The last night in Hanoi — what a wordless love taught me
Today I woke up at noon again. Lately I’ve been working late into the night and finishing around 3 a.m., so I end up getting up late. I know this is definitely not good, but still, night feels like the time when I can relax and feel safe.
But maybe that’s because everyone else is asleep and it’s quiet, so it feels easier to be active. Maybe I’m an introvert, or maybe simply my ancestors passed down genes that had them stand guard at night to watch for lions and other animals.
Banh mi for lunch, memories of Hoi An
While thinking about that, I had banh mi delivered today — a chicken banh mi, a Hoi An banh mi, and a drink. It was nicely tasty. But after all, banh mi is best eaten at the shop rather than delivered. The banh mi I had in Hoi An was a taste I truly can’t forget.
The bread of the banh mi was truly crispy and delicious. It’s a crispness I’ve never experienced in Japan. Japanese baguettes aren’t really baguettes, Japanese croissants are small and expensive, and pain au chocolat is too tiny. But in France it’s crispy and cheap, and in Vietnam you get crispy banh mi. It was a flavor Japan just can’t replicate.
The last day to meet Ann
And today was the last day to meet Ann.
Travel brings encounters, and an unexpected encounter can become an unanticipated process and turn into a memorable date. And in the end there is always a “farewell.” That’s why it feels romantic, I think. Of course I also partly tell myself this as a way to idealize things and create an escape so I won’t be too sad — I know that’s partly self-serving. Still, short-term romances are interesting and full of adventure, and I felt that again.
Ann was really special; it was my first time dating someone like her. She’s genuinely shy and an ISFP, so her means of communication are the “atmosphere,” the “pauses,” the “vibe,” and physical contact. She hardly speaks with words. Yet that felt truly beautiful, artistic in a way — very lovely. Thanks to Ann I became very sensitive to emotions, my sensibilities were enriched, and I started to feel the beauty in sounds, smells, the air, and the pauses. That was her gift, a lesson, and a joy.
Writing a letter at Muji in Hanoi
With those feelings, I wanted to tell her how I felt. I wanted to write a letter. So I decided to go to Muji in Hanoi. It was a bit far, but I thought of it as a little shopping outing and called a xe ôm (motorbike taxi).
Arrived at Muji! They even had Vietnam-limited tote bags, and since it was inside a shopping mall I was really excited. I quickly bought message cards and envelopes, a tote bag, and chocolate with over 80% cacao. In my head I had already pretty much decided what to write. I planned to have ChatGPT translate it into Vietnamese and write it in Vietnamese.
What was fun was imagining how she would feel when she read it. I hoped it would make her happy, give her good energy and positivity, and boost her self-esteem. Writing the letter itself was really enjoyable. When we feel connected to others, humans feel happy, don’t we?
Marugame Udon at Vincom Center
For dinner I ordered curry udon from Marugame Udon. Vincom Center had many Japanese restaurants, so I walked around a bit, but I ended up at Marugame. The prices were about the same as in Japan, and after so long away from Japanese food, I was really happy. Wakame seaweed was sold separately so I bought some.
Seaweed is the best. If someone asked me what my favorite foods are, I’d definitely answer “wakame, aonori, nori, kikurage.” They’re really delicious. You feel me?
Her version of 'words without words'
I saw on Instagram that Ann had posted a weird meme. She doesn’t convey things with words, so I thought, “Oh, is that a message for me? (lol)” You shouldn’t read too much into it, but my intuition told me it was directed at me.
Come to think of it, yesterday she quoted The 1975’s “About You” on Instagram. She doesn’t tell me directly, but indirectly she put her feelings into a song and conveyed them to me. I looked up the lyrics — they were really poignant. That kind of thing felt so her, and genuinely beautiful.
Writing the letter in Vietnamese
What I couldn’t fit on the card I added onto the card I bought at Muji. Writing in Vietnamese for the first time was really hard — there are all these diacritics above and below the letters. It took more than 30 minutes. Still, I felt happy while writing. At first I thought, “I probably won’t be able to give this anyway.” By lowering my expectations like that, the joy if I could give it would be even greater.
I’ll keep the contents of the letter private, but I wrote my gratitude to her, how much I enjoyed the shared pauses, air, and atmosphere, my hopes for the future, and wishes for her happiness. I poured many of my feelings into it.
Meeting at the place we last met
Today we planned to take purikura (photo booth pictures) and have a street artist around Hoan Kiem Lake draw us. My heart was excited, but I was also anxious about how to proceed.
We agreed to meet at 9:20 p.m. I said, “I’ll wait at the place where we first met!” She replied, “Huh, where? I don’t remember,” so I sent a video. That felt so her and funny. One ISFP trait is remembering emotions and lingering impressions more than verbalized data; they cherish the feeling, the atmosphere, the afterglow, and memories of being with someone.
Before she arrived I recorded a French video and uploaded it to YouTube. While humming and walking around, she appeared (lol).
She always has a somewhat closed expression. It made me feel like she’d been through really painful things in the past. I greeted her cheerfully with a smile, “Hi!” I want to give good energy to people who have become cold-hearted from trauma or problems, to help them feel a little better and raise their self-esteem — because I’ve been through that myself.
The area above this line is displayed for free.
We sat for a little while. When I asked, “How was your day? What did you do?” she always replied, “Worked, same as usual.” If anyone other than an ISFP said that I’d immediately be put off, but because she’s someone whose emotional universe is vast and full of bursts of feeling that can’t be put into words, that phrase felt beautiful and meaningful.
The street artists around Hoan Kiem Lake
She seemed kind of nervous. I told her, “Today is my last day in Hanoi, so I’m really sad,” and she reacted with a surprised, “Oh, really?” She was very matter-of-fact, but I felt she must have had big emotions inside. On our first date she said she’d stay in Hanoi until the 18th, but she didn’t seem to remember that (lol).
She said, “Let’s go!” and we started walking. At first we planned to go to the purikura booth, but she seemed very nervous and unsettled. When I tried to talk to her she said, “Ha!? I don’t understand.” Before, she used to walk beside me and on our first date our arms were touching, but now she walked a little behind and kept some distance. I felt nervousness and anxiety had folded her into her own world.
I looked at a nearby street artist and suggested again what I’d mentioned on the first day: “Why don’t we ask an artist to draw us?” She didn’t say no, so we went back to the area with many artists. As we compared “which artist should we choose?” she pointed at one, “This one!” so we went to that uncle. Honestly, which artist we picked didn’t matter — the point was sharing and making a memory. That’s the real treasure.
We sat down and the artist sketched us. While we sat, couples and friends walking by compared the sketch to us, took photos — so very Vietnamese. I’m used to it, so I didn’t feel embarrassed at all. In Japan I’d be far too embarrassed to do this, but knowing this national character in Vietnam, I’d laugh back at curious onlookers or ask, “Does it look like us?”
While I was getting sketched, she was often on her iPhone, taking photos of the moment to share with friends. Then it was her turn. The uncle gave directions in Vietnamese and told her how to pose. I was grateful she mustered the courage to come with me.
We finished around 10:30 p.m., and it was completed in about 30 minutes. When we actually looked… it didn’t look like us at all (lol). The eyes were narrow like a predator’s, very Vietnamese-looking — the artist’s national style came through. I imagined that in each country, the same me would turn out differently.
We paid the uncle 450,000 dong and said bye-bye. He laminated it too, so it looked nice. I thought 450,000 dong for 30 minutes was a pretty good hourly rate, and then we walked to the purikura booth.
The purikura scene in Hanoi
We arrived at the purikura photo booth near the Hanoi cathedral area — the place President Macron recently visited.
Purikura in Vietnam is different from Japan. In Japan they’re usually in arcades on upper floors and you take them yourself, but in Vietnam it’s like a house with three booths from the same company, and outside there are mirrors and hats and plush toys for cosplay. When I asked the staff, “What’s the difference between these three machines?” they said the backgrounds are pink, orange, and blue.
I hesitated over pink, but neither of us had a pink vibe. Orange didn’t feel particularly warm either. So I chose blue. Probably because I was nervous and wanted a calming blue.
We entered the blue booth and put in the money. It allowed six printed photos, but it would take ten shots. I had imagined about four patterns in my head, but the number of shots far exceeded my imagination and I got nervous. Ann likes stuffed animals, so she wanted to wear one together; we put on animal plushies for the photos.
I also tried on a Vietnam War-style hat because it looked funny. The booth did a 10-second countdown for each shot; since it was Ann’s first time she kept looking at the screen instead of the camera. The pace was too fast for us to keep up. Of the ten shots, about six were with our arms around each other; we also did a back hug and the famous Korean finger-cross pose. With someone I’d only dated for three days, that took some courage, but it was fun and energetic. During the back hug we were both shyly laughing. Cute.
After finishing the purikura, Ann led the selection of photos. She has a high aesthetic sense, so I decided to leave that to her. They printed fine, and of course a video was recorded (lol).
A Vietnamese lesson and a moment that shook my heart
After finishing we rested in a nearby park and then returned to Hoan Kiem Lake.
She always wants to sit on the left, so I sat in the middle with the left side open. I told her, “Do you know why you like the left side? It’s because the heart is on the left, so you protect yourself,” and she looked a bit puzzled. She hadn’t thought that far, but I figured she was unconsciously protecting her feelings.
We talked in Vietnamese. She taught me some Vietnamese phrases: “Teach me a Vietnamese phrase~” When I tried to pronounce Vietnamese she laughed and seemed to enjoy it. Maybe my pronunciation was funny (lol). She wrapped her arm around me and it made my heart skip. Since I’d lived in Japan for over a year, I’d absorbed the Japanese value that casual body contact with someone you’re not dating isn’t good, so I couldn’t be too forward. I thought it was nice that she was more relaxed about that.
With ChatGPT’s help, I tried to convey my feelings. I said, “The three days I spent with you were special.” I treated it like a game to see if my pronunciation alone could convey it, but it didn’t at all (lol). Vietnamese doesn’t work if you pronounce it like English — it’s really difficult. As expected, when I showed her the sentence she blushed a little and said, “Ah…” She didn’t look me in the eye, which I thought was cute.
Then I tried the viral Instagram reel thing: “How to say ‘I like you’ in ○○?” I actually needed a lot of mental preparation. I tried setting a 10-second rule, but it didn’t work. So when I finally felt I could say it, I spoke without thinking and from the heart.
“How to say I like you?”
She said “I like you” in Vietnamese, so I replied in Vietnamese, “Tada? Kam on (Really? Thank you!),” and we both laughed. She, in turn, said the phrase I taught earlier, “Kudabare! (Fuck you!)” (lol). It was funny and fun. I said “I like you” properly again.
Wordless physical intimacy
We held hands in a couple’s grip. I realized this is what wordless physical contact is — it felt so fresh. The physical contact without many words, this pause, felt very beautiful. She leaned on me and said, “I’m sleepy.” She was so relaxed.
I asked her to write a message in my notebook. It was drizzling a bit, but she wrote in Vietnamese on the very last page. I couldn’t read it at all, but she told me to wait on the bench across the way, so I sat and waited. When she finished and gave it to me, I handed her the letter I’d already written. She looked a little surprised but somewhat pleased. She simply said, “Thank you.”
The last night, by the lakeside
I asked her if she wanted to come to my hotel. That took a lot of courage. “Do you wanna come to my hotel? No pressure though.” She checked the time on her iPhone: it was 12:05 a.m. That was a bit late (lol). She had work at 9 a.m. the next day and had to wake up at 8, so it was too difficult.
We moved from the bench to a spot under the trees so we wouldn’t get wet. We grew closer, holding hands and putting an arm around each other. I asked, “Are you happy to spend time with me?” Did spending time with me make you happy? Did you feel a bit happier? She nodded, and that made me happy. If so, then I’m happy too.
She almost fell asleep on my shoulder. I could feel her weight and thought, Oh, she’s sleeping. When I asked, “Do you wanna come back?” she hesitated but then said yes. It was like she asked herself and returned the answer: yes.
Sitting there I hugged her. At the end she pointed to her cheek and said, “Kiss here.” Since she asked, I gently kissed her cheek. Her cheeks were soft, smooth, and warm. I kissed her on the right, she said “this one too” and turned her left cheek, so I kissed that too. I was so happy she mustered the courage to say it out loud.
I asked, “Can I kiss you?” She looked away, blushing, but nodded. When I kissed her lightly on the mouth, she pulled my head toward hers as if wanting more, and our lips touched slowly, deeply, and quietly. That kiss felt like our hearts melting together.
In that moment I clearly felt oxytocin spreading from deep inside my body. When we parted after the kiss, her eyes shone brightly, but there was also a fragility and delicacy — something complex in them.
Goodbye, see you again
It turned into a bye-bye moment (ISFPs really are simple when leaving lol), so we took a few selfies together. We moved toward the light and used the lake as the background. When I took photos with my iPhone they were mirrored, so she kept asking, “Why? Why?” Her iPhone showed them correctly. She has a strong aesthetic sense and apparently hates asymmetry in her face. I thought, how particular.
We pressed our faces together and took photos. It became a nice final memory.
We checked her route home; she said her bike would be on the right, so I told her I’d go left. We hugged one last time, I gave her a gentle kiss on the lips, and said a simple “Bye.” I sat down, called a taxi right away, and went back to the hotel.
While I was showering I wondered if she’d be reading the letter by then and what she’d be feeling. As expected, she hadn’t read it yet. I thought she needed time to sort out her feelings, and maybe she needed emotional readiness to read it. She finally read it around 6 p.m. the next day.
I packed for my flight the next day, did a bit of work, and then went to sleep.
I’m so glad we could make an unforgettable memory together in life. Thank you, Ann.
