We are approaching the end of the first semester, after which half of our students will go back home and half will remain. For this month’s blogging, I asked them to pause and take stock of where they have each come to at this point in time. They were given the question: Where am I now? Their responses reflect a range of concrete and abstract interpretations of the question, expressing the physical and emotional spaces in which they presently find themselves here in Viet Nam, and in their lives.
Thursday, December 15, 2011
Where Am I Now?
Becky Gordon
We are approaching the end of the first semester, after which half of our students will go back home and half will remain. For this month’s blogging, I asked them to pause and take stock of where they have each come to at this point in time. They were given the question: Where am I now? Their responses reflect a range of concrete and abstract interpretations of the question, expressing the physical and emotional spaces in which they presently find themselves here in Viet Nam, and in their lives.
We are approaching the end of the first semester, after which half of our students will go back home and half will remain. For this month’s blogging, I asked them to pause and take stock of where they have each come to at this point in time. They were given the question: Where am I now? Their responses reflect a range of concrete and abstract interpretations of the question, expressing the physical and emotional spaces in which they presently find themselves here in Viet Nam, and in their lives.
No Longer
Nan MacMillan
My fingers have made imprints on my bike’s cool rubber handlebars.
And no longer does the misty morning rain surprise me.
Rather, my skin readily absorbs each drop of moisture at seven thirty every morning.
My feet have memorized every pothole, every bump in the road.
No longer does the rush of cars frighten me
I effortlessly become a part of the river of traffic,
Letting the current simply take me.
No longer do the brown eyes locked to my white face bother me.
No longer do I notice the smog, the air’s filth.
I cannot recall what clean, fresh air smells like.
My nose has accepted smoke, exhaust, and dust as normal.
The strangers I called my relatives are now family.
The unfamiliar house is now my home.
No longer does ten thousand miles seem far, or four months feel long.
No longer is Viet Nam just a place. It is home.
My fingers have made imprints on my bike’s cool rubber handlebars.
And no longer does the misty morning rain surprise me.
Rather, my skin readily absorbs each drop of moisture at seven thirty every morning.
My feet have memorized every pothole, every bump in the road.
No longer does the rush of cars frighten me
I effortlessly become a part of the river of traffic,
Letting the current simply take me.
No longer do the brown eyes locked to my white face bother me.
No longer do I notice the smog, the air’s filth.
I cannot recall what clean, fresh air smells like.
My nose has accepted smoke, exhaust, and dust as normal.
The strangers I called my relatives are now family.
The unfamiliar house is now my home.
No longer does ten thousand miles seem far, or four months feel long.
No longer is Viet Nam just a place. It is home.
Monday, December 12, 2011
Through the Door
Hy-Long Nguyen
Where am I now?
I’m at the end of the road. A closed door stands in my way, close enough to see its untouched, flawless design but too far to turn the handle. The shine of its cold, silver keyhole competes with the sparkle of the glossy, brass knob. It is locked; it is ready to be opened.
The past few months in Vietnam
So where am I now?
I am at the door, slowly reaching for the knob. I am deciding what to bring with me to the other side. I am evaluating who I really am.
Sunday, December 11, 2011
At One Moment
Sarah Weiner
I t wasn't as if she had all her questions answered. She was still looking for the justification for those thing that she could not understand. She still dreamed, and wondered, and her curiosity and earnestness had allowed her to grow in unseen ways, enabling her to see through a different lens. But her frustration with the inability to have the answers only grew as her impatient and restless nature became more apparent. She struggled, grasping for something to help her while she attempted to defeat an invisible enemy.
She still had many more questions she was waiting to ask. However, she did have one question answered. She knew where she was at any given moment in time. She was walking down a foggy cobblestone road in an unknown town. She was keeping her distance from a protective mother, guarding her young calf. She was standing barefoot in a muddy field of rice. She was absorbing the silent beauty of a thousand year old temple. She was photographing a sunset through the window of her taxi, trying to freeze the silhouette of a broken down ferris wheel against the tie-dye sky. She was sitting at her dining room table, crying with a foreign mother about something she knew little about. She was holding a tearful boy in her arms, able to understand his sorrow despite the seemingly unbreakable language barrier between them.
She always knew where she was standing. But her perspective changed once again when she realized that what was important was not only where she was at one given moment. Where she had been before and where she would go next were crucial in understanding where she was now. Time never stops progressing.
Just Bloggin’ #3 Donde estoy ahora? Tôi đang ở đâu?
Luke Williams
Thirteen years ago I never understood what any of these sentences meant, yet they both ask the same question; where am I? Literally I am living in the Cầu Giấy District of Hà Nội, Việt Nam. I am at the point where I am growing into an adult. Part of that growth has been the pivotal moment of getting on a bike for the first time.
When I decided to spend senior year enrolled in School Year Abroad-Vietnam, I planned on challenging myself academically and culturally. In my first weeks in Hanoi, my sole mode of transportation was taxi. However, viewing life from behind a window removed me from the flow of this vibrant city. My experiences revolved at the end-points of my cab ride; school and host-family. I envied my peers and their stories of people they met or foods they tasted while riding around on their SYA-subsidized bikes.
Right now I am a six-foot senior unsuccessfully trying to execute turns and attracting the added ridicule from both passersby and peers. My greatest challenge wasn’t just the coordination of riding but the self-conscious vulnerability I felt. These roadblocks ended up creating a physical and mental battle with the bicycle, but one that was overcome with scrapes and laughs. I now have access to the exciting streets and alleys of Hanoi. This is where I am now. That “monster” is now my best friend and I am now one with the city, flowing and bending with the heavy traffic.
The Lake
Elliott Crofton
It is fairly simple to say where I am now. I am in Hanoi, Vietnam. I am living with a family of Vietnamese people. I am attending an SYA school on a regular basis. This however is dull, and I do not think it does justice to the question asked. So then where am I really?
In these past 3 months I have grown exponentially as a person. Already I look back at myself at the beginning of the year and think of how strange I was. And already I know 3 months from now the current Elliott will also be viewed as strange. Right now I am in a state of constant metamorphosis. Most of the time the change is good, and if it is not I believe that my logic always sets me back on the right track. This constant change of person can be stressful and at times overwhelming, but I feel its benefits. I feel myself becoming more of what I should be. The reasons behind this change are many, and I do not think I could pinpoint one main factor. I admit it probably has to do with being immersed in an entirely different situation, but the true cause, the exact origin, remains unknown to me.
The state I am in now sometimes breeds longing and restlessness in me. I have found a cure to this though, a flawless remedy. There is a lake near my house with a circumference of something like a quarter to half a mile. In the morning I will go, and find the same seat I always do. I’ll sit on the edge of the lake and take in a view so beautiful I cannot begin to describe. But as I take in this view I will get the most extraordinary feeling of being part of this city. I can feel the whole city pulsing and moving, yet I am surrounded by tranquility. Maybe that is where I am now.
I am...
Anna Leah Eisner
Where am I now?
A little worn down, but still relevant.
Where am I now?
I am in a home, which was once a house
Eating with family who used to be strangers
Sleeping comfortably in a bed once hard
Brushing out stares that tangle in my hair
Where am I now?
I am walking down crowded streets
A newfound knowledge of avoiding motorcycles
Has become lodged in my muscle memory
Where am I now?
I am bartering with street vendors
Lowering prices, making bargains
In a language that until recently
Was as unknown to me as the country it came from
Where am I now?
I am slurping my noodles-
Devouring my spring rolls-
And eating more rice
Than I have ever consumed in my life
Where am I now?
I am meeting new people
With stories that tell
Of lives utterly unlike
The sheltered setting I grew up in
Where am I now?
I am in a completely different
And yet now familiar place
Strange, how odd it is
Strange, how used to it I am
So what am I now?
Define you.
I am a daughter
A sister
A street-savant
A fruit cutter
A pho eater
A chopstick user
A backup voice for children’s singing
A craft entrepreneur
A frisbee-thrower
An adventurer
I have become a part of this culture
And it has become a part of me
Where am I now?
A little worn down, but still relevant.
Where am I now?
I am in a home, which was once a house
Eating with family who used to be strangers
Sleeping comfortably in a bed once hard
Brushing out stares that tangle in my hair
Where am I now?
I am walking down crowded streets
A newfound knowledge of avoiding motorcycles
Has become lodged in my muscle memory
Where am I now?
I am bartering with street vendors
Lowering prices, making bargains
In a language that until recently
Was as unknown to me as the country it came from
Where am I now?
I am slurping my noodles-
Devouring my spring rolls-
And eating more rice
Than I have ever consumed in my life
Where am I now?
I am meeting new people
With stories that tell
Of lives utterly unlike
The sheltered setting I grew up in
Where am I now?
I am in a completely different
And yet now familiar place
Strange, how odd it is
Strange, how used to it I am
So what am I now?
Define you.
I am a daughter
A sister
A street-savant
A fruit cutter
A pho eater
A chopstick user
A backup voice for children’s singing
A craft entrepreneur
A frisbee-thrower
An adventurer
I have become a part of this culture
And it has become a part of me
Hanoi Rain
Nathan Cluss
Right now I am sitting at my desk staring into my computer screen, and listening to the sound of Ha Noi rain. Rainy days hit a different tone with each individual, but here, cooped up in my small room, I feel a sense of contentment. The experience I’ve had in coming to Viet Nam was completely unexpected, and serendipitous. Everyday I find myself contemplating my future, and without the life I’ve lived here, my thoughts and attitude would be quite different. I’m now excited for what the future holds for me, and look forward to pursuing my passions, which have become more defined since being here. I think about how I’ve gotten here, what I’ve done to end up in this place at this exact time. It’s as if every little thought, action, or decision that’s led to this experience had meaning, and was even purposeful. All the hell I went through, and all the memories I’ll never forget; they all happened to bring me here. Such as every drop of rain falls and lands just as it’s supposed to, in the right place, at the right time.
Right now I am sitting at my desk staring into my computer screen, and listening to the sound of Ha Noi rain. Rainy days hit a different tone with each individual, but here, cooped up in my small room, I feel a sense of contentment. The experience I’ve had in coming to Viet Nam was completely unexpected, and serendipitous. Everyday I find myself contemplating my future, and without the life I’ve lived here, my thoughts and attitude would be quite different. I’m now excited for what the future holds for me, and look forward to pursuing my passions, which have become more defined since being here. I think about how I’ve gotten here, what I’ve done to end up in this place at this exact time. It’s as if every little thought, action, or decision that’s led to this experience had meaning, and was even purposeful. All the hell I went through, and all the memories I’ll never forget; they all happened to bring me here. Such as every drop of rain falls and lands just as it’s supposed to, in the right place, at the right time.
Saturday, December 10, 2011
The Journey
Andrew Sanborn
But to answer the original question, where am I now? I have grown a lot by being here have become more independent here, because I have to, and I think that will really help when I get home. If I ever run into something that seems difficult at home, I can always ask myself “So you can hail taxis in Vietnam and speak Vietnamese to the drivers, but you can’t do this?”Also I am learning a lot about myself, and how at first I thought I couldn’t possibly leave home for this long, but it turns out I can.
So I find myself here, 1/3 of my time in Vietnam completed. I have changed (hopefully for the better) so far, and know, that for better or for worse, I will continue to grow and change during the remaining six months I have here in Vietnam. As I said before, looking back now at my whole journey, I honestly can’t imagine not being here. I am happy that I made the right choice back in February, and I know that from that time to now I have grown a lot as a person and have really expanded my horizons by coming here.
Where am I?
I have been in Ha Noi for three months, but that wasn’t the beginning of my journey. It began when I found out about the program itself. Throughout that time, I have had many different feelings and emotions going through me regarding this journey. In February, I was curious about it, but never thought that it would ever happen. Then, in March, I still couldn’t picture myself possibly spending the better part of the year in Vietnam, I had definitely traveled a lot before, but this was completely off the charts! After I was accepted, I struggled with the choice of leaving or staying, it was a very hard decision for me, but looing back now, I am very happy with it. But to answer the original question, where am I now? I have grown a lot by being here have become more independent here, because I have to, and I think that will really help when I get home. If I ever run into something that seems difficult at home, I can always ask myself “So you can hail taxis in Vietnam and speak Vietnamese to the drivers, but you can’t do this?”Also I am learning a lot about myself, and how at first I thought I couldn’t possibly leave home for this long, but it turns out I can.
So I find myself here, 1/3 of my time in Vietnam completed. I have changed (hopefully for the better) so far, and know, that for better or for worse, I will continue to grow and change during the remaining six months I have here in Vietnam. As I said before, looking back now at my whole journey, I honestly can’t imagine not being here. I am happy that I made the right choice back in February, and I know that from that time to now I have grown a lot as a person and have really expanded my horizons by coming here.
Still Here, Not Going Anywhere
Perrine Aronson
Where skies are colored any way I like,
And endless possibilities run rife.
I am right here.
I am in Vietnam.
Where am I?
I am on the edge of my conscience. I’m at the point where a decision is inevitable; I have to choose whether I’ll be the person I want to be, or the person people want me to be. I have to make the first step that’ll lead me somewhere. I have to break through my fears, and decide what to do with myself. I believed for too long that I could just hide behind a wall, and avoid every problem that way. I was wrong. I am facing reality, looking at the world in front of me. I see what it has to offer, what it can become. And I am here to discover all of it. I have to see more of this country, of its people, and its culture.
I am at the end of my teens. I’m becoming an adult. I have to make choices, decide things, and stop counting on mommy and daddy. I have to become myself. I have to be proud of what I’ve done until now. I have to understand my mistakes, and make the best of them. I should also decide if it’s worth going on the path of my present journey, or if I’d rather start something completely different, something that’ll lead me in a totally different place, with totally different people. But I have time, plenty of time. I’m still here, and I’m not going anywhere.
I’m at the beginning of a long hike,
I close my eyes to wake up to a life,Where skies are colored any way I like,
And endless possibilities run rife.
I am right here.
I am in Vietnam.
Clashing Desires
McKenzie Nagle
My desires are painfully paradoxical. My heart constantly yearns to dwell in Vietnam forever (I know…listen to your heart), but I cannot abandon my life filled with obligations and loyal friends back in America. The conflicting personal passions are tearing me apart, but I came to an imperative decision to return to New York City in December. The costs and benefits are difficult to balance; constantly, I battle myself to an excruciating woe—prolonging the decision became intolerable.
Where am I now? I am trying to experience the Vietnamese culture as hurriedly as possible. Even with my decision, I still frequently rethink my choice and cannot come to a lucid verdict which I was hoping for. I truly feel Vietnamese and have come to love Vietnam and its people to an immeasurable extent. When asked, “how long will you live in Vietnam?” I respond saying I will live here for 1 year, and that I will live in Hanoi in the near future, maybe even marry a Vietnamese woman. Why do I fib and say I am living here for 1 year? I yearn to be an insider, a local within the Vietnamese and international culture in Hanoi, and simultaneously I wholeheartedly feel a sense of belonging with Vietnamese people. Coming from a small nuclear family, I honestly cherish my relationships with my Vietnamese relatives and even with the general Vietnamese community. Maybe I adore Vietnamese people because they treat me like a superstar, or because they’re so welcoming and warm. I still haven’t found the answer, but I do know that my connection with Vietnamese is unwavering.
Currently, I am trying to satisfy my conflicting aspirations to be in Vietnam and America. This summer, I will be flying back to Hanoi to spend two and a half months with my host family. I love chi Linh, ahn Nam, and em Ti just as much as I treasure my American family; I love my families more than the whole world. I will never emotionally detach myself from Vietnam. I am making the most of my last month here, and I am anxiously awaiting my return to Vietnam in June.
Step Five in a Dinner with my Family
Jaya Sahihi
One: Foreign tastes
At this stage I fell in love with all these tastes for the first time. This is the step at which I learned how to use my chopsticks, a basic skill without which, I would have had trouble eating. It was a stage full of new discoveries and a desire for finding more.Two: Falling in love with certain flavours, learning which others to avoid
This stage is the one where I became more accustomed to what landed on my plate. I slowly felt myself easing into these new flavours, growing to love some and keep my distances from others.Three: Figuring out how to manage what comes in and out of my bowl to the best of my ability
You might think that now that I had my new favourite foods, I could fill my bowl up with them. This was not the case. I found others popping things into my bowl out of nowhere. In some ways, this was good. I tried things that I would never pick up on my own. On the other hand, I had to eat many things I would’ve rather not. So I learned what to eat at what speeds. I learned how, if I leave a bite of something I don’t like, they won’t refill it for a little while. I learned how to cover certain things with the taste of rice. Four: Starting to feel full
At this stage I was more a part of the dinner. The new tastes entered my mouth and wasn’t so much of a shock. I began to digest. Five: feeling very uncomfortably full
This is where I am now. This is the part where it gets hard. The last thing I would want to do is be offensive but this is the part of the meal where (not to be melodramatic but....) I lose my freedom. I truly see that I am still a guest in so many ways, in particular the fact that I can’t say no. I am uncomfortably full and I begin to feel sick. It may all be delicious food cooked by my father but my stomach is still complaining. I can hear it and I hope my family can’t. Try as I might to hide it, sometimes I want to say NO, ENOUGH. Six: Becoming hungry once again
This always happens without fail. It might take a little while but eventually I will find myself craving the tastes once again. No matter how full I feel at this moment, I know that once I return home I will miss the “tastes” of Viet Nam more than words can describe. That is part of what makes it so difficult. I want to absorb everything around me as much as possible, yet my stomach is bursting. It is not until I am back in America that I will find myself wishing more than anything to be back in the kitchen as my dad sets the table, smelling all the wonderful smells of the meal to come.
Stuck at a Wall
Abby Ripoli
As I walk down the streets of a now familiar scene, I confidently pass aggressive street vendors, no longer struck by the differences in the lives from which we come. I have hit a point at which there are always new things to explore, but they are no longer in the normal events of my everyday life, as I’ve become familiar with my routine here in Vietnam, and things that were once so foreign, are now part of my daily interactions. However with my comfort level growing and my curiosity yearning, I’ve found that there is a barrier between myself and the people I am so eager to learn from, hindering me more now than ever: a language barrier. I crave stories from the smiling fruit lady in the local market. I want to understand the life of the solemn faced police officer directing traffic. But most of all, I want to know more about these strangers with which I live. What is his view on communism? Has she always been able to cook this good? What on Earth is this little girl trying to say to me...?
I’m discovering that I don’t want my definition of “living” in Vietnam to consist of being able to cross a street, speaking fairly competent Vietnamese, or being capable enough to use chopsticks without embarrassing myself and practically being forced to use my own “brand” of silverware; I want my definition of “living” in Vietnam to be understanding why these things are the way they are and why I’m different or maybe not so different at all. I’m starting to realize how powerful words can really be, and once I can understand these words being thrown at me, maybe I’ll be able to understand this culture as well.
To answer the question of where I am now, I would say that I’m past the guidance of a “Vietnam Travel Book”, past the excuses of awkwardness and confusion, yet nowhere near the point of adequate understanding. At this point it is unclear what stage of my journey I’m in, or where it will end up taking me, but I know that right now, even in Ha Noi, Viet Nam, I am home. In every home, there are moments of joy and moments of frustration. My frustrations are clear; with five months ahead of me, I know that in order to leave Vietnam feeling satisfied, I need to reach a deeper level of understanding, by conquering as much of this language barrier as possible.
As I walk down the streets of a now familiar scene, I confidently pass aggressive street vendors, no longer struck by the differences in the lives from which we come. I have hit a point at which there are always new things to explore, but they are no longer in the normal events of my everyday life, as I’ve become familiar with my routine here in Vietnam, and things that were once so foreign, are now part of my daily interactions. However with my comfort level growing and my curiosity yearning, I’ve found that there is a barrier between myself and the people I am so eager to learn from, hindering me more now than ever: a language barrier. I crave stories from the smiling fruit lady in the local market. I want to understand the life of the solemn faced police officer directing traffic. But most of all, I want to know more about these strangers with which I live. What is his view on communism? Has she always been able to cook this good? What on Earth is this little girl trying to say to me...?
I’m discovering that I don’t want my definition of “living” in Vietnam to consist of being able to cross a street, speaking fairly competent Vietnamese, or being capable enough to use chopsticks without embarrassing myself and practically being forced to use my own “brand” of silverware; I want my definition of “living” in Vietnam to be understanding why these things are the way they are and why I’m different or maybe not so different at all. I’m starting to realize how powerful words can really be, and once I can understand these words being thrown at me, maybe I’ll be able to understand this culture as well.
To answer the question of where I am now, I would say that I’m past the guidance of a “Vietnam Travel Book”, past the excuses of awkwardness and confusion, yet nowhere near the point of adequate understanding. At this point it is unclear what stage of my journey I’m in, or where it will end up taking me, but I know that right now, even in Ha Noi, Viet Nam, I am home. In every home, there are moments of joy and moments of frustration. My frustrations are clear; with five months ahead of me, I know that in order to leave Vietnam feeling satisfied, I need to reach a deeper level of understanding, by conquering as much of this language barrier as possible.
Friday, December 9, 2011
7,000 Miles Away Fom Home and Happy
Julia Shumlin
I have never been a particularly adventurous eater, and the wide varieties of unrecognizable foods served to me by my host family in the first couple weeks proved to be a great challenge. I greeted each meal with a nervous apprehension- dreading the mystery meats that my host mother would excitedly place in my bowl. Now, these family meals are no longer a challenge, but an opportunity to expand my palette and try some of thr most interesting- if not always delicious- dishes I’ve ever tasted. Among others, I can add silkworm, pig liver and fertilized eggs to my list.
Although my Vietnamese is still pretty basic, I’m proud of the baby steps I’ve taken towards mastering this complicated language. I feel as if all the time memorizing vocabulary and practicing the strange, unfamiliar sounds pays off in the moments when I successfully direct my taxi driver where to go and carry out a brief conversation with my grandfather.
Before SYA I lived my entire life in a rural setting, and Ha Noi is the city of all cities. Now, I can finally say that I feel comfortable hailing a cab, meandering the bustling streets alone, and getting totally, blissfully lost. Who knows- maybe I’m a city girl now.
Lastly and most importantly, the relationships that I have made here are so strong that I often find myself shocked at the fact that I only met these people three months ago. Whether it is the ease and comfort I feel with my host family or the close bonds I have formed with my fellow classmates, I have met people here that I know I will be in touch with for the rest of my life.
Needless to say, these past three months have affected me in ways that I never would have imagined. But where am I now? I am 7,000 miles away from home, and happy. Happy to be able to cross the street, eat all sorts of strange dishes, speak some basic Vietnamese, and navigate this wild city. Happy to finally feel comfortable in this new, different culture. I look forward to what the next month will hold.
Soon we will mark the three-month anniversary of our arrival in Viet Nam, with less than a month left for us unfortunate semester kids. Somehow that amount of time seems inaccurate in my head, but I still can’t decide if it is too long or too short. I remember as if it were yesterday the nerve-wracking flight from Boston to San Francisco as I waited in anticipation to meet my future classmates, and the numb shock I felt that first morning when witnessing Ha Noi’s otherworldly heat, noise and traffic. These experiences are so vivid in my mind that I find it impossible to believe that they occurred a quarter of a year ago. Then again, when I think of how much I have changed, learned and matured over the past three months, the time seems astonishingly short. Here is where I am now. Here are the ways that I have pushed myself, met new challenges, and the ways in which Hanoi has changed me.
Ha Noi’s traffic and streets and their chaos and utter lack of road rules were perhaps what shocked me most upon my arrival. Although daunting at first, I have learned how to tackle these streets like a true Hanoian- with a calm temperament and a slow and steady pace.I have never been a particularly adventurous eater, and the wide varieties of unrecognizable foods served to me by my host family in the first couple weeks proved to be a great challenge. I greeted each meal with a nervous apprehension- dreading the mystery meats that my host mother would excitedly place in my bowl. Now, these family meals are no longer a challenge, but an opportunity to expand my palette and try some of thr most interesting- if not always delicious- dishes I’ve ever tasted. Among others, I can add silkworm, pig liver and fertilized eggs to my list.
Although my Vietnamese is still pretty basic, I’m proud of the baby steps I’ve taken towards mastering this complicated language. I feel as if all the time memorizing vocabulary and practicing the strange, unfamiliar sounds pays off in the moments when I successfully direct my taxi driver where to go and carry out a brief conversation with my grandfather.
Before SYA I lived my entire life in a rural setting, and Ha Noi is the city of all cities. Now, I can finally say that I feel comfortable hailing a cab, meandering the bustling streets alone, and getting totally, blissfully lost. Who knows- maybe I’m a city girl now.
Lastly and most importantly, the relationships that I have made here are so strong that I often find myself shocked at the fact that I only met these people three months ago. Whether it is the ease and comfort I feel with my host family or the close bonds I have formed with my fellow classmates, I have met people here that I know I will be in touch with for the rest of my life.
Needless to say, these past three months have affected me in ways that I never would have imagined. But where am I now? I am 7,000 miles away from home, and happy. Happy to be able to cross the street, eat all sorts of strange dishes, speak some basic Vietnamese, and navigate this wild city. Happy to finally feel comfortable in this new, different culture. I look forward to what the next month will hold.
In the Student Lounge
Anna Oakes
As I write this, I’m sitting in our student lounge at school. It’s only 7:30, so there are just a few other people here. I’m trying to take as much advantage of the brief calm as I can—checking over my homework, emailing my friends and drinking coffee, which has recently become my substitute for breakfast. On the way to school today, I noticed how the weather has become noticeably cooler. I’m hoping that the sweaters that I frantically requested from my parents arrive soon…
Almost everyone is here now—the room has gotten a lot louder, and it’s harder to concentrate. Vietnamese class is next period, so I should probably check over my homework. It’s going to be strange once the semester-students have gone. Having made the decision to stay the year, I feel as though my time here can’t possibly come to an end. Though of course it will, just as my homework-and-coffee mornings will inevitably grow quieter.
As I write this, I’m sitting in our student lounge at school. It’s only 7:30, so there are just a few other people here. I’m trying to take as much advantage of the brief calm as I can—checking over my homework, emailing my friends and drinking coffee, which has recently become my substitute for breakfast. On the way to school today, I noticed how the weather has become noticeably cooler. I’m hoping that the sweaters that I frantically requested from my parents arrive soon…
Almost everyone is here now—the room has gotten a lot louder, and it’s harder to concentrate. Vietnamese class is next period, so I should probably check over my homework. It’s going to be strange once the semester-students have gone. Having made the decision to stay the year, I feel as though my time here can’t possibly come to an end. Though of course it will, just as my homework-and-coffee mornings will inevitably grow quieter.
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