Page 7 of A Banh Mi for Two
I click my tongue. “What alter egos should we try, then?”
“We can pretend to be enemies.”
“Nope. You’re going to cry the moment you try being mean to me. It’s impossible for you.”
“You’re right,” she sighs. “I guess we’ll just be Cindy Rodriguez and Vivi Hu?nh. True to ourselves.”
“You’re so dramatic.”
“Says you.”
The street outside our dormitory, thankfully, isn’t as busy as the city center. People walk back and forth with ease, some carrying buckets atop their heads while others engage in screaming matches across the street. My eyes dart everywhere, studying every corner and every small shop, landing on a girl staring straight at us. Tanned skin with a posture that screams confidence. She looks like she belongs, like she knows this city. Our gaze meets for a fleeting second before she immediately turns away, her braid dancing by her side. Embarrassed, I turn away, too.
Was she judging us—judging me? Did she know that I’m not like her? That I’m Vietnamese but not from–Vi?t-Nam Vietnamese?
A clap reverberates through the air. “Everyone! Welcome to your home for the next four months.” Anh Huy, our program chaperone and instructor, unlocks the tall doors to the dormitory. He eases us in, taking our luggage and paying special close attention to mine. “This is quite heavy, Vivi.”
Oh my God.
One by one, we manage to drag ourselves through the door and into the common room, sleep in our eyes while we take turns complaining about how sore and tired each of us are. My poor back especially, after an out-of-control toddler kept kicking at it the entire plane ride. I’m about to fall asleep right then and there, until the sweet scent of grilled meat overwhelms my nose.
“It smells like th?t nu?ng.” I’d know that smell anywhere, especially because it’s my parents’ favorite thing to do on the weekends: flipping skewers by the banana tree in our backyard. Maybe it reminds them of Vi?t Nam.
An elderly lady carrying a full plate of bánh mì saunters through a partition, and my eyes bulge at the feast between her arms. Bánh mì. Tons of bánh mì. “Xin chào! Welcome! You must all be so tired from your trips. I am Bà Hai, the residential coordinator of this dorm. Here, have some.” She shoves loaves cut in half into our hands.
“You must be ngu?i m? g?c vi?t.” She studies my face. My stomach flips. Of course she knows I’m Vietnamese American—this is a study abroad program for Americans, after all—but will I ever just look Vietnamese? “Do you like patê?”
“My favorite.” Who doesn’t like patê?
“Good.” She smiles bashfully. “You get the bánh mì with the most patê.”
“Thank you, Bà,” I say, not forgetting to bow. Cindy follows suit while the other students awkwardly copy me.
Taking my first bite of Vietnamese food in Sài Gòn, I chew through the umami explosion on my tongue. The tender meat melts like butter, the patê mixing with its rich, fatty taste. Baguette crumbs decorate my mouth and I lick my lips, savoring each flake. My taste buds meet the pickled vegetables next, the flavor not too sweet or sour, as if each ingredient down to the soy sauce was prepared with care.
Cindy smacks her lips beside me. “First meal abroad and it didn’t disappoint. Maybe I can live here forever.”
Bà Hai cackles, motioning us for seconds. “I knew it was the right call to get bánh mì! Did you see the stall right across the street? Bánh Mì 98 is the best in the city.”
My new roommate and a Vietnamese local, Nga, takes a suitcase and guides me to our room. I drag my other luggage up through the narrow, spiraling staircases, pausing to pant when we unlock the door. Vi?t Nam is really working out my legs so far.
Nga gives me the spare key. “Make yourself at home! I cracked the window open, but you can close it if you want.”
I step into our small but cozy room. It has two beds, one in each corner, and two desks. A typical dorm room experience. Our window stares out onto the streets, offering a view of Sài Gòn with its colorful buildings, pagodas, and skyscrapers. I feel so small, like a droplet in this vast city. The sun glows as people hustle back and forth in the streets, most wearing some kind of hat to shield themselves from the heat. Not bothering to unpack my suitcase, I jump right into bed and sink into the wonderfully soft mattress. Drowsiness tugs at my eyelids and I allow it.
The alarm titled TEXT MOM goes off and I send her a quick message promising I’m safe along with a curated selfie Cindy took of me against the airport wall—no Sài Gòn cityscape in the background. She responds with a thumbs-up emoji right away. It’s almost 4:00 a.m. in California.
I think about the future Vivi in four months. Will I be a different person in December? Will this trip change how I see my parents? How will I see Mom, after learning about the life she had here?
Will I finally know why Mom was so happy here? Why she left?
My phone chimes.
Mom: Mommy thuong con. Stay safe. Don’t talk to strangers.
Chapter FiveLAN
Exactly twenty-six pages of garbage. Words don’t flow out of my pen like they used to, and the more I stare at the scribblings inked throughout my notebook, the more it makes me nauseous. The sun has set, the velvet blue sky draping itself over Sài Gòn. In the distance, Landmark 81 looms over the city. Students are probably trickling into parks and businesses, gossiping over drinks and food. People are dressing up for date nights or visiting District 1’s sprawling new-age boutiques, restaurants, and bars. Maybe I would be joining them if Ba were still alive. Maybe I’d be in a karaoke room right now, debating over songs to sing with new friends.
