 |
| 07 Jan 2026 |
I dragged my body out of bed at 8:55 AM—literally five minutes before the buffet closed. My "Best Friend from Japan" (the period) was hitting hard today, making my limbs feel like lead. But hunger is a powerful motivator, and I had a mission.
I walked into the dining hall and saw it: Bacon.
You have to understand—in Malaysian hotels, finding pork on the buffet line is like finding a unicorn. Here? It was a festival.
I bypassed the noodles. I ignored the rice. I ghosted the bread.
My plate was a monochrome masterpiece of pork, pork, and more pork. Bacon, pork skin, pasta with ham. It was a carnivore’s goodbye to Vietnam.
The Ninja Staff: Part Two
And then, déjà vu.
I left my table for two minutes to get a second round of bacon. When I returned, my table was bare.
They did it again.
The Ninja Staff had struck, clearing my plate, my cutlery, and my dignity.
But unlike yesterday, I didn't freeze. I didn't frown. I looked around the empty hall—it was just me and a handsome European guy with earplugs, lost in his own world.
I realized the staff weren't being rude; they were just rushing to clean up so they could eat their own breakfast before their shift ended.
I walked over to the buffet and saw the leftover fruit. I knew it was destined for the trash, so I decided to intervene.
"Can you pack this for me?" I asked, pointing to the watermelon and mango.
They smiled and helped me box it up. The Ninjas became my allies. I walked back to my room with a stash of fruit, saving the food from the bin and saving myself from hunger later.
Memoir vs. Diary
The rest of the day was spent in horizontal mode.
My stomach was cramping too much for walking or exploring. My mind drifted to a coffee workshop I wanted to attend, but my uterus said, "Absolutely not. We are staying in bed."
So, I listened.
I spent hours typing, debating with myself: What is this thing I am writing? Is it a blog? Is it a diary? Is it a memoir? I’m not a professional writer.
But then I realized: It doesn't matter.
I am writing this for me. I am writing so that when I am 80 years old and my memory fades, I can read Day 21 and remember the taste of the bacon and the sound of the rain. It is for safe-keeping. Whether people read it or not is secondary. The act of documenting is the reward.
The Last Supper: Instant Edition
By evening, the rain had returned.
It was my last night in Vietnam. I remembered the mini-mart hopping from two days ago and the specific craving I had filed away.
I put on my umbrella and braved the rain to the nearest Circle K.
My mission: Pork (Heo) Instant Noodles and a Sausage.
I brought the loot back to the room. I boiled the water. I waited the holy three minutes.
It was... another level.
The broth was rich, the sausage actually snapped when I bit it, and the noodles had a texture we just don't get back home. It wasn't a fancy farewell dinner, but curled up in bed with the rain tapping against the window, it was perfect.
I packed my bags. I rescheduled my Grab for 8:30 AM tomorrow.
The trip is done. The medicine box is lighter. The blog is fuller. And I am ready to go home.
Reflection: Writing for the Future Self
Today I struggled with the definition of "writer." I thought I needed a label—blogger, author, influencer—to justify the time I’m spending on this laptop.
But today taught me that memory is a currency.
We take photos to capture how things looked, but we write to capture how things felt.
The photos will show the Dragon Bridge, but only these words will remind me of the "Ninja Staff," the "Best Friend from Japan," and the confusion of the "Fake Son."
I learned that you don't need an audience to create art. You just need to be honest. This memoir isn't for the world; it's a love letter to my future self, reminding her that once, she was brave enough to travel solo, eat alone, and find joy in a cup of instant noodles.
Date: January 7, 2026 Location: Da Nang Mood: Heavy body, light heart, full stomach.
No comments:
Post a Comment