I stepped off the plane into a new land, and new language, and new climate, and a new culture.
It was humid in Hanoi.
It was dirty. Dirt sat in the streets and people sat on the sidewalks.
The road was bumpy. The road ridden with holes and cracks and imperfections.
The houses were broken; just like my heart.
I had come to Vietnam to escape the pains of a broken heart.
I came to Vietnam to find myself. To find meaning. To find joy.
I began to write. To color my days through words. To paint my feelings through paragraphs.
I found meaning in expession. I found meaning in those dirty streets.
I found beauty in the culture, in the people, in the sweat drenching weather.
I found beauty in the heartbreak, in the writing, in the darkness.
I found beauty in myself.
I found myself.