{"id":24,"date":"2019-02-20T15:03:58","date_gmt":"2019-02-20T20:03:58","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/commons.mtholyoke.edu\/blackstickreview2019\/?page_id=24"},"modified":"2019-06-22T23:07:56","modified_gmt":"2019-06-23T04:07:56","slug":"ren-dinh","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"https:\/\/commons.mtholyoke.edu\/blackstickreview2019\/ren-dinh\/","title":{"rendered":"ren dinh"},"content":{"rendered":"

21st Century Girls<\/strong><\/em><\/span><\/p>\n

I.<\/strong><\/p>\n

\u201cSorry, my place is a bit small.\u201d<\/p>\n

I unlock the door and push Kim\u2019s carry-on inside to make way for the two of us. Kim follows me, kicks off her black sneakers and puts them on the shoe rack. She looks around, mouth curved just a bit downward as if she\u2019s unimpressed. But that\u2019s just her resting expression; I\u2019m used to it. \u201cMake yourself comfortable,\u201d I say, wheeling the suitcase straight into the living room. On the open sofa bed, I\u2019ve put out a new bedding set and the hardest pillow I have, hoping she still prefers hard pillows.<\/p>\n

Behind me Kim walks around my cramped apartment, step by step, silently, not paying attention to anything in particular. I pretend to smooth out the folded blanket. Even though we were roommates in college, sharing a space with her feels strange now. We haven\u2019t seen each other since graduation, our little circle of the only Vietnamese admits of that year – me, Kim, and the travel junkie Jamie. All from Hanoi, too. None of us stayed in the U.S. afterwards. Kim went to Seoul for a Master\u2019s in Translation and ended up working there as a freelance translator, and Jamie\u2014 well, Jamie is the reason why Kim is in Saigon on an otherwise random Sunday night in December, the most culturally uninteresting month in Vietnam.<\/p>\n

\u201cAn.\u201d Across the room, Kim stops in front of my modest shelf of English grammar books, and turns to me. \u201cHave you bought our tickets to Hanoi?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo. Jamie emailed me only last week, and at school we\u2019re close to finals season, so I haven\u2019t had time to plan.\u201d I say, looking at anything but Kim. It\u2019s not a lie, so why am I nervous?<\/p>\n

\u201cLucky thing you still check your college email. If not, she would have no idea how to send the wedding invitation to you.\u201d Kim picks up a baby blue acrylic frame on the shelf. A polaroid of the first time the three of us went to New York City, awestruck by the blinding billboards of Times Square. She shows it to me with a delighted smile, a tiny dimple deepening on her left cheek. I nod in return, and she puts it back again.<\/p>\n

\u201cDid she finish her Sociology Master\u2019s?\u201d I ask. \u201cWhere was it, again? France?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cLondon. And no, she didn\u2019t finish the degree.\u201d Kim\u2019s breathy laugh is dry and I need a few seconds to remind myself that it\u2019s without sarcasm. \u201cShe was so close, but a month before her first draft was due she was like, \u2018I can\u2019t take Europe anymore, I need to go to Mexico,\u2019 and dropped out and flew back to Hanoi in February.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd announced a wedding ten months later.\u201d I chime in.<\/p>\n

\u201cA wedding with a CEO\u2019s son, mind you.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat a girl.\u201d<\/p>\n

Kim bobs her head exaggeratedly, we cackle, it\u2019s like another night in college again. Staying up late, talking at random in the dark, no filter. No keeping face.<\/p>\n

The tenant upstairs stomps on the floor above our heads as a warning for us to quiet down. We do, but not without Kim rolling her eyes and mouthing to me, \u201cWe barely made a noise. I thought I\u2019d only run into petty people in Hanoi.\u201d I tell her the dude isn\u2019t Saigonese. Saigonese are a pleasant bunch. Saigon is a pleasant city.<\/p>\n

\u201cGlad you\u2019re liking it.\u201d Kim hums as she reaches for her suitcase and starts unpacking.<\/p>\n

I, too, would also like to be a pleasant person.<\/p>\n

II.<\/strong><\/p>\n

The following morning, I submit my vacation request for next Monday and Tuesday. Despite my prayer for a smooth approval I\u2019m still called to HR, which causes a stir in the teachers\u2019 lounge. HR could\u2019ve dropped me an email, but decided instead to send an office assistant – I can\u2019t even remember the girl\u2019s name – to the lounge to get me during lunch break. On my way out, all my colleagues have their eyes on me. No, they\u2019re not impolite. Just curious.<\/p>\n

As soon as I return, about to heat up my lunch, Hoa – one of the most seasoned teachers, also one of the loudest – immediately waves me over to the coffee table in the middle of the room: \u201cHeard you\u2019re taking some days off for a wedding? Come, come. Tell us everything.\u201d Reluctantly I walk over with my cold container of white rice just to realize midway I\u2019ve forgotten the accompanying braised pork on the desk. It doesn\u2019t even occur to me to turn back and grab the rest of my food. I hold my breath, bracing myself for the potentially invasive questions to come.<\/p>\n

Twenty or so people gather around me, from the senior teachers to the blond Americans and the too-serious college teaching assistants. They can\u2019t believe that a rookie first-year teacher such as myself dared to ask for a vacation in the first week of December – the \u201cfinals hell month\u201d – because of a wedding.<\/p>\n

\u201cYour best friend\u2019s wedding, huh?\u201d Hoa squeezes in next to me on the armchair.<\/p>\n

\u201cYeah.\u201d I say, lying in an over-excited white girl voice, holding myself back from mentally cursing at the HR girl. I can\u2019t blame the people for being nosy\u2014 it\u2019s part of the culture, I get it. That\u2019s why I\u2019ve kept a low profile ever since the first staff meeting in July. \u201cI haven\u2019t seen her for so long. I just have<\/em> to be there on her big day.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s so cute. You said you haven\u2019t been back to Hanoi since you graduated, right?\u201d Cindy coos, then turns to pierce a piece of pineapple with a toothpick and I feel the stab in my gut. I don\u2019t like the way she\u2019s steering the conversation. \u201cYou must be so happy you\u2019re going home, and to attend a wedding, too!\u201d<\/p>\n

I scoop up a hefty spoonful of rice and shove it down my throat. It nearly chokes me. I\u2019ve spent three years after graduation finding employment everywhere but Hanoi because I did not<\/em> want to stumble across anyone who might know my family. \u201cYes, of course.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYour parents must look forward to seeing you as well.\u201d Another colleague joins in. \u201cTheir little girl now grown up to be such an amazing teacher. If only they can see how much the students love you!\u201d<\/p>\n

My fingers shake as I pretend to dab the dry corners of my mouth with a napkin. My colleagues are being friendly. They mean no harm. I\u2019m the shy newbie teacher. I can\u2019t tell them off, so I lie again. \u201cYes, my parents were so happy and proud that I decided to do this.\u201d<\/p>\n

Hoa smacks my back, loud and rowdy like your everyday Vietnamese auntie. \u201cBet you they are.\u201d Then, a certain warmth in her voice, a little slower, a little richer. \u201cCindy and I have been talking about how much we admire you for teaching local high school kids. You know people don\u2019t view us too favorably, like we\u2019re underqualified and in it for the easy cash or something. So normally someone like you with a U.S. education would go for a TOEFL or IELTS prep justify, or an English academy like British Council.\u201d<\/p>\n

I laugh nervously. I don\u2019t believe they\u2019re mocking me; when I had an interview with Hoa she seemed genuinely impressed by my English degree and eager to have me in the school. At the same time, the way my colleagues think I can walk in British Council and get a job just like that\u2014 I\u2019m not sure if they\u2019re serious. Even someone who\u2019s been away from Vietnam for seven years like me knows that\u2019s not possible. The only way to get in those prestigious English justifys is credentials I can\u2019t afford to pursue, or internal connections I don\u2019t have because I\u2019ve cut all my ties with Hanoi.<\/p>\n

I swallow my unease into a polite smile as the little crowd continues to marvel at my \u201cdevotion,\u201d my \u201cbravery\u201d to take time off during second most stressful time in the semester to attend an old friend\u2019s wedding. Suddenly I\u2019m swarmed with well-intentioned, intrusive small talk questions. When and where is it held?<\/em> I try to recall the wedding invitation: this Sunday, Daewoo Hotel in Hanoi. How fancy! Is her family super rich? <\/em>I think so. There must be many guests<\/em>. Jamie\u2019s family is indeed quite a big deal. Will you be seeing other friends from college as well? <\/em>Yes, a close friend I haven\u2019t seen for a while just flew from Korea to Saigon last night.<\/p>\n

Oh wait.<\/p>\n

The room explodes into a unison, high-pitched ohhhhhh<\/em> like I\u2019ve revealed a spicy insider gossip about a celebrity. I bite my cheek, bracing myself for what will come next.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou should definitely have your friend here,\u201d Nghi says. \u201cI can cover your first period, too.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThank you for your kindness, but that\u2019d be unnecessary, don\u2019t you think?\u201d I object weakly, trying to undo the damage of that slip of the tongue. After so long I can finally write up a new life as a high school teacher – and a pleasant one at that. I can\u2019t let it come in contact with anything or anyone tied to my personal life, to Hanoi.<\/p>\n

\u201cDon\u2019t be so formal.\u201d Another English teacher chimes in. \u201cI\u2019ll take your third period. Give her a tour around the school and take her to the hotpot restaurant across the street. Let her have a taste of Saigon.\u201d<\/p>\n

I never intended for my three-year separation with friends and family to be a sob story, but my colleagues are too kind. Too kind. I want to be kind to them, too.<\/p>\n

III.<\/strong><\/p>\n

The perks of working freelance is the ability to decide your own vacation. Kim\u2019s just finished a commission before she left and came to Saigon first solely to visit me and for us to fly to Hanoi together. So when I, out of guilt towards my colleagues, ask if she would like to tour my school, Kim, with nothing better to do, agrees.<\/p>\n

We begin walking to school at half past seven, the streets filling up with motorcycles, every rider wrapped in UV protective clothing from head to toe. With no wind in sight, the heat is so palpable the sun seems to be crashing straight into Saigon. My skin warms up with sweat rolling down my neck like an uninvited tickle and I\u2019m suddenly apprehensive of my colleagues meeting Kim. Who knows what the nosy bunch will ask.<\/p>\n

But then again, Kim isn\u2019t the most talkative person. She has these droopy eyes like she\u2019s in a perpetual state of boredom. The ash brown highlight on her black hair adds a little edge to her otherwise quiet presence. Back in college, she rarely responded and, keeping her thoughts to herself, simply nodded whenever I complained to her about my parents\u2019 disapproval of whatever I did that was against their wishes. But if anyone did something stupid, she\u2019d be the first to say it to their face, not unlike the way she stood only to my shoulders yet hauled my 200 pounds worth of suitcases up the fifth floor when we first moved into our elevator-less dorm.<\/p>\n

Jamie, though, was a rowdy one. Always up to date with the latest gossip on campus, she earned the nickname b\u00e0 t\u00e1m<\/em> – an excessively chatty woman – among the Vietnamese community in college. She\u2019s also been running a poorly maintained yet oddly popular Instagram where she uploads the most flamboyant photos of herself in cities around the world. She always posts on a whim, and unless you\u2019re a close friend, you won\u2019t be able to tell she\u2019s not a travel blogger, but a suffering post-grad who, according to Kim, can\u2019t stand breathing in London air any longer. Once in a blue moon, when I\u2019m not scrambling to make ends meet, I\u2019ll answer her texts on Instagram asking for my whereabouts so that she can send me postcards.<\/p>\n

Kim who is quiet but no-nonsense, Jamie who is self-centered but generous at heart, me who is never sure of my own heart. Maybe that\u2019s why we get along. If only Jamie\u2019s family didn\u2019t know mine, I\u2019d be less resistant to attending the wedding. She would definitely invite my parents, and when I meet them, they\u2019ll laugh at me for ending up teaching at some local high school in Vietnam, earning barely enough to pay for a cramped, thin-walled apartment. You could\u2019ve listened to us,<\/em> I can hear my dad\u2019s mocking tone just like on graduation day, but no, you decided to be stubborn when you clearly didn\u2019t know better. Look at where it\u2019s led you. All by yourself, no family, no friends.<\/em><\/p>\n

\u201cThis is a pretty nice school.\u201d Kim says as we round the corner to the faculty wing on the 3rd floor, after crossing several hallways and a baseball field. \u201cSmall, but not too shabby.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYeah? Thanks.\u201d I respond awkwardly. No way I\u2019m going to tell her I\u2019m glad she doesn\u2019t find the place too run-down or poorly equipped. I lead her to the giant metal door across from the teachers\u2019 lounge, hoping I\u2019m late enough that my colleagues will be scrambling to finish their lesson plans and not have time to talk to Kim. \u201cWe have a lounge down there that\u2019s much nicer and more friendly-looking, but I\u2019m taking you out for lunch today, so here\u2019s the boring main office.\u201d<\/p>\n

To my surprise, most of the teachers have headed out to their first period, leaving the room quite empty save for some non-teaching staff. My relief is short-lived, though, as Hoa notices us from her desk and calls us over right away. Excitedly she introduces herself, moves to some questions about how Kim and I met, then some more about Jamie. Keeping her answers short but with interested body language, Kim handles the conversation with ease, a maturity she didn\u2019t yet have in college. A maturity which I still don\u2019t have.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m so happy for An that she\u2019s finally going to see her parents.\u201d Hoa says good-naturedly while patting me on the back. My skin heats up where her palm has touched me, and spreads across my entire body. \u201cBeing a teacher is hard, so to have supporting parents is really fantastic.\u201d<\/p>\n

I glance at Kim, who nods nonchalantly and waits for Hoa to move on to another topic. I don\u2019t have the best relationship with my parents\u2014 that Kim and Jamie have witnessed on several occasions, though I doubt they know that my parents have practically disowned me because I didn\u2019t listen to them. My parents wouldn\u2019t publicly acknowledge it, either. The pressure to save face in Vietnamese culture is crushing.<\/p>\n

Kim never makes eye contact with me throughout the rest of her little chat with Hoa. When I take her on a tour around the school, we talk like nothing happened. I explain to her what lesson planning looks like for different grades, ramble on about the aggressive parents who want me to help them dictate their kids\u2019 lives, brag a little bit about my homeroom students hosting a surprise birthday party for me last month. Kim only listens, the same wordlessness she gave me in college to signal that she was taking in and processing everything I said. My heart lightens in the reassurance of her silence, but alas, it can\u2019t get rid of the anxiety that sooner or later, I\u2019ll have to tell Kim the reason I\u2019m putting off booking flight tickets.<\/p>\n

In the evening, I take Kim around Saigon as if we were tourists on a tight schedule: Turtle Lake almost indistinguishable in the night and swarmed with young couples, Nguyen Hue Pedestrian Street buzzing as a hangout spot for the entire Saigon population, cramped and niche souvenir shops scattered around the city justify. We even venture all the way to District 7 to see Starlight Bridge and its rainbow neon lights that turn out to be less coordinated and more undermining in real life. Again, Kim simply lets me bring her to wherever. From time to time I find her staring at me, her impartial, lazy gaze impossible to decipher. When I ask her what\u2019s wrong, she only shrugs and redirects her eyes to the pitch-black Half Moon Lake underneath the bridge.<\/p>\n

By the time we get back home it\u2019s already late enough for me to excuse myself to bed. Neither of us brings up Kim coming with me again to school. I\u2019ve dodged a bullet with Hoa, but as I drift off to sleep, I remain uneasy. Last week when Kim told me she\u2019d like to visit me in Saigon first, she mentioned planning to fly out to Hanoi on Friday, which is two days from now.<\/p>\n

Why does it matter that Kim didn\u2019t dig into Hoa\u2019s comment? The real countdown is still ticking. I feel like a criminal only hours away from my final verdict.<\/p>\n

IV.<\/strong><\/p>\n

The next day, as I\u2019m wrapping up the review sheet for grade 9\u2019s English, Kim texts me the name of an old Japanese restaurant in District 3. She came across it in middle school when on a family trip and it was her first time eating Japanese food. A little ride down memory lane, you can say.<\/p>\n

More impressed by the fact that the restaurant hasn\u2019t closed yet after a decade, we arrive and accept its neglected state. The signboard goes almost unnoticed at the end of the hall on the fifth floor of an apartment complex. Even under the dimness of worn out light bulbs I can still see the wallpaper peeling off and thin cracks running across the ceiling like veins.<\/p>\n

On our table, the candle flickers with each jolting drop of rain. According to the weather forecast, Saigon\u2019s monsoon this year will continue for longer than expected, all the way until early December. Every once in a while, a light breeze dashes by, and the pungent smell of damp dirt and overgrown grass from the front garden of the building shoots upward. I scrunch my nose at the sudden whiff of indescribable odor and turn to Kim with resignation.<\/p>\n

Kim pays no attention to me. Instead, she busies herself with the pepper shaker until a thin black layer forms on top of her now cold seafood udon. Another habit of hers from college. Why Kim never sneezes as she destroys her food, I can never understand. I stab the spoon into my bowl of gyudon. The egg, sunny-side up, explodes, creamy yellow melting through the rice and beef thins like a volcano. I watch the yolk deflate and only begin mixing once it\u2019s completely shapeless. The steam clings onto my glasses in a fine mist.<\/p>\n

Pitter, patter<\/em>, raindrops like little hops on corrugated tin roofs. Hushed, but not heavy.<\/p>\n

\u201cThank God Jamie isn\u2019t here, or else she would\u2019ve complained for days on end.\u201d Kim reaches for our shared sashimi platter.<\/p>\n

\u201cYeah. Even by my standards, this is a little\u2026 sad.\u201d Behind the cloudy glasses my eyes follow Kim\u2019s movement. \u201cJamie would\u2019ve definitely dragged us to one of those luxurious restaurants in Vincom.\u201d<\/p>\n

A small laugh. \u201cOr we can stay home and cook mushroom soup. Every single time Jamie comes to Seoul we find a new mushroom variety to add to the recipe.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cShe visits you often?\u201d I ask and take my first bite of the gyudon.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhenever she has a break. So, like, bi-monthly.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOh?\u201d I stop. \u201cHow come you didn\u2019t post pictures?\u201d I\u2019ve never received a postcard from Korea from Jamie, even though she surely travels there more often than any other countries because of Kim.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s not that exciting. She knows the place too well there\u2019s nowhere else to take her.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou guys just stayed home?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd messed around in the kitchen to the point where some of our Korean friends call our rendition of Korean cuisine blasphemous.\u201d Kim says, her lips curved up into a fond smile.<\/p>\n

My heart trips and sinks like a misstep down the stairs. I imagine the two of them in Kim\u2019s studio, stirring spicy rice cakes and chopping up as much mushroom as possible into their soup as all of us used to do in college. Every so often Kim will upload photos of their burned rice cakes on Instagram for laughs while Jamie has even curated a list of favorite mushroom-based recipes on her travel blog. I think about practicing some of the recipes from time to time, but then decide against it. There\u2019s no point cooking for someone who isn\u2019t there to enjoy it.<\/p>\n

\u201cHow nice.\u201d I manage to choke out a reply.<\/p>\n

\u201cMm-hmm. It\u2019d be nice if you were there with us, too.\u201d<\/p>\n

A piece of sashimi slips off my chopsticks into the little dipping bowl of soy sauce. I pick it back up again. A waiter, pretty-boy-faced and dangling earrings, approaches us with two beer glasses half-filled with ice and four bottles of Heineken, Kim\u2019s favorite. I pop a bottle open and pour half of it in Kim\u2019s glass, the rest in mine. We cheer. I down the beer in one go, closing my eyes to avoid Kim\u2019s gaze.<\/p>\n

\u201cSo.\u201d Kim puts down the glass with a small clank. \u201cYour parents had a change of mind about your teaching career?\u201d Kim speaks like she\u2019s reciting a fact, monotone, neither curious nor skeptical.<\/p>\n

My throat becomes impossibly dry. I snap the lid off the second Heineken bottle, fill up my glass in the slowest manner possible, scoop up a hefty amount of rice into my wooden spoon and blow at it until I start to grow dizzy. All the while, Kim continues to stare straight at me. She knows my avoidance tendency too well, has accepted it as a part of me, but would nevertheless grab me by the neck if I\u2019m close to pulling something stupid. I chew but don\u2019t swallow. She leans back onto the chair and crosses her arms, waiting. The distant revving of motorcycles screeches like a whistle, momentarily fills the space between us, then fades away.<\/p>\n

\u201cHave you looked at tickets to Hanoi?\u201d Kim begins again.<\/p>\n

I empty my second glass. \u201cNo, not yet.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIs it your parents?\u201d<\/p>\n

The beer starts to kick in, blurring the edges of every object just enough to make me feel two steps removed from reality. What\u2019s to hide? Kim acts like she doesn\u2019t care, but she sees right through me. I straighten up, aware that I\u2019m getting tipsy. \u201cWell, there\u2019s no doubt that Jamie invited them, right?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes.\u201d The expression on Kim\u2019s face is, as usual, unreadable. The lack of judgment is oddly reassuring.<\/p>\n

\u201cWell, my parents and I\u2026 we don\u2019t talk anymore.\u201d<\/p>\n

Kim bends forward, props her chin on the palm of her hand. \u201cSince when?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSince graduation.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIs that why you never take up on my offer to connect you to employment opportunities in Hanoi?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYeah. I guess I want to prove to them I can do things on my own.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd you did, didn\u2019t you?\u201d Kim raises an eyebrow. \u201cYou have a stable job, a cozy little apartment, colleagues and students who like you a lot. Why don\u2019t you want to see your parents?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, Kim, you don\u2019t get it.\u201d I stare down at the melting ice, neck bent ninety degrees, both hands wrapped around the glass dripping with cold sweat as if it\u2019s my last anchor. \u201cIt feels humiliating to be back. Everyone is so much more successful. Vietnamese alums from our college are in senior positions in big tech companies. Jamie doesn\u2019t finish her Master\u2019s but who cares because she\u2019s pretty and rich. You\u2019re a translator working in freaking Korea. And me, just a public school teacher even though I have a U.S. degree. My parents have always expected me to fail, to come back to them crying for help and admit I was wrong for not listening to them. I don\u2019t want to give them more reason to taunt me.\u201d<\/p>\n

From my angle I can\u2019t see Kim\u2019s expression, but I can see her hand struggling to get a slice of tuna between the tips of her chopsticks. \u201cDo you like being a high school teacher?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2014 yes?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDo you like Saigon?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes. The people are a bit annoying, but they\u2019re genuinely nice.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThen who cares about your parents? They need to accept that you\u2019re your own person. Go to the wedding. Jamie really hopes we can reunite.\u201d<\/p>\n

I laugh. \u201cYou\u2019re just saying that. It probably doesn\u2019t matter whether I\u2019m there or not.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBullshit.\u201d The sudden hurt in Kim\u2019s tone echoes in my ears so crisply I wonder if the beer has completely taken over, reducing me to absolute exhaustion and vulnerability. The last time she lost her cool that I know of was at graduation when my parents were passive aggressively bashing my English major. She continues in the same whispering screaming voice. \u201cJamie and I miss you. You barely update us on how you\u2019re doing.\u201d<\/p>\n

My grip on the glass tightens. \u201cWell, you could\u2019ve asked.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes, if we knew your parents actually broke off with you like that, we would\u2019ve done more.\u201d Kim returns to her regular impassivity. \u201cI\u2019d visit you more often. Jamie wouldn\u2019t hold onto your sporadic follow-up Instagram messages for opportunities to send you postcards.\u201d Then, the voice softens, softens, quiets. \u201cBut you need to tell us, An ah. Don\u2019t bottle it up too much. How else would we know?\u201d<\/p>\n

Without our knowing the sun has retreated its light for the more vibrant artificial ones of Saigon; the rain has also slowed; the only remnants of its existence are heavy droplets rolling down the cracks of roofs and plunging noiselessly down the cemented road. Motorcycles roar, and the muted cursing and laughter of young people pierce through the streets.<\/p>\n

Kim yearns forward, enveloping my hands with her own.<\/p>\n

Without lifting my head, I loosen my grip on the glass and sheepishly slide my palms under Kim\u2019s hands, then, with a small turn of the wrist, reach out to intertwine my fingers with Kim\u2019s. She squeezes lightly. Gathering enough courage, I return her eye contact, awash with a tender connectedness familiar from our college days and at the same time excitedly new, for we now occupy the world in very different ways.<\/p>\n

Later that night I finally book tickets to Hanoi for me and Kim. I have Friday afternoon off, so we decide on an afternoon flight so that all three of us can have dinner. As soon as we forward the itinerary to Jamie for her to pick us up, Kim\u2019s phone is bombarded with text notifications. Jamie writes in all caps, screams about how excited she is to have us over, and goes off about the elaborate accommodations that are already underway for us – bedrooms with brand new bedsheets, squeaky clean private bathrooms, even restaurant reservations for just the three of us after the wedding. And the husband\u2014 he can have her attention later.<\/p>\n

\u201cHere she goes again.\u201d Kim shakes her head, fondly, and I find myself smiling as well.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

21st Century Girls I. \u201cSorry, my place is a bit small.\u201d I unlock the door and push Kim\u2019s carry-on inside to make way for the two of us. Kim follows me, kicks off her black sneakers and puts them on the shoe rack. She looks around, mouth curved just a bit downward as if she\u2019s … Continue reading ren dinh<\/span> →<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":85,"featured_media":0,"parent":0,"menu_order":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","template":"","meta":{"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"footnotes":""},"class_list":["post-24","page","type-page","status-publish","hentry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/commons.mtholyoke.edu\/blackstickreview2019\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/24","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/commons.mtholyoke.edu\/blackstickreview2019\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/commons.mtholyoke.edu\/blackstickreview2019\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/page"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/commons.mtholyoke.edu\/blackstickreview2019\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/85"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/commons.mtholyoke.edu\/blackstickreview2019\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=24"}],"version-history":[{"count":6,"href":"https:\/\/commons.mtholyoke.edu\/blackstickreview2019\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/24\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":254,"href":"https:\/\/commons.mtholyoke.edu\/blackstickreview2019\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/24\/revisions\/254"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/commons.mtholyoke.edu\/blackstickreview2019\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=24"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}