at the whims of OverDrive. Honestly, during the past 16 years in this life, I've never put myself in the elderly's shoes in the aspect of using technology - until I read ebooks. The entire experience of navigating between chapters while waiting for the screen to load didn't serve for anything but raised my impatience and frustration. Still, at least crying at the part when Count Rostov finally escaped did not waste my time skipping noon nap. What is time, anyway?

All in a nutshell, this is the weirdest summer, yet probably the best I've ever had. Dicken's "It was the best of times; it was the worst of times" has never been so accurate. Sometimes, living slowly a little bit helped me to see the world around me with such a distinct perspective: reflecting with nostalgia, carpe-diem-ing with resilience, and anticipating with ambivalence. Although I probably didn't take this summer as a chance to make new friends, brush up on my ECs, or even get a bit in shape, I seemed to learn a little bit every day as I observe life being itself, like a miner extracting specks of gold from dusty ores. After all, have I ever caught myself watering mints while watching Venus glimmering before?