Thunder cracked and rain drizzled down as swarms of motorbikes and colorful rain ponchos buzzed past me. It was another gray dreary winter day in Vietnam. I carefully crossed the cracked pavement, splashing through small puddles, towards the large wooden doors of a warmly lit cafe, my sanctuary for the day. Aromas of baking bread and heat radiating off the ovens greeted me, the perfect contrast to the gloomy weather outside. I found a comfy seat, opened my laptop, and took a sip from my coffee, enjoying that familiar sensation of sugar and caffeine entering my bloodstream. It was the start of a new year and time for me to look back and plan my time ahead.
It hadn't been a bad year. I was comfortable, my job was stable. I had a small group of friends I liked to go out and have drinks with and a decent relationship with my family, but life felt a bit like the gray sky outside. For the past 4 years, I had committed my life to a job that at once had promised fulfillment and stability but slowly sucked the color out of my life, converting my days, weeks, months and years into one repetitive, comfortable, colorless routine. I decided I needed a change and that 2020 was the time to do it. I dove deep inside myself and planned a year of passion and adventure; all of the things I've always wanted to do but continued to put off. A trek in the mountains of Nepal, a trip to Japan with friends, at last returning to the US to see my family, and then carrying on a slow trip through Latin America. My plans excited me and gave me hope. I left the cafe soaring high in a cloud of optimism.
Little did I know, however, only 15 days later a virus would be discovered in China that would quickly unfurl around the Earth one country at a time. Words like "pandemic" and "social distancing" started popping up. Vietnam closed its borders, masks came up as my optimism and hope for a new chapter came crashing down.
Spring came, the rainy days faded away and one early morning a group of casual cyclists departed on their weekly ride. I had avoided the group before, making excuses, but one week I decided to join them. During the ride, I made a friend and was invited to go kayaking with some of her friends later that day. I agreed and we ended up having a really good time. I joined their community and felt comfortable and a sense of belonging in that group. Our group started doing road trips together, traveling all over Vietnam. We traveled from north to south past rice paddies, over lush mountains, and by roaring waterfalls. We saw the ethnic people of Vietnam in their bright red and yellow outfits and straw baskets on their backs. We stayed up late singing karaoke and drinking rice wine. For the first time in a long time, I felt alive. Unforgettable memories with incredible friends. A time of passion and adventure.
For much of that year, Vietnam had been protected from the severity of the virus. The border had been locked and for a time, I was living in a tropical little bubble of paradise while the rest of the world was being forced to confine inside their homes. However, the bubble eventually burst. Cases trickled in. Our province was locked and our cross country traveling turned into city cycling trips and park meditations. Next, our city was locked, then our neighborhoods until we were crammed into our homes like the rest of the world. Park workouts turned into video call workouts. Badminton in the park turned into badminton in the garage. And life began to become a whole lot simpler.
However, a strange thing arose from this simplicity, something I had never experienced before. I felt this feeling of gratitude for the smallest things in my life I'd never thought about before. I felt grateful for my apartment, for my AC, for my groceries, for having a rooftop to view the sunset, for having a garage to play badminton with the neighbors, for the incredible people in my life, for my health, for my safety. Despite the fact that I was confined to my apartment, I felt a feeling of contentment. My neighbors and I decorated my space with plants and had daily coffee meet-ups. I started learning the guitar and reading by the window in the morning. I found happiness in watching the sky and enjoying music.
Months passed and Covid cases were still rising. By this point, it had been 2 years since I had last seen my family and I felt the urge that it was time to go home. Time to go back to the US. Taking an international flight isn't the easiest thing to do during a lockdown though. We weren't allowed to leave our home, let alone the city, and the closest open airport was over a thousand kilometers away on the south end of the country. I arranged an agent who would smuggle us out of my city by ambulance in a week. It was time to go home.
It was noon. My bags were packed, the room bare. It was strange to see the room that had been my world for the last few months so empty. My phone buzzed, a text from my agent alerted me the ambulance had arrived. I hugged my neighbors and went downstairs. This was one of the happiest years of my life and it was time for this chapter to end. I didn't have much time to reminisce though. I opened the door and the peaceful silence was shattered. An anxious-looking man in a white uniform urged me into the back of the ambulance and we barreled down the alleyways of my neighborhood. Neighbors peered out, frantically wondering if there had been contamination inside of their zone. We drove down deserted alleyways, past a series of police guarded roadblocks and one by one grabbed my other friends and threw in their luggage. After 45 minutes, the checkpoints faded away and we stopped by the highway where we met our driver who would transport the 3 of us and our luggage in a cramped SUV for the next 15 hours to the airport of Ho Chi Minh.
We entered the airport in the afternoon before our morning flight. We were tired, exhausted, and dirty as we took seats in the quiet airport. No one spoke as our energy had depleted and we sat in silence. Slowly the sun began to set and my friends unpacked some food. We turned on some music, drank good beer, and watched one final magnificent sunset disappear below the horizon. The music and sunset had restored us and afterward, we did a video workout together and followed it off with a race around the empty airport laughing and talking. We even found a way to bathe ourselves using a cup in the sink of the bathroom. We lay down, clean and happy in a dark section of the airport. I spent the evening texting every person that had affected my life in Vietnam saying goodbye. The next day at 4 AM we woke up to catch our flight. The plane soared into the sky as the sun rose over Vietnam, illuminating the quilted patterns of Vietnam's skyscrapers, rice paddies, and farmland under a golden light.
Entering the US again was a bit of a reverse culture shock. The deserted streets had been replaced by bustling cafes and crowded unmasked terminals. One by one, my friends trickled away onto their connecting flights and my past reality faded away. I made my way to my final destination, Charleston South Carolina, my home. After exiting arrivals, I turned the corner and there was my mom.
It is strange how life works out sometimes. I wanted passion and adventure and while I thought Covid would destroy my plans, in the end, it led to one of the best years of my life. My life is still far from being figured out, but Covid has taught me to be grateful for the small things in life such as having good friends, family, my health, and my safety.
