let lemons be angry

The driver seldom said anything, except when he couldn't help but contribute his wisdom to our conversations, such as "that is yoghurt." As we drove to the airport he said much more, and i thank him. I think i understand now how vietnam turned into a bangkok. The people forget hate quickly, and how else would they be able to survive? I'm still sorting out my thoughts, such as how i don't want to be a tourist who plays the bargaining game with stall vendors for the cheap thrill of a discount they could do without. And how i will go to Hue the next time. And how i think it's rude to take pictures of begging children and walk away. And of course there's the overall rosy afterglow from interacting with the locals, who have the gentlest demeanour among most of the asians. They hold hands and laugh as they work; when two motorbikes bump into each other the riders just look at each other and continue on their way. Crossing the road looks harder than it is: we just walk through the continuous traffic slowly and the motorbikes slow down and swerve past us. There is patience in their blood, a softness that is strong. Their faces only turn black when tourists push them to the limits, and frankly i would hate them too. At night families and friends gather in the park on benches to talk in the dim light and eat hot corn, cuttlefish and coconuts. In the day women lounge in salons getting manicures, facials, massages, hair washes--beauty is one of the few affordable luxuries. I am so happy that life has improved for them, and not just by a fraction. The country has opened up a lot since it first opened in the early 90s, and there is more freedom in religion too. Empty streets have filled up with beautiful new buildings. Young people are celebrating in restaurants. One thing that hasn't changed is the country's love for art. There are art galleries everywhere, for the people love to paint and buy paintings. But this is Saigon. Next time, i will travel up north.