I went running last night on the beach, hoping that the nighttime would bring some relief to the heat. I ran until the lightposts on the walkways ended, and further pursued the darkness. The moonlight made the water semi-translucent, sending waves of greens and blues to the sand. I looked up at the sky, and had to stop.
It was black; perfectly, perfectly black, and studded with a handful of white sparkles strewn across its canvas. I was struck frozen in my tracks, in awe at the perfect dichotomy. Never was the sky so void and endless, and the stars so sharp and pure. Venus hung amidst it all, an unblinking speck of orange, and I saw Orion's magnificence in such crystal clarity. He looked different from this side of the world, but I could see his belt, his arms, his poise. Even the city's lights didn't bleed into the sky, and I don't know how long I stood with my gaze fixed on the heavens.
Walking home from school tonight, I soaked in the city and avoided listening to music on the thirty minute journey. I allowed myself to become more aware of my surroundings, and not just to avoid getting mowed down by a motorbike.
There were the young men on the corner, shrouded in a cloud of smoke from the skewered meat they grilled. The teenager who skidded his bike to a stop next to a girl in a slinky, teal green shirt who was waiting alongside the street. I could hear the smile in his voice as he laid his hand gently on her arm. There was the tiny, Catholic service sandwiched in a room between a pharmacy and an alleyway entrance, twenty or thirty voices singing hymns in harmony. The thumping music blaring from speakers outside two trendy cell phone stores, packed with helmet-clad customers with their bikes lined on the sidewalk outside. "Hey, hello!" a xe om driver called at me, with a grin. The old woman walking with bundles of empty plastic bottles slung to her body. The raucous, explosive laughter of students at night school, and the shrieks of little kids who ran across the roads.
Outside my balcony, I see many rooftops and rocket hotels. Even through closed doors, I can hear the horns honking, the people yelling, the screams and laughter. Motorbikes revving and screaming down the street puncture the lapses of quietness. I've learned to sleep through it, the only thing that wakes me up now are the bugles and music from the military base.
Still, it's unfamiliar. It's all strange. Even though I don't get lost walking home anymore, I feel very alone, very much residing on the outside, like an unseen satellite orbiting the great unknown. I'm learning things, here and there, and try to practice the few words of Vietnamese I've picked up. I don't feel properly ingratiated, but who would when they're living in a foreign country and can't even speak the language?
I guess that's what I admire about my students. People who study for hours a day, go to classes many times a week, all to learn a language that rolls off my tongue with such ease. Sure, I've studied languages myself, but never have I seen such dedication. It's admirable, and something I wish American students would strive for and be exposed to. I feel I miss out on so much, because such language-learning opportunities were never made available when I was a kid. I look at the ten-year-olds that create sentences with ease, and only see such great futures ahead of them.
I'm jealous of their fortunate exposure, but happy I can be a part of the process. Perhaps that's why I feel more at ease at the schools, because it's something that's familiar, something I actually know. Even the skies are different here, and so much is different. I hope I find my place. I hope I accomplish something. I hope I make a difference, and learn a lot more about another world, because what would be the point if I don't?
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