*This post is pulled from one of my several blogs scattering around the Internet.*
I am home.
Back to the arms of family, to the brutal humidity, to the unorganized traffic and to the proper dinners with mom, dad and my baby brother. Being in Saigon is wonderful, especially after so many days my heart ached for a sense of home. Grandmom is always ready to cook my favorite dish. Mom still complains about all the weight I've gained with American food. Dad still goes look for every single medicine for bruises on my legs and mosquito bites on my arms. Baby brother still seems like he can't stop growing into a man (yikes).
Three weeks being home, I finally have the courage to drive motorbike around town.
Saigon is moving fast. As fast as any other developing metropolis out there. Too fast that I can’t even catch up. Perhaps I’m just another old soul who wants to linger over the beauty of old Saigon. But sometimes, all I miss about Saigon is an old bookstore in a narrow alley owned by an old and grumpy lady. The place that I usually went to when I was still a permanent part of this town. But developers have replaced those places with air conditioned, luxurious malls where most Saigonese probably cannot afford anything. Expensive apartments are being built everywhere, but they are probably filled with empty rooms inside. People still drink and drive so fast as if they run away from the void within.
I try to look for memories, but they slowly fade away.
Sometimes, it feels strange to be home. Sometimes, seeing all the things that break my heart inspires me.
This time, I wish I never had to leave.