I almost got hit by a motorbike this morning. It was my fault. I walked right in front of him without even looking. He hit his brakes hard then smiled at me as he let me go by. “Cam on,” I said, “I’m sorry.” But I didn’t need to thank him and I didn’t need to apologize. He nodded at me with a friendly face as if to say, “Welcome to my city, foreigner. You’re not used to the traffic here so be careful.” I got all emotional thinking how I would miss being in the midst of these kind and humble people. I don’t like saying good byes. And it was time to say good bye to Vietnam.
Was this a place I could call home? I would have to leave it for a while to find out. I still wasn’t sure if home was a place at all. Maybe for me home was the act of being… not quite homeless perhaps, but without permanent accommodation.
That would make me a drifter, I thought. That doesn’t sound like much but, really, what else do I need?
Was this a place I could call home? I would have to leave it for a while to find out. I still wasn’t sure if home was a place at all. Maybe for me home was the act of being… not quite homeless perhaps, but without permanent accommodation.
That would make me a drifter, I thought. That doesn’t sound like much but, really, what else do I need?
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