Leaving Vietnam - and there's my Dad

As I sat in the park now, soaking up my last hour of Vietnam and watching some middle aged men play soccer, I thought of my father. I thought of how if he were here, he would have jumped right into that game with the glee and confidence of a 5 year old. He would have kicked ass, and the Vietnamese would have loved him!

I realized sitting there that Vietnam is in many ways a personification of my father, and of my relationship to him: often rough, crass and serious on the outside, yet so gentle, playful and generous...if you give him some time. Or approach him in the right way.

And this to me was Vietnam: at times infuriating, a place where I felt I had to have my guard up - just like with my dad - and yet also so rich, and warm, and wonderful - just like my dad.

My father died suddenly 8 and a half years ago. I still miss him, and I always will, as the tears welling up in my eyes confess.

In the park, it sunk just a bit deeper that my war with him - like the war that ravaged Vietnam - is over. And I realized - remembered? - as well that my father is here with me.

He is in every man who has negotiated so shrewdly and then drove me somewhere on his motorbike with such enthusiasm, and even love. He is in every Vietnamese person who has stared out at the street as if suffering, but then returned the biggest smile when looked at for more than 3 seconds. He is in the grit of this place and the beauty. He is in the incessant noise and the enlivening bustle.

And of course, he is in me. And though he wounded me in some big ways, he also gave me so much.

It's because of him that I can learn a city in 2 days. It's he who taught me how to bargain and find the best deals.

It's his spirit that emboldens me to join soccer games with people so different than me. To give travel advice with such joy. To love the history of this place.

It's by his example I learned to look a cripple in the eyes, or to visit a war museum, and to not look away in disgust but instead to feel the suffering of others with compassion.

I believe it's my father who in large part gave me my love of life. Perhaps it's even his strength and spirit that help keep me safe.

So Aba, thank you. You gave me so much and I love you always.

And Vietnam, thank you! Thank you for being so alive, for welcoming me, for the smiles and the food and your vibrant, rich nature. I'm so glad I gave you a chance.

I feel drawn to return one day. In any case, we're friends now, and I'll miss you.

Much love,
Roni