I just came back from Taiwan yesterday. My fiancée and I also visited this time last year. We loved seeing Taipei again and exploring Kaohsiung for the first time. We watched Sài Gòn celebrate 50 years of unification from afar, feeling a touch of FOMO seeing updates from friends who went to the massive parade, but were glad we took the week-long holiday to rest and reset.
On our way home, I was thinking again about travel — what it means to me, and how it has shaped who I’ve become. This time, I was going back to where it all started.
When I was living in Florida and still in school, I always looked forward to spending my summer in Vietnam. Sài Gòn was usually a pit stop before I traveled to other regions and nearby countries. Each summer brought one or two new destinations. I studied and worked my butt off for these trips. Not everyone I knew could afford the time or resources to take an extended vacation every year. It was a privilege. Looking back, I’m forever grateful for these experiences.
I remember how early the joy of anticipation would set in — often weeks before a flight. Flying between the States and Vietnam felt like moving between two realities. The distance, the multiple flights, and the time shift were one thing. The feeling that I was entering a separate dimension was another.
“Dimension” encompassed the atmosphere, culture, vibes, landmarks, people, and everything in between. The word seemed fitting because back then, each place felt like a disparate part of my life. The States was “home” by default — my family, school, work, and mundane routines. I was surrounded by good people, yet I never really felt like I belonged. Life was mostly passing by until the next vacation. But Sài Gòn — that’s where I truly lived, where I felt whole, where I experienced everything I had been waiting for.
One day, I gathered all my courage and ended the seven-year back-and-forth. It was a risk I had to take. It came with plenty of highs and lows, but the highs made every risk worthwhile.
During my most recent trip to the States, I realized I wasn’t going back and forth between worlds anymore. It was more like traveling to different cities. The distance is still long and physically tiring, but I no longer feel like I’m leaving my family or the new home I’ve built in Sài Gòn behind. Now, I’m the same person no matter where I am. I don’t have to switch modes or identities anymore. I’ve found harmony — finally at peace with who I am, wherever I am.