My favorite place in Vietnam

It’s my last day in the countryside. To simply say that I will miss the life that I have become accustomed to here doesn’t capture the attachment I have developed for this place over this three month period. I have written a lot about my love for the countryside on this blog not realizing that once I leave this place, the very things I wrote about—the slower life, tranquility, fresh air, beautiful scenery— would act as a sort of emotional tether, holding me back from leaving.

I fell in love with this place 11 years ago, when I first visited Vietnam. Every good memory I have of Vietnam from back then is of the fun I had at this place, at my grandma’s home in My Tho.
I remember my first trip here, when roads to get to my grandma’s house had not yet been developed and the rain made the long walk to her house a muddy, slippery mess. That memory of my mom’s side of the family falling in the mud, into the pond, all over each other on my first trek here is still my absolute favorite memory of Vietnam. That joy of being part of a big family that I was denied of experiencing for so long (my family was the only family in the US at that time), trampling in the mud together, falling down and laughing together to make the long walk to my grandma’s house—this is the memory that brought me back to Vietnam. I wanted to recreate and again, feel that sense of joy and comfort of family that has stayed with me for all these years.

Of course, things change. My Tho is not as how I remembered it. It is more developed, there is less open space, less rice fields to play in, and no more muddy treks to my grandma’s family. Along with that, that sense of family that became so ingrained in my memories is not as strong as it once was. Everyone has their own lives to deal with now. My city cousins are older and they aren’t quite as interested in country adventures as I am. But even then, despite all these changes that I thought would diminish my love for this place…my attachment to the countryside has not only remained, it has grown.

Because, the country life I have experienced during my time here has been more of an inner experience. Maybe it is a matter of age because when you’re younger, your sense of self is shaped by the people around you and your interactions with them. When you’re older, you have a better sense of who you are and at least in my experience, are more likely to draw inwards (through self-reflection) to define your sense of self.

The tranquility of life here, limited distractions, and thousands of miles away from my worries that lay waiting for me back home has allowed me to rest after a hectic end-of-college experience and given me a sense of inner calm I haven’t felt for so long. I take this inner calm with me as I explore the area with my cousin Chanh, noticing small details about the natural landscape, like all the different colors the sky changes around sunset, making the rice fields glow a different hue of green every passing minute. Or, the morning haze that floats over the entire area around 5am, leaving dew to sit on grass blades.
It is the lifestyle here that I love most. To say that it is simple is to reduce the complexity of the people here and the hardships they face, but life here is not as complicated by the trivial problems faced in the city. People here have their land, their day’s work, and their family to take care of. They don’t care (as much) for the trivial and material items that city people feel is necessary to keep up appearances, like brand-name clothes, or eating out at fancy/trendy restaurants, or the sleekest motorbike. People here are poorer. They know this and do their hard work with pride. I respect those men and women I pass by every day on my afternoon runs, crouching over in the hot sun to tend over their crops. They are tending over the same land my grandma tended, the same land that once belonged to my great-grandparents.

Having mentioned that, it has been an interesting discovery finding out that a large portion of the land I skim my eyes over every day once belonged to my great-grandparents, that the dirt path I run along is the same road my grandma painstakingly walked along to carry 200 pounds of rice wheat to find money to feed her 7 children as a single parent.

My family history on my mom’s side runs deep on this land. This discovery has been a matter of pride every time I look outside, at the yellow-green of fields of rice wheat in front of me. My ancestors owned this land, their sweat and blood once trickled and permeated into the fields here. Family history has only bound me closer to this place.

But, I’m leaving in a matter of days. I’m leaving the only place in Vietnam that has given me the closest feeling of home outside of the Bay Area. I’m leaving the place of my childhood memories. I’m leaving behind tranquility, vast open space, morning runs along a backdrop of purplish-gray skies, 5am badminton matches with country kids at the local schoolyard, the croaking of insects at night, dragon-fly hunting with my cousin, afternoons spent listening to the changing of the winds….

I’ll miss it all. I don’t know where this inner calm will go once I leave this place. Maybe it will remain, having ingrained itself into my mind after three months of carefree days spent sipping coconut juice, while lazily swinging on a hammock. I’m not sure quite sure. I just know that my nostalgia for this place will remain. This is the Vietnam I love and care about the most.