Reflections From Hanoi Pt II
I’m at another coffee shop. Third one today. I love coffee and free WiFi, what can I say? I type away on my computer situated on a cast concrete table inside a modern interior. Lo fi hip hop plays in the background. AnotherI'm at another coffee shop, the third one today. I love coffee and free WiFi; what can I say? The coffee shop's interior is modern and polished. Lo-fi hip-hop plays in the background. District One is a touristy area filled with backpackers and retirees. This is where the English bookshop was located. The bookstore was small but packed tightly with new and used copies of well-known books. The couple who owned the shop lived above it with their two children. I was pleasantly surprised by their selection. They had works from authors like Ayn Rand, J.D. Salinger, Yuval Noah Harari, and more. I grabbed a couple of books: The Song of Kieu by Nguyen Du and Klara and the Sun by Kazuo Ishiguro (I'm a sucker for Japanese fiction). But as the wife calculated the bill, the husband recommended I try another book, The Sorrow of War by Bao Ninh. He said it was a classic piece of Vietnamese literature about the war. As someone interested in warfare and history, I accepted the recommendation and swapped it with Ishiguro.
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At another coffee shop, I open The Sorrow of War, where the reader takes the perspective of a North Vietnamese soldier in 1976. He's recounting the unenviable job of body recovery. The book only gets more depressing. The narrator brings the reader back to when he was a hopeful teenager in love with a beautiful girl named Phuong. But as the war raged on, their experiences morphed them into different people, into a sad reflection of who they once were. The narrator also describes the violence in the war, and it sounds like it was actual hell for both sides. Ninh's writing gives me more perspective on what I saw at the War Remnants Museum in Ho Chi Minh City, where I learned of the horrors of the war. Though Ninh's novel is a semi-fictional recounting of the war from 1991, much of its details were influenced by actual events. While the museum provided facts about the conflict, the book gave it a narrative. It fleshed out the spaces between the facts and gave substance to the bones of the horrible creature that is warfare.
It's humbling to experience how welcoming the Vietnamese are to Americans now. The younger generations don't hold such bitter resentment; they didn't exist during the war, but the overall grace of the population appears to have adopted a mindset of forgiveness. I imagine that those who were alive during the war, though, will never forget. Revisiting the Vietnam War is also a reminder of why war should be avoided at all costs. What it does to people, what it brings out of people is hellish.
The Vietnamese want and value the same things I do: peace and prosperity. They want to see their children happy and healthy, provide for their families, and live peacefully. It makes me glad to see that many are doing so and that the country is rapidly developing. If only our governments would be satisfied by this, to resist taking more than what's needed, we'd have a better, happier world.
great find. After my last coffee shop stint, I ordered a motorbike to take me to a small bookshop north of Kiem Lake. It’s a touristy area, filled with backpackers and retirees. The bookstore was small, but packed tightly with new and used copies of well known books. It seemed to be run by a couple who lived above it. I was pleasantly surprised by the collection. I’m not sure what I expected. Go to some bookstores in the US and you’ll find only sappy romance novels or bland cook books. Not here, however. They had Ayn Rand, J.D. Salinger, Yuval Noah Harari, and more. I grabbed a couple books: The Song of Kieu by Nguyen Du and Klara and the Sun by Kazuo Ishiguro (I’m a sucker for Japanese fiction). But as the wife was calculating the bill, the husband recommended I reach for another book, The Sorrow of War by Bao Ninh. He said it was a classic piece of Vietnamese literature about the war. As someone interested in warfare and history, I accepted the recommendation and swapped it with Ishiguro.
Here at yet another coffee shop, I crack it open to the first page where I’m taking the perspective from a North Vietnamese soldier in 1976. He’s recounting the unenviable job of body recovery. From here, it gets more grim. He speaks openly about his fear and acceptance of death and the never ending of the war. It sounds like hell, true hell. It seemed like it for both sides–drafted American boys flung far into a distant land to die in a jungle and for native Vietnamese fighting for their ravaged country. His writing brings me back to just last week when I visited the War Remnants museum in Ho Chi Minh City where one learns of the horrors of the war. Though Ninh’s novel is a fictional recounting of the war from 1991, it’s deeply rooted in the actual experience of Northern Vietnamese soldiers. While the museum provided facts about the conflict, the book gives it narrative. It fleshes out the spaces between the details, and gives substance to the bones of the horrible creature that is warfare.
Reflecting on this, it’s humbling to experience how welcoming the Vietnamese are to Americans now. Sure, the younger generations may not hold such bitter resentment; they didn’t exist during the war. But the overall grace of the population seems to have adopted a mindset of forgive, but don’t forget. It’s also a reminder of how war should be avoided at all costs. What it does to people; what it brings out of people is hellish.
The Vietnamese seem to want and value the same things I do, which means this likely extends to most people: the want of peace and prosperity. They want to see their children happy and healthy, they want to provide livings for their family, and they don’t wish harm on others. It makes me happy to see that the majority are doing so, that the country is rapidly developing to provide more prosperity to its citizenry. If only governments could co-exist in such a way to prioritize this over economic and political dominance.
I think we’d have a better, happier world.