And the sky will be blue
As the raindrops trickling turned into a full march sweeping on my rooftop garden in Saigon, I lazily opened my eye after a heavy noon nap. The first few weeks back home felt like an eternity, with the oppressive sun rays blanketing the city from dawn till dusk, dragging the day into an endless trial of extreme heat and humidity. When not engulfed in the thundering afternoon rains that bring a brief cool wisp of air, it seemed impossible to do anything but moving from another air-conditioned room to the next. The heat came silently, marking itself on the wilting rose leaves, the lack of midday coos of the spotted doves prying chili peppers on the rooftop, and my dog Nest's water bowl finished within ten seconds. Thankfully, as soon as the first breezes hit in the afternoon, I hopped on the motorcycle and rode straight to one of the countless café in a 3 km radius of home. As if to help residents survive all the heat and traffic noises, the coffee scene in Saigon was truly a spectacle to behold. From airy courtyard café filled with uniform-clad students sipping cà phê sữa đá (iced coffee with condensed milk) to quaint air conditioned shops serving fancy matcha lattes, there was always something to try in a hot day. As a person with living with not one but two cafés next door, one of which has been there for more than 15 years and took IOUs from all of our clinic staff (we had a dental clinic downstairs), life couldn't get any better with a cup of iced milk coffee by the balcony.
The energy from drinking top-notch Robusta coffee surely helped me to finally get up from my bed and do something useful. As August came, my school's career centre was flooded with job postings from departments. I spent hours crafting resumes and cover letters, applying to countless labs for an entry-level research position. Despite with minimal research experience, I still cherished some hope. Thankfully, I heard back from a few places for interviews, lifting me to ninth cloud - even when that means staying up until 2 AM for interviews (blame all to the 14-hour time differences between Saigon and Vancouver). My efforts and subsequently scrambled sleep schedule were not in vain, as I received an offer from a place I had been dreaming of working in ever since high school! Not until then I came to fathom the harshness of the current job market, where hundreds of applicants are vying for jobs with barely minimum wage. When the job search frenzy was over, I turned to my second-year course schedule, fumbling to choose what courses that could satisfy graduation requirements while still allowing me to have fun in the next three years (I'm looking at you, ISCI core courses). After weeks of scrolling past course grades data, I registered for the most chaotic schedule ever. With 11 courses ranging from psychology and public health to Portuguese, am I set for another year of sobbing on the 49 bus going home on a rainy day?
Academic terrors aside, it occasionally dawned on me that I still had another month of summer to go. This meant more days waking up at ungodly hours to take a plane to Binh Dinh province, my parents' hometown. When the rich notes of supreme Robusta coffee were still lingering on my taste buds, I landed in Phu Cat Airport, around which the undulating mountains covered with scorched eucalyptus trees embraced the sparkling sea. We spent the first day driving from An Nhon, where stood the fortress of the Emperor Quang Trung, to visit my grandmother's grave, then past the vast rice paddy fields to the bustling city of Qui Nhon. The salty breezes refreshed me instantly after a long day of travelling, with the palm-lined beach filled with volleyball players, afternoon swimmers, and street food vendors. Unlike other overly developed coastal cities in Vietnam, Qui Nhon still remained its pristine landscape the sandy beach curving around the city, which locals viewed as their ultimate pride. From early morning till sunset, I could see swimmers - from white-haired men to little toddlers - rejoicing in the cool water to escape the brutal Central Vietnam summer. My family viewed our daily swims in the sea as rituals, with my great-grandfather always finishing his first swim at the crack of dawn, then with my grandfather diving down to dodge the enemies' bullets in wartime. When the days of fire and smoke stopped, my father and I return from thousands of miles away every year to wallow in the fresh water, sometimes with little schools of krill jumping during our Lunar New Year swims. I would finish the day off with a dish of bánh xèo (crispy fried rice pancake stuffed with fresh seafood or meat) a specialty dish of the province, or squeeze in the tiny Formica chair at a roadside vendor to pry off ginger-steamed sea snails with a toothpick. No matter how I have grown up, Qui Nhon always relives my childhood as if it was just yesterday.
After Qui Nhon, I made a short trip to Lagi, another seaside town in Binh Thuan province, just a 4-hour drive away from Saigon, for my father's university class reunion. On the exit from Saigon, I passed through District 2, the location of Tran Dai Nghia High School for the Gifted, my dear old school. The fields surrounding the school, once overgrown with reeds, have now developed into an almost unrecognizable ritzy neighbourhood with the shiny Landmark 81, the tallest skyscraper in Vietnam. Despite all the changes happening at breakneck speed since I left the place 6 years ago, I felt a surge of nostalgia rising upon passing the street leading to the small dirt road. After bidding adieu to District 2, I enjoyed every minute of the ride, as we blasted bolero music while devouring all kinds of treats found along the road, from sour mangoes dipped in chili shrimp sauce to fresh milk from a dairy factory at Long Thanh. At noon, I arrived in Lagi. While Qui Nhon was a city of cherished family traditions, Lagi reminded me of an escape from the tumultuous pace of life. I spent the day cycling under the shades of the coconut trees on the path crossing our hotel rooms, listening to the sea lulling tired travellers into a deep midday slumber. Over cold beer and steaming cups of tea outside at the veranda, the adults peppered the room with laughter from their sagas of stories of their jobs (oh the dentists' sense of humour), while my sister and I coyly listened, occasionally asking for another piece of sliced guava. That night, I had the best sleep for weeks.
And the day had to come. After 6 weeks simmering in the heat, I woke up at the wee hour for one last time during summer to return to Vancouver. The sun was slowly shedding its thick blanket of clouds to shine its first light in the international departures terminal, but I was not ready to leave behind the city of memories. Finishing the best bánh mì in town (all hail pâté stuffing), I groggily passed the security checkpoint, then rested on a bench to watch the gigantic Japan Airlines plane slowly taxiing inside the terminal. Fast forward to 2 movies, a dish of butter chicken, and a bossa nova playlist later, with soring legs from sprinting in Tokyo and San Francisco (SFO's size is really something), here I am, typing this in the cold night air at my Richmond home. The last few days of summer have been mostly a chance to recover my sleep, fix my faithful DELL laptop that had been by my side for the past 5 years (you will be missed), and catch up on the last days of blueberry season on windy morning trips to the farmers' market. I also somehow managed to come to some events on campus, where seeing the lines to the 49 and the hopeful flush on the cheeks of first-year students reminded me of another whirlwind coming.
Comments
Post a Comment