Here’s another lousy list that is inspired by this week’s peculiar interactions with the people around me.
“Jesse, you should try to be more Vietnamese,” my editor told me.
“I am Vietnamese!” I proudly claimed, referring to a number of things: the way that I dress; the way I sent a robotic email to a co-worker who was seated next to me instead of directly speaking with him; and the way that I take pride with my newly acquired bicycle driving skills where I don’t freak out at close proximity with the buses on the road anymore.
Then came the weekend where jolts of homesickness started striking me again. I stayed indoors all Saturday and mourned at the loss of my usual weekend routine: hanging out with my friends, acting like total stuck up bitches, and gossiping to death until the wee hours.
I realized that, to some surprising extend, we are like the Vietnamese. Here’s why:
We like long conversations over cheap drinks (that is, until SM Lanang Premier and many of the upscale coffee shops in it opened). The sight of countless coffee shops in Hanoi reminds me so much of my friends. I see people in these coffee shops slowly killing time with long laughs and conversations. “That could be us,” I thought to myself.
We are very discriminating against oddly dressed people. It’s true. Oddly dressed people are often conversation starters for us. And I’ve observed that the Vietnamese share this trait too. Unfortunately, it is I who was relatively oddly dressed in their world. I have been subjected to countless judgemental stares and vicious whispers when I wear immaculate white trousers.
We are crazy drivers. I admit to texting while driving my car. Levi is guilty of doing the same. And the Vietnamese? Why is that even a question? They compose SMS when they ride their motorbikes. They make phone calls (without hands-free or Bluetooth headsets) while driving their motorbikes (or for the middle-class, cars). They also overuse the their vehicle’s honking device. I admit to doing that too, but that lifestyle was short lived.
Forgetting to hit the brakes are something that we have in common too. I once rammed my father’s old jeep in a residential gate during my university days. And road accidents in Hanoi are, you know, casual.
Clearly, I miss my friends back home too much. Like probably would suck less if video calls to them weren’t so awkward and if Viettel’s international voice calls wouldn’t have so much lag.
writing detours 