This isn't really related too much to Vietnam as a character in Hetalia, it's more of my thoughts and ramblings on the country itself. Yeah, I'm Vietnamese, and this entire chapter is basically one part of my life, what I've experienced and such.
This chapter is all true.
I really wrote this for myself, and for my hubby Alex to read, so if anyone else stumbles upon this, please don't jank/hate or whatever.
Em yeu anh nhieu lam, Alex.
Missing Vietnam
~.
Sometimes I miss her.
When I lay there at night, staring up at the ceiling or at the window next to me, listening to the soft whistling of the trains running over the tracks, I wish I was with her. The night is so melancholy, and the sound of the train so nostalgic and sad, my heart beating so loudly in my chest, I think about her.
I remember back to when I was eleven again, still to small to comprehend, a bit scared to see her again after so many years apart. I couldn't speak her language well, so I just smiled and faked my way through it, talking and responding the best I could. My elders- parents, uncles, aunts, grandparents- were smiling weakly too, and I could see the shame and sorrow in their eyes. But when I looked up at her, I didn't see shame on her face. There was nothing but a brief acceptance and understanding. She was beautiful and elegant, soft-spoken and kind, and she always had a real and true smile for me. She could barely speak English- for that was the language I spoke the most- but she struggled for me, and in return, I struggled for her.
I only stayed with her for a month, and at first, I didn't like the ordeal very much. There was so much to learn, so much to see, in such a short amount of time. The place I lived in was noisy and crowded- it stank of too many people in such a suffocating space- the water was a livid brown, the streets full of the smell of rotten meat, fruit, and vegetables, fermenting and sweating villagers, and the feeling of being heard and gossiped about even with a million voices trying to drown each other out. But slowly, as everything in the world worked, one grows fond of these things. Running down the dirt path and into the farm-like acres and towards my grandparent's house became routine. The thunderous and never-ending rain was expected, not a surprise or a dread anymore- I grew to live with it, and go by it each day.
There was beauty too. At night, the lights glowed so brightly, like a large city that's never ending, that stretches on and on in every direction. The cafes and restaurants open, and so do the parks and clubs in the district. I remember the feeling of the cool air on my face as I rode on a motorcycle, watching the scene blur and holding on tightly to whoever was driving. My eyes were wide and opened, soaking in all the wonders that flashed by: the darkness of the water glowing a brilliant red, yellow, and blue as lights from the amusement park bounced off it; the emptiness of a park and the statue of the vibrant, crystal bear hiding between shrubs of green and black, as though skipping in and out of a secret, otherworldly place; the peace and, at the same time, the burning excitement at the prospect of traveling on forever, seeing the scene repeated again and again, until nothing but the images are embedded into my memories.
Even now, as years pass- 2006, 2007, 2008, 2009, 2010- I can still see it.
I can still see the sunlight shining through the forever-opened windows of both houses- rich and poor. I can feel the heat of it scorching my back, feel the happiness in my chest as I sat in the hammock and swung back and forth, watching the younger children fighting or the adults talking. I can smell all that was bad- spoiled food, spoiled stomachs, the rancid odor of the dead or the dying- but there was also the scent of the good too- homemade cooking, the sweet and freshness of chom chom, or nhãn, and the small and barely noticeable aroma of something else:
Home.
~.