Autumn has arrived, and the air has grown dry and crisp. Around this time last year, I was living close to nature – the sky, the earth, the grass, and a few temperamental cats as my companions. Now, back amid the noise of the city, I sometimes find myself swept away by memories of those quiet days. Almost without thinking, I replay the same music I listened to there, reread the books I once read, and linger over photos still colored by peace – by the feeling of living truthfully, wholly, as myself.
I still hold on to the past more tightly than I thought. I haven’t learned to let go – not completely, not easily. But maybe letting go isn’t always what we’re meant to do. Those past days, after all, sheltered me through long stretches of weariness and repetition. Perhaps what I should do is cherish them gently, gratefully.
These are lines I once wrote to my close friend, while wandering from place to place – around this same time, when autumn winds were returning to Hanoi.
“To my dear Hanoi,
It rained this afternoon. The last rains of the season are always this way – sudden, wild, unpredictable. The wind blew away the last yellowed leaves clinging to their branches. I thought about running into the pine hills to bathe in the rain, to stand beneath the trees and look up, letting the drops fall on my face. That must feel incredible.It’s probably drizzling in Hanoi too, isn’t it? I wonder what rain smells like there now. Somehow, I’ve forgotten the scent of the rain from the city I lived in for years and it’s only been two months since I left. How strange.
A friend once told me: the saddest rain falls in Saigon, the calmest in Dalat, and in Hanoi, the rain smells of melancholy. I don’t know if that’s true, or if he was just using the rain to name his own feelings.
Maybe I should hurry outside before the sun breaks through the clouds and breathe in the scent of Dalat’s rain once more.
If you can, send me a little rain from Hanoi, will you?
Dalat, a rainy day.”
(2018.10.17)
I’m leaving ‘Nha’ soon. Everything feels as if it’s moving too fast, and no matter how quick I am, I can’t seem to catch up. These days I’m tangled in work, responsibilities, pressure, restlessness. I want to toss my laptop into a corner and let it stay there, untouched.
There are so many stories waiting to be listened to, so many words to whisper to the wind, so many things to do, so many chairs to build, so many trees to plant. Yet here I am, stuck with this lifeless screen, typing out words that feel painfully empty. Just one more week, I tell myself. Next week I’ll set everything aside, breathe, live. And I’ll write you more letters. Truly.
Tonight everyone gathered in the yard to light a fire and grill food. The fire flickered wildly in the dark, scented faintly of pinewood. The moon was bright, the wind soft. I sat watching the sparks rise, glancing up now and then at the moon and the slow-drifting clouds. I wondered, how many times in a lifetime do we get to sit under the moonlight, watching fire and singing softly into the night?
Silent or dreaming, it doesn’t matter, as long as we live these small moments in peace, letting go of all heaviness, all fear, all need to be anything other than real.
It’s 12:59 a.m. now and I’m barely awake. There’s still work to finish, but I’ll try to stay up a little longer. Tomorrow, the sun will rise, birds will sing, and I’ll go to the garden, pull the weeds, turn the soil, plant a new tree.
I ramble too much, don’t I?
But yes… I miss Hanoi.”
(2018.10.28)
I decided not to head to the Mekong yet. I’ll stay in Dalat a few more days. I know I’ve been here long enough, but I’m not ready to say goodbye. I still cling to these quiet days. It’s funny to call them old days when it’s only been a few months.
Lately, time feels like an autumn leaf – falling too quickly, too quietly. I miss the trees, the sunlight.
The other day, while reading ‘The Bird That Never Looks Back’, I came across a line that made me think of us: ‘If you don’t love a place, it means you haven’t stayed there long enough. If you don’t love a person, it means you haven’t spoken with them deeply enough.’
Life is funny that way, isn’t it? Like a tangled ball of string, no matter how much you try, you can never quite undo the knots.
Dalat, to you.”
(2018.11.04)
Just be.
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