I think of Vietnam more now than any other point in my life.
Maybe because in the humid New York summers, getting out of the air conditioned Metro and into the scotching street feels eerily similar to Saigon at high noon.
When I closed my eyes all the buildings around me disappear, leaving only the heat on my skin and the hustle of the million people. I could very well be in Ben Thanh Market.
A cool breeze here would invoke images of giant palm trees in muddy sand.
Late at night I reflect on memories of my brief life there, and an alternate reality where there I stayed.
And my heart aches because of it, or for it.