Have you ever loved something so much that it hurts?

Those poems about Hanoi autumn, with yellow leaves falling on Thanh Nien street and slightly cool breezes blowing through your hair; the feeling of sitting behind your loved one on a motorbike around-city trip on the first day of winter, slowly putting your hand in their jacket pocket to keep warm, and to hug; the seducing smell of baked sweet potato on from the street vendors ...

- All cheesy nonsense! - I used to pout. Silly me!

***

My room. A tiny room with no natural light despite having two windows - one facing the stairs and one is shut down by the rude neighbors. I grew up there, went through a 12 year rock-bottom school-life journey with “blood, sweat and tears”. I slept with my sister every night because she was, or still is, scared of ghosts. My sister is 22 years old. It has flowery wallpaper, although it would be hard to see because my paintings since kindergarten are all over the place - I once dreamed of being a painter. My desk and bookshelf are in the most feminine pink parents could think of for their daughters, though I was more like the son my parents would (proudly) never have. All the highschool secret crushes, my colorful closet, photo albums, night crying, my beloved stuffed animals collection, my ambition, my pillows and blankets a.k.a my dog’s bed, the radio broken 5 years ago that my weird cat loves sleeping on it - everything happens there, and stays there when I left.

The roof of my house, my secret “sitooterie”. There is a small metal ladder from my mother’s garden on the fourth floor that I could climb up there. In my last 3 months at home when the city was in lockdown, despite the heat of Hanoi, I was up there even more than in my room. I came there to listen to music, relax, play my little ukulele, film my vlog, draw, watch my mom gardening, “spy” on people in the 5-block-away building, and memorize the neighborhood that brought me up . I came there to watch sunsets every afternoon - it was spectacular. The day my rude neighbor built a tall wall behind my house that hindered my rooftop 360° panoramic view, I cried so hard.

I have my blue motorbike on the first floor of my house. “Who wants an adventure today?”- my dog never waits for me to finish the sentence to hop on my motorbike. I secured his place, chose my favorite shoes to match my outfit, put on my cute purple helmet and started our own adventure around the city until the sun went down.

***

Hanoi Rock City is a magical place. It is a combination of art galleries, mini concerts, cultural and artistic exchange - all in one place, with some cold beers. It is located in a normal, quiet neighborhood, near the West Lake, but the hidden gem itself is never normal and quiet. Behind the closed door that welcomes anyone who dares to push in, a stairway painted like a piano leads you to the youth you may have missed. I have only been there twice, but it mesmerized me both times. I was another person when I’m surrounded by live music, and a bit tipsy! (it’s legal in Vietnam!). I’m the best, coolest, happiest version of myself.

Nê cocktail bar is the place where I had my first drink on my 18th birthday. A small cozy place on Tong Duy Tan street food, next to an old railway. There are many special drinks in their menu that have names of Vietnamese cuisine like Phở (wonder how it tastes? - it tastes like Phở!). You could also ask for a surprise or tell them how you currently feel, and the coolest bartender girl with the mysterious smile would bring exactly what you need. I always, and only, came there with the most interesting people of my life - my 29 year old bestie who was once my English teacher, later quit the job but kept teaching me everything the cruel adult life does not tell me in advance, and my one-time date who is literally my alter ego though I have never met him again.

It was the stair-step by West Lake where I told my dog about my decision to quit my gap year-job. Our last city-date before I left that I never knew.

It was also the small dark alley near Thu Le Zoo where I and my two best friends group-hugged before I went to the airport, confidentially because we weren’t supposed to meet because of COVID restriction. That was the tightest hug I have ever received.

***

I never thought I could be that much attached to a place. Every part of the city builds a part in me. I left it without saying the last goodbye. Though it may be the best because I would not know where to start and when to end, thinking about it breaks my heart harder than my first breakup. Leaving it tears me to pieces - like a broken vase. I’m scattered. Now being 12 363 km away from it, I have to rebuild myself, filling in the holes with new places. I’m trying my best because I know no matter how much I love it, I have to leave it, at least once, to realize how much I love it. That’s just how love works. I love it so much that it hurts.

But sometimes when I see random yellow leaves on the pavement and the slight breezes blowing through my hair,

I write a poem.

Cheesy!