Last morning before Tet

As I stepped out the house on the morning before Tet, I was greeted by a crispy cold breeze and an unexpected silence that I had sorely missed for so many years - that of an old time's Hanoi with which I grew up and came to love.

Over night, the streets have suddenly been cleared out, leaving the breeze an empty space to play with the crispy dried leaves that had browned up the ground after the rainy night before. Despite the wool scarf wrapping around my neck, a naughty wind sneaked into my collar and sent a tiny chill down my back, just enough for a soft "sss" to escape the lips reddened by the cold winter weather.

Riding along the deserted streets, I couldn't help replaying in my head the long journey I had been on this past year, starting with Kinshasa, then Nairobi, Bujumbura, Paris, then DC-Bangkok-DC before the emotional rollercoaster upped and downed through out the summer and ended with my return to Hanoi. Yet, as I tried to think back to these unfortunate events, all I could remember was how my friends had gone out of their ways to help me. All I could remember was the laughers we shared. And most of all, I remembered the amazing boyfriend who called me every day we were away . In these tough times, I have really come to appreciate the wonderful support network that I have. Life is always unexpected like that, and knowing that there are friends you can count on is really half the courage you need to overcome anything life throws at you.

The winter in Hanoi suddenly felt so warm.

Photo Credit: photosdiego.com

la vie est magnifique a Hanoi

As the plane landed on the runway of Noi Bai airport, I was searching for the butterflies' feelings I had known so well - but in vain. There wasn't a tiny bit of excitement inside of me, maybe because I knew I would be here for quite a long time.

This move back to Hanoi had certainly come as a surprise to many because after nine years being overseas, I have grown away from the lifestyle, the thinking, and many other things Hanoian. Yet, when an opportunity presented itself and everything else made sense, it was just a matter of time before I came to term with saying yes. In this big move, the hardest thing for me was not the uncertainty of the new place. But since I already know Hanoi rather well, I had to wrestle quite hard with the idea of leaving my established network of friends in D.C. Time after time, they were there for me in good times and bad times, supporting me in the decisions I had chosen – be it professional or personal. Flying away from that comfortable nest was just as hard for me as a young bird taking his first fly from his parents. And life in Hanoi, although not unfamiliar, suddenly seemed daunting and dark.

Yet looking out the window of my office one morning as I was on the phone with a friend from DC, I realized there were so much life out there - here in Hanoi – and just as magnifique. The sound, the view, the smell – they suddenly evoked in me a desire to rediscover them all. Maybe I had known them so well, but this time, I would rediscover them with a very different perspective.

And just like that, I smiled. Welcome to La Vie est Magnifique à Hanoi!

Photo Credit: View from my office next to the Opera House.

la vie a la plage

As I dried my hair with a towel and lied down on the cool morning sand, something caught my eyes. Near the shore, my boyfriend was teaching my friends to play with the surfing board. Some succeeded; some did not. But all I heard was laughters echoing across the waves that were tapping on the shore of Virginia Beach.

And I had a very strange feeling - which was hard to describe.

It was like the abundant sunshines that reflected off the smiling faces, crammed in a small car as stories were told about the old times.

It was like the golden sand that covered our sunkissed skins after hours lying on the beach living the moment of togetherness.

It was like the breeze that blew our hair as we sat down for dinner, talking plans for the future.

I think I knew now ...

It was like happiness.

Photo Credit: Fun at the Beach, by pukka-amaru

Extreme Home MakeOver - Edition Magnifique

While I occasionally cringe at the idea of building a home for one, I also believe things happen for a reason. So when I was presented with the opportunity to take over and Linh up this studio in Logan Circle, I couldn't say no.

So I closed my eyes and signed the lease.

The studio was located on a quiet tree-lined street of DC, in a building dated back to the 19th century when heat came through the hot-water system and cool air didn't exist unless improvised through a window-unit AC. Against that historical background, I wanted to mix the old and the new in a classic contemporary look: clean lines, simple furnitures, but strong color blocks and personalized accents to create a warm and cozy home for myself.
With that in mind, I painted the living room in a light grey tone to differentiate it from the kitchen and to allow indirect lighting to create a warm cozy feeling for the apartment. With the space neither too small nor too large, I used a half-level bookshelf to separate the living and sleeping spaces without blocking too much and cramping the apartment.

The white furniture also pop on the grey background, keeping a clean, classic, but still contemporary look. The orange couch was borrowed from a dear friend of mine as an accent piece to the apartment. While the orange color is extremely retro-chic, it is so beautiful simple that it fits perfectly in the modern setting. On a separate wall, a slim working table also elevated a small lamp that illuminated on a collaged wall of different framed arts.

The kitchen and bathroom were painted in a breezy blue to complement the white cabinets. Iconic art pieces accentuated the walls, giving them a personal touch: Tintin frames, propaganda posters, and beautiful fashion shoots from FT How to spend it.

I lucked out with a walk-in closet, which was quite rare in this area, big enough to hold all my stuff. It was a bit cramped, but with a little organization, I managed to keep the same tidiness that I had always been known for.

With a beautiful apartment, I was now ready to explore a whole new lifestyle that was undoubtedly denied from me for the past 3 years.

Photo Credit: Will Thomas

Bujumbura, Burundi

Holding a boarding pass that said 1F, a beautiful woman sat down next to me on this flight from Kigali to Nairobi. She stood out from the rest of those who boarded at the Kigali stop, not because 80 percent of other newcomers were white and often British, but because of her natural beauty, her brilliant smile, and as I learned later, a vivant personality to match. She turned out to be a Burundaise from Bujumbura.

Women, however, were not the only beautiful thing I noticed in Burundi.

This thought came to me one early morning as I was sipping a cup of coffee at the Hotel Club des Vacances. Grown in a land that had absorbed blood, sweats, and tears of hundreds of thousand people after years of violent civil war, the coffee had a distinctive mixture of sweetness and bitterness, leaving an almost-crude but unforgettable after-taste on the tongue. In front of my eyes, a soft halo of sunshine graced through lines and lines of palm trees, reflecting on the sandy beach that stretched miles and miles around lake Tanganyika. Two crystal-crown birds – particular to this land – approached the stairs, begging for some food. Far away, a fisherman anchored his small boat after a long night on the lake, bringing home tens of mukekes and sangalas.

That’s the thing about life in Burundi – slow, simple, yet subtly beautiful. Outside the small circle of the big men and their families whose social calendars are often filled with cocktails and receptions, most people live an almost routinely lifestyle trying to earn a living – just like pretty much everywhere else. Yet, something particular – like the Friday-afternoon nation-wide sporting program, the neighborhood-organized group exercises, or large congregations at local churches – brings out a sort of simplistic beauty. It may not be for everyone, but this is the type of detour and defrag that anyone can every now and then appreciate.

I know I certainly did.


Photo: View from the breakfast restaurant - Hotel du Club Tanganyika

Contemplation in a Strange City...

I turned on every light switch I could find, and in the dim halo exuded from a few 40W light bulbs, I could only feel the presence of an army of mosquitoes, ready to tackle any millimeter of my skin left uncovered. Here in one of the most expensive hotels in Bujumbura, the term “fragile states” suddenly seemed so real, as it spoke for my own fragility just as well as for the country’s weak post-conflict governance.

For the first time going on missions, I couldn’t wait to return home. It is often said that home is where the heart is. That couldn’t be truer. As I finished checking in at Dulles and walked into a sea of stranger some mere 30-hour before this, I had this distinct regret of leaving behind some strong feelings fully unsatisfied – those of a heart still desperately craving for the other, especially knowing how limited time you do have to enjoy each other.

Alas – distance!

It breaks a heart like nothing else. Despite how much said about how transformational technology could bridge connection, it would never be able to substitute or merely even compensate for a warm hand to hold in the icy coldness, for passionate kisses at the door, or for irresistible body contacts rolling on the floor. Despite what has been said about long-distance relationship, the truth is that when you live two separate lives in two separate continents in two estranged time zones, you can never be more apart.

And just there and then, sitting in front of my computer – fully covered in long-sleeved clothing and heavily armed with insecticide spray – I started to really question for the first time my lifelong desire of traveling the world one mission after another. Business class tickets, expensive hotels, exotic cities: all that extravaganzas could hardly compensate for the loneliness we feel sometimes, being away from our loved ones...

If only we could have it all…


Photo Credit: Human Hand Touch an Artificial Glass Hand - from Shutterstock.com

...so this is good bye for real....

To Hoa.

Fall sneaked up on me – somewhere between a labor-intensive task of building a meticulous work plan and a capital-exhaustive period of social events – as a chilly wind blew into my face and made me hold on to the light-weight scarf to which I had never attributed any warmth-generating value. Despite its endless sun-filled weekends, somehow this Fall season brought to me a perpetual sense of emptiness – as if every last drop of sunshine had been taken away from me.

Or had it really?

This Fall season was a time for me to say goodbye to you, Hoa. Even though I had known this day would come, it still hit me. Hard. The pain it brought, albeit not overpowering or overwhelming, bitterly munched on my defenseless mind. Within seconds I received the news, I was left feeling numb, trying to find a word to describe or an emotional outlet to just break down and cry – but instead, I just fell completely empty.

Hoa – I wanted to write how much this occasion was meant to “bring together hearts, hugs and memories from across the globe – in celebration of your life and all that you have given to us,” and that we would be able to draw strength from your inspirations, and the community you had created. But the truth was that to me, you were not some inspirational Goddess that I turned to learn how to live my life. We have shared even our darkest secrets, and I have loved you for that. You were one of my best friends, and a part of my life that no hearts or hugs would ever make me feel enough.

As sunrays continued to glaze the beautiful color-changing leaves, this emptiness would be eventually forgotten for the work, mission, social events, and many things in my life – but I knew it would always be there, just as my love for you.

May you rest in peace.


Photo Credit: deviantart.com