Some Sweet Nostalgia

Almost six years ago, I found myself in a small riverboat in Vietnam's Mekong Delta. The air was hot and muggy, and as I turned from side to side, I embraced my tropical surroundings, complete with patches of palm trees. Four months before and fresh out of college, I had moved to Japan for as an assistant high school English teacher job. Vietnam would be my first taste of Southeast Asia, although I would be back to traipse in the northern Thai countryside (by foot and by elephant), visit Cambodia's Angkor Watt and reminders of the Khmer Rouge genocide, practice yoga in the Himalayan foothills, and taste Chinese delicacies in Taipei's night market. And then there was my foreign life in Japan too...meeting my students for dinners and letting them practice their burgeoning English, slurping green tea and eating sushi off the conveyer belt, and climbing to the peak of Mt. Fuiji at sunrise. But I particularly remember the Vietnam trip, probably because it was my first foray from Narita airport. Sitting in that boat, I had that "the world is my oyster" sensation, which was helped by a flexible work schedule and no other responsibities. I remember exploring Hanoi with my new friend at the time, Chelsea, an another English teacher from California. We found a cosy coffee shop there, where we played checkers and ate coconut sticky rice with mangoes. Then we flew to Ho Chi Minh, where the temperature and intensity grew. In between crawling in the claustrophic Chu-Chi tunnels and buying bootlegged $1CDs from countless street vendors, we would stay up late, talking about our pasts, our futures, our dreams, and our fears (mine is squirrels! I hate them!). Whenever I think about that trip, I get sad. Because it's impossible to relive. Work responsibilities are heavier and saving pennies is more important. The future feels somehow closer. I'm sure I'll keep traveling, but as I enter into marriage, I've lost some of that innocence. I'm more grown-up.