Free in Tassie
When I first landed back in Sydney in December, I expected to be excited — thrilled to begin this next chapter of my life, especially when for a moment it looked like the move might not happen.
But I landed on a rainy day and took that as a bad omen. Within the first week I was a giant ball of anxiety. All of a sudden I had this endless amount of free time (no more endless doctor appointments and insurance phone calls; no more rushing from one event to another) and numerous decisions to make regarding what came next (job search, living situation, community). I felt myself creeping back to old ways of thinking — mainly of wanting to go pursue the most prestigious job and sexiest title to prove that this move was worth it. Yet that was so antithetical to why I quit my job in the first place and completely misaligned to the realizations I’d discovered over the past year and a half.
Here I was in Sydney, expecting that being physically here instead of New York would immediately relieve me of all the pressure and expectations I felt back in New York. But instead I felt overwhelmed by the weight my own expectations and disconnected to the person I’d become prior to my diagnosis. To be fair, December was the first time where I wasn’t distracted by something, whether that be good somethings like the New York City Marathon and Thanksgiving or bad somethings like navigating the health insurance system, and could finally start to process and come to terms with what had happened to me that summer.
Well if I learned anything over the past two years, it’s that I do my best thinking in the mountains. So on Christmas Eve I phoned up my friend Kazu, who had originally invited me over to Tasmania, and told him I was booking a flight for Boxing Day (Dec 26) to join him, his family, and his partner Satori.
Eating dinner with Kazu, Otosan, and Okasan in their hometown of Sendai, Japan back in November 2024.
I landed in Hobart and immediately reunited with Kazu and his parents, whom I affectionally call Otosan and Okasan, which are Japanese for Father and Mother.
We spent our first day in Tasmania watching planes take off and land at Hobart Airport (I’ve always said that this would be my perfect first date — there’s something incredibly powerful and wonderful about witnessing these giant pieces of steel take off into the sky), walking along incredible beaches (the water, like all water sin Australia, was stunning), and witnessing the most beautiful sunset at the aptly named Friendly Beach.
The rest of the trip was magical, restorative, and exhilarating. I saw amazing creatures of the earth I’d never seen before; I shrieked with joy while swimming in ice cold crystal blue waters; I was surrounded by boundless views with no buildings blocking the beauty of nature.
But most importantly, I reconnected with myself again. Spending time with Kazu, Satori, Otosan, and Okasan reminded me of why I took the risk of moving to Australia to start over despite having already established a pretty good life back in New York. Speaking with them about their dreams and ambitions reminded me that there’s no right way to have a career — in fact that only bad career is the one that you’re only doing to meet someone else’s expectations, ignoring your own. Being with them reminded me that pursuing your dreams and living life on your terms rather than those set by society (or your parents) is why we’re here and what makes it all worth it.
Welcome to Australia
The siren’s blare startled me out of a fantasy world, one that had been quietly woven in my head while I was engrossed in my book.
“Attention, attention everyone. There has been a shark sighting".”
I had heard stories of course, of sharks making their way to Sydney’s famous beaches. The joke is that everything dangerous lives in Australia - box jellyfish, venomous snakes and spiders, crocodiles, and sharks - I just didn’t think I’d ever come across this because well, hello… I live in a city!
I wonder if this is why Australians are so chill and carefree: so present and alive, living to live rather than live to work. Maybe it’s because they’re aware of the constant danger that lurks around them, making them aware of their mortality and thus more willing to pursue a life well-lived. Maybe it’s because they lose any illusion of control, knowing that these dangerous creatures are precisely not in their control, allowing them to live in the here and now.
The lifeguard’s announcement continued over the loudspeaker, “We ask that all swimmers come ashore. The beach will be closed for the next hour as we monitor the situation.”
I laughed. Wow, I really am in Australia.
This sign went up shortly after the shark sighting.
Postcards from Hanoi
I wasn’t prepared to fall in love or feel so at home in this city — many people I met on my journey to Vietnam warned me about the chaotic nature of Hanoi, but I absolutely loved everything about the city.
Hanoi felt like a good balance of East and West, the perfect blend for a modern city located in Asia. It’s a balance I’ve been seeking — and am still seeking — so it was fascinating to wander, explore, and examine Hanoi. There was the familiar sight of people who looked like me, familiar flavours that tasted like home, familiar characters written on buildings and streets, all which echoed my ancestral homeland. Then there was the comforting sounds of traffic beeping in the streets and comforting chaos of the people navigating the busy roads, reminding me of my home in New York.
I ate bowls of pho for breakfast in street stalls and sipped on delicious coffee in cozy cafes. I spoke to store vendors in English and chatted with locals in Chinese. I rode a motorbike like a local and took photos like a tourist. I was both at home and abroad.
Postcards from Ha Long Bay
The pictures really don’t do Ha Long Bay justice — there’s something that your brain does to process what you see in front of you that makes it more dazzling, more alive, than what is able to be captured on camera.
Postcards from Ninh Binh
A visual capture of my time in Ninh Binh; a written reflection here.
Postcards from Sapa
I envisioned gazing down on vibrant green fields of rice while hiking through lush mountains. Instead clouds obscured the view below as I slipped and slid through muddy trails. I was miserably cold at night on the trail, bundled up in multiple layers of sweaters and jackets, shivering under several tiers of blankets and comforters, and made the decision to head south to Hanoi the next day - the cold and the clouds were not worth it!
Food tour of Hanoi
First challenge of Crappy First Drafts: publishing when all I want to do is fall asleep in my queen-sized bed in the privacy (!) of my own room. Now all I want to do is fly back to Hanoi and feed my body and soul with delicious Vietnamese food.
My favorite thing in Vietnam
It’s not the food (though I love starting my day with a heartwarming bowl of pho with quay), the coffee (oh man could I go on about how much I love coffee here), nor the confident older ladies (I want to be like them when I grow up).
My favorite thing in Vietnam is…
Riding on the back of a Grab motorbike!
This is my absolute favorite thing to do in Vietnam. It’s so fun: here’s something exhilarating about riding on the back of a bike — I love the feeling of weaving in and out on the streets, rushing past the buildings stacked side-by-side on the road, feeling the wind surge on my face - it’s absolutely thrilling.
Grab is a ride-hailing app and transport service, similar to Uber in the US, common in Southeast Asia (I used in while in Thailand as well) but with the option to choose GrabBIke (motorbike, not bicycle bike!) or GrabCar (boooring!). They also offer food delivery services, so I’ll often see Grab drivers picking up a takeaway container from restaurants and food stalls.
I feel so present and alive when riding on the back of a bike. I get to be an observer of the streets whizzing by rather than be the driver focused on navigating Hanoi traffic; there are no rules, no lines, and barely any stop lights — it’s every driver for themself which is quite exciting when I’m just along for the ride, passing other cars and motorbikes, letting my body sway to the left or right as we take a sharp curve to the next street.
I wonder if part of this exhilaration and excitement I feel is due to the thrilling sense of freedom. Freedom to go wherever I want, whenever I want, especially because there are no paint or lanes to restrict movement. A sense of freedom that comes from traveling and moving in open space, getting to breathe fresh(?) air (probably not, especially given that most riders wear face masks to protect from pollution - oops), feel the wind against my face while moving, and witness a 360° view of my surroundings. I think a big part of it too is feeling like I get to break free of the constraints I’ve put on myself that hold me back, whether they are due to unconscious conditioning or subconscious societal messaging, for a brief moment when perched on the back of a motorbike, completely present, wild, and free.
Questions from the parents
哎呀! Do you wear a helmet?!
Yes, of course! I don’t fancy dying just because I was an idiot. In Hanoi each Grab driver has a second Grab-branded helmet for their passenger. However in Chiang Mai the second helmet seemed to be the driver’s own - each driver presented me with a different option and none were branded. I found the chin strap to be too long each time I put on the helmet; either everyone except me has a giant head or not everyone ensures the helmet fits snugly. Again, I fancy not being an idiot, so I will take my time adjusting the chin strap, even if the Grab driver sighs impatiently.
Where do you put your hands?!
Ah well when I was a wee newbie I would grab the back edge of the seat, clutching it tightly every time we made a sharp turn or went over a deep pothole. However that was a dead giveaway for “hi I’m a tourist!” so I began to observe how local riders were holding their seat, especially when I noticed all of them looked bored, calm, or chill, gazing out to the distance, scrolling through their phones with both(!) hands, or holding a carry-on suitcase fitted between them and their driver.
Most riders will put their hands on their thighs if not holding anything, so I began to copy them. I realized it’s all about engaging your core, leveraging your thighs, and letting go of fear. To that point, I would not be surprised if every Vietnamese rider has a strong awareness of each and every muscle that makes up the core. Think of it like riding a horse without gripping the reins. Soon I got confident enough to text while on the backseat!
Is it busy on the road?
Absolutely, and I love it! There are many motorcycles and cars on the streets, and every road is a high traffic area, even the Old Quarter, a popular tourist area. I love crossing the busy streets and dodging traffic — it feel like (New York) home, where it’s all about confidence and assertiveness. It’s like a live version of Frogger, except you only get one life.
My GrabBike driver (in green) needed to refuel mid-ride, so he told me to wait on the side while he filled up the tank. Haha!
Is all coffee “Vietnamese coffee” in Vietnam?
The question came teasingly as I FaceTimed a friend from a coffee shop in Hanoi as I savoured my first sip of caffeine since December.
“Is all coffee ‘Vietnamese coffee’ since you’re in Vietnam?”.
Before you go lambasting my friend, please be advised I had told them I was reintroducing myself to coffee not through an espresso or cappuccino but a distinctly Vietnamese creation: egg coffee. Espressos and cappuccinos were options on the menu — Italian-influenced drinks are often listed on any coffee shop menu, even in Vietnam! — hence the teasing (however it should be noted that the beans are grown and roasted here).
It does bring up a question though that’s been rolling around in my mind the past couple of years as I’ve traveled around the world, one I’ve been mulling my whole life. My friend had unintentionally raised an interesting question by asking what makes Vietnamese coffee Vietnamese: What defines identity? Or given my birthplace and the recent inauguration in America: What makes someone an American?
If I’m to use the espresso/coffee bean example on the most basic level: Is it enough to be American if you are born, raised, and live in America, even if your roots, no matter how distant or recent, are from somewhere else in the world? While your origins may be Italian, you have an Italian name, and on the surface you look to be an Italian, you actually have every right to call yourself an American.
Granted it’s not that simple as this coffee metaphor. It’s a lot easier for the majority of the world to accept a stereotypically-looking Italian person as an American because of their whiteness rather than acknowledge that an Asian-looking woman can be an American — but maybe it is that simple.
Maybe it’s as simple as acknowledging that the world has become more interconnected than ever, and the beauty of this is that people from all over can move and migrate and pursue an opportunity to seek a better life for themselves and their families, searching for a better future. Maybe it’s as simple as acknowledging that much of America is built on being a melting pot of people and diversity, whether intentionally through immigration, from 300 years ago to now, or forcefully through slavery. That if you truly want to get technical about who is actually an “American”, then the only people who have that right are the Native Americans who’ve been uprooted and torn away from their ancestral land.
What does it mean to be an American?
I am still figuring that out. Despite living in Sydney, I still identify first as a “New Yorker” and last as an “American”. It feels shameful to identify as American given the current government (regime is likely a more accurate descriptor) and I don’t want to be associated with its values (can they really be called values? It feels wrong to even use the word “values” here - corrupt ideologies feels more apt). But isn’t that what they want, to associate “American” with whiteness, maleness, and fear instead of diversity, equality, and freedom? What might it be like to take back ownership of what it means to be an American, to remember that there’s so much more to what it means to be American and what America stands for rather than what we see happening right now?
“Yes,” I laughed, “all coffee is ‘Vietnamese’ coffee in Vietnam”.
Coffee time!
Surprise but should not be a surprise: Vietnam is the second largest producer of coffee in the world (after Brazil) and the largest producer of Robusta beans. Robusta beans are the most popular coffee beans grown in Vietnam and known for their strong flavor and powerful kick (almost double the caffeine of arabica beans!).
The menu at Loading T Cafe.
I originally associated Vietnamese coffee as only coffee + condensed milk, but I quickly founded out there is so much more than that. There are so many unique creations invented in Vietnam and served in their numerous coffee shops - though I can only speak for Hanoi from personal experience. I love love love Vietnamese coffee and am so glad that it was my reintroduction to coffee. An overview of my experience so far, although it should be noted that I have sampled the tiniest fraction of the menu and visited the tiniest fraction of coffee shops in Hanoi:
Egg coffee: Coffee topped with whipped egg yolks and condensed milk. You may balk at the mere mention of egg, but it is a creamy frothy creation that tastes like a luscious and frothy whipped cream. This Vietnamese creation was invented by Nguyen Van Giang in 1946 during French colonization when milk was scarce.
My favorite: A deliciously caramelized version at Loading T Cafe.
Salt coffee: Coffee topped with salted cream and condensed milk. Not as sweet as egg coffee and reminds me a bit of Starbucks’ salted cold foam.
My favorite: my first and only at Hidden Gem Coffee.
Coconut coffee: Coffee blended with coconut cream and condensed milk, topped with toasted coconut flakes. I believe you can get this hot or iced; I only tried the iced version and found it just okay.
Espresso with condensed milk: Exactly what it says. Why would you use milk when you can use condensed milk?!
My favorite: my first and only at Tranquil Books & Coffee (note there are multiple locations).
My favorite coffee shop is Hidden Gem Coffee because of its trifecta of beautiful venue, delicious coffee, and (in my opinion) the best vegan banh mi in Hanoi.
