I have to admit - I’m a foreigner. Foreigner in all sense of the word; foreigner with all its synonyms - stranger, alien, outsider. 

I’ve been to Vietnam twice (with a gap of few years spanning in between), once to the North and now to the South. Each time I returned with the sentiment of a rejected lover. Like a partner that never shares secrets and often hostile, Vietnam holds me at arm’s length, often unconvinced. And I’m left teetering at the periphery. Only a face in the crowd. Just another pedestrian crossing the road. Yet another traveller to take advantage of.

I can’t capture the heart of Vietnam.

I suppose there is reason behind our unsynchronized Waltz. In looking back at the many black and white portraits I took, I realized there is that unmistakable, imperceptible line of hardship enmeshed in the lines of expressions of their faces. Memories of the Vietnam War were not entirely distant for the people. It’s a war-torn place still struggling to emerge from those dark days, a fledgling economy that has caused the people to be fixated on having a better life no matter its costs. Unspoken anti-colonial sentiments still hovering in the air like mists. Tourism, is only a means to an end. I cannot begin to recount how many times I’ve been ripped off - quite significantly.

But there is progress, slowly but surely. I know it in the way I know the rain will end. A nebulous guarantee for the future. The risen dust will settle. I await the day when I’ll see its people breaking out into exuberant dance on the streets, when a smile does not mask grief, when hope is properly restored.