December 23, 2006
The waves beat on the shore outside in a rhythmic pulse and I am pitifully trying to think of a bad metaphor between the ocean and life. I guess the obvious corniness of this exercise I'm subjecting myself to is just meant to get the old writing ball rolling.
Pathetic.
It's our second and last night out here at the beaches of Muy Ne and at last, I find the time to write. Not that I've been wanting to, really; we've been having a grand old time and really enjoying ourselves. I think it's just because we're terribly exhausted from all the swimming and eating we've subjected ourselves to for the past two days that tonight everyone hit the sack before 10.
Well, everyone except for me, that is.
I'm still so very much awake mainly due to several glasses of café sua da consumed and also, maybe, just a tinge of longing. After all, this is a beach and I'm sure that Dulce, being such the water nut that she was, undoubtedly would have loved it here. Although, I do admit that the ocean with all its sights, sounds, and smells does get me to think a lot about her, I am quite sure that it's really just the abusive amount of coffee that's keeping me awake tonight. I would like to think that after more than two years, I have somehow finally found peace with my memories of her instead of still having them keep me awake.
So, if this is the peace that Dustin and I deserve, then why am I not happy? Is this really it? Our fate? It's so ironically simple to just make myself believe that thls is the hand that was dealt to Dustin and myself and that we should simply just go on. Accepting the fact that Dulce was dying of cancer was quite easy, there was medical science backing it up. The reason why it had to happen, though, is still a sad and frustrating mystery. There are times that I've hoped for a sign from Dulce herself to explain to me the real reason for why Dustin and I have to deal with life this way - a life, painfully, without her. I realized though that this wasn't the way the answers to the mysteries of life are revealed to us; maybe, in this case, answers aren't relevant and really aren't needed at all.
I'll end this day with the thought that the answer to whatever mysteries or puzzles life has for us will forever remain in the dark depths of this ocean of existence we all swim in with hope and faith keeping us afloat.
Excuse the metaphor.
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December 26, 2006
The whole family had lunch together at Juice, a small pseudo-hip resto/juice bar, located just a block away from the Sheraton. We had actually been there once before during our last visit to Ho Chi Minh and I still remember its colorful walls and furniture that reminded me of a irritatingly bright summer day: mango green walls with watermelon red accents, plus the prevalent painted representations of the cross section of a dragonfruit - just exactly the way we left it, well, except for the addition of a third floor lounge. I figured that the place turned to a bar in the evening.
While we all had our sandwiches and fruit juice, Dustin told me that he wanted to go around the area after lunch. Of course, this could only have meant the purchase of a toy or a book. I figured that since he had been spending time holed up with his cousin, David, in the apartment playing video games all day eversince we got back from the beach, boredom had finally taken hold of him.
I gave in without putting up much of a fight or even an iota of resistance because I felt a bit guilty for not having enough q-time with him on this trip. So, after dropping David off with my cousin, Adrienne, at the flat, Dustin and I proceeded to walk to a nearby department store to check out the toy section.
As to be expected, Dustin went directly to the Pokemon section and chose a couple of figurines for his collection back home. He then asked me if he could pick out a little something for David. It then hits me that this unexpected request from Dustin shows that he might be turning out to be a thoughtful kid after all.
The spirit of Christmas seems to have worked its magic on him.
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December 29, 2006
It's 6 in the evening and I'm back in Mojo, my new hangout. I like it not just because it's, conveniently, an elevator ride away and that my old favorite, Java Café, was closed due to renovation work. I like Mojo because it's not that I'm not the adventurous type - I can easily choose to sip my beer down the street at the Café Latin sports bar or any similar dive right across town for that matter - but I seem to have found my comfort zone here. Truth is, really, I think that all this “comfort zone” baloney translates to plain laziness in anyone's book.
Yeah, whatever.
Mojo is a charming little establishment with modern interiors done in delightful earth tones and I am just helplessly drawn to its lounge-y atmosphere. If memory serves me right, this exact place used to be the service entrance for the hotel's kitchen. Now, where a loading ramp was, plush chaises and armchairs in a striped textured fabric and deep brown leather upholstery now exist and are cleverly arranged in such a way that there exists a sense of privacy between the wood, steel, and glass tables, despite how full it gets. Hanging from the main ceiling, like a Zen-inspired mothership, is a large elliptical object formed by curved wood planks in a dark walnut varnish. Though the cool chill-out music is barely audible above the patrons' lively conversation, it still manages to set the laid back mood of the place.
I sat at the cafe's outdoor portion, on the chairs done in a dark plastic weave, lit up a cigarette, and began leafing through a book I really meant to finish on this trip. However, I had to put the book down after a while because the street, in the muted light of dusk, was beginning to come to life. The various small and charming souvenir boutiques across the street have begun turning their lights on. The strings of Christmas lights that wrap the trees lining the streets magically glow like oversized lightning bugs on a summer night and teams of scooters recklessly whiz by like unstoppable schools of mackerel, without giving a damn on who or what gets in their way.
It really is livelier out here with the wide array of people walking by and about, taking in the cool early evening breeze. It's funny the way the tourists seem to dress alike with their sun hats, bermuda shorts, and belt bags and almost always with plastic bags of shopping finds dangling from their hands. The locals are so surprisingly stylish and modern in their garb that one forgets that one is in a communist country, really. I'm actually reminded of Paris but without the annoying peskiness of the French. In fact, Saigon was actually a French colony so I guess the spirit of effortless stylishness has been thankfully and remarkably unfazed by Communist dogma.
What I find upsetting though is, that compared to my previous visits, the local women seemed to have stopped wearing the traditional ao dai, that body-fitting long-sleeved overblouse and pants combo. It has been replaced, unceremoniously and quite disappointingly, by the now commonplace low rider jeans and spaghetti strap blouse look. I guess that this is one of the small prices a growing economy has to pay.
I find myself, after a couple of beers quite uncontrollably, watching the cafe's denizens. There is a group of French tourists in the table next to mine and a group of Vietnamese yuppies behind me. I find myself pleasantly lost in the diversity of the languages I hear. A young Aussie couple at another table was the only English-speaking group in this place and judging from the conversation I couldn't help but overhear, were also people-watching; actually, everyone else in the café was, too. This is so evident in the way the café customers would just suddenly stop talking and then whisper to one another when an attractive person walks in.
I must admit though that however boring and somewhat perverted this interest in watching other people sounds, I find this cheap thrill of mine strangely relaxing. It actually makes me feel less self-conscious even if I know that I myself was being watched or, at worst, judged.
