chawanmushi

that her life cannot, and should not, be defined by the work she does every day. looking back, the career has never been particularly smooth. she had to learn a great deal, to keep trying, to make an effort every-single day. and yet, somehow, it never feels like enough. why does she always feel that she is not enough? not just at work, but in almost every relationship she’s had. is it something wrong with her? is there something she’s constantly trying to prove, to others or perhaps to herself? ...

it’s just too much: too many emotions to carry, too much pain, too much suffering, day after day, time after time. there were days when even breathing felt difficult. my interest in the world, my curiosity about it, has slowly worn away. not all at once, but gradually, like water leaking from a pipe – a little here, a little there, almost too little to notice until one day, you realize there’s hardly anything left. and by then, perhaps, it’s already too late. till this point, you have to wake up, somehow, start putting yourself back together, find ways to replenish whatever energy you have left, to fill up that empty water tank, while learning how to live with the leaks because the leaks don’t simply disappear. ...

I usually don’t have a bucket list of things I must do or places I must visit before I die. but if I had one, this moment would definitely be somewhere in the top 50. and yes, my top 50 would probably have more than 50 items. the thing is, I was sitting by Cijin Coastal Beach on one of those chairs nailed firmly to the ground, probably to stop it from being blown away by the wind, or maybe by a typhoon. it was golden hour, actually sunset, the most beautiful time of day on a normal, rainless day. the sea was right in front of me, separated from where I sat by a stretch of black sand and some kind of creeping beach plants, the kind that grow quietly across the sand. I was bathing in the last sunlight of the day. it was soft and warm. the wind touched my skin gently and it did not feel sticky, sweaty, or salty in the uncomfortable way I often feel at beaches back home, even at An Bang Beach in Hoi An. there was no huge portable speaker blasting karaoke, the kind people usually bring to camping trips or beaches. there were no street vendors asking me to buy something or donate to something. it felt like I was the only one enjoying that moment, reading a book, listening to my own music, and being just a little performative about it, lol. of course, there is something freeing about traveling to a place where no one knows who you are. I did not really care what people might think or say about me, because I did not understand their language anyway. ...

my old friend is visiting me again. it’s almost like having a partner in crime, except this one doesn’t physically exist. and honestly, I don’t find any joy in having them around. “Them,” because I don’t want to attach any biological trait to it. I think there was a time when I could cry without the help of Kdrama (lol), but now I can’t. even when I listen to the music from one of the darkest periods of my life, nothing comes out. what kind of music do you listen to during your dark hours? for me, it’s the La La Land soundtrack. if you ever catch me humming one of those songs, it probably means I’m depressed. ...

it’s been a long time since my last visit to Nê Tống, probably over a year. and actually I never really enjoyed the atmosphere or the drinks there since this last visit. I once had come to Nê Tống a lot when I was young. being there again felt like “cảnh còn người mất” - the place is still there, but the people and the feeling are gone. it brought back memories of the early days, when Hanoi only ad a handful of small cocktail bars. back then, I was always wandering around the Old Quarter and Hang Da Market, sharing moments, both tears and joy, with my friends at Mojito Bar, Nguyễn Quang Bích. or sometimes when I was rich (just receive my salary), went upstair, to the Alchemist. ...

recently, I’ve realized that I’ve been listening to Laufey quite often. it’s probably her voices that draws me in, and the lyrics of course. then I’ve been thinking a lot about my past: old experiences, the day at Gale Port when I would go to the beach almost every day, listen to music, and read. “The Book of Joy” - I remember that clearly. recently I feel my soul is divided. one part of me is practical and dedicated to my work, while the another just wants to collapse a little, to destroy everything along with it. it’s strange, sometimes I want to cry but cannot. then watching a silly little Kdrama and I was like “khóc như chó”. such a powerful magic. ...

a lot has been happening lately, but I can hardly recall the details - mostly because I stopped writing things down, stopped pausing long enough for self-reflection. I’ve noticed my focus time in the office is nowhere near what it is in the Reading Room at Slow Cafe - or in almost any other place. I need long, quiet hours to slip into that “flow” state. sometimes I even skip lunch deliberately, working six to eight hours straight, taking a short pause then diving in again for two or three more. ...