My Two Months Anniversary

You know how couples have those cute-but-not-really one week or two months anniversary? Well, guess what this one will be about? Half of my days in Vietnam is gone so I'm a bit reflective about my goals and experiences now. Idk, i feel like my life did a 360 after i'm here. i thought my purpose was to teach english, but then i've been spending most of my time doing this LGBT documentary project and just eating. Just eating and going out all the time! I dont know what I try to find here anymore. before, it was just inspirations to start drawing and writing again, but i barely touch my sketchbook. okay, maybe once or twice. i can only write, draw, strum my guitar, or sing when i'm down. there's always things to do, people to meet, food to eat so it is impossible to have time to reflect. while typing this, i am cutting back on sleep. quiet space + depression + creativity = good shizzzz. everything is moving so fast that i feel like 4 months is too short to really enjoy and understand this country. someday, i just wish i have all the time in the world and hop on a motorbike, tour the countrysides, talk to people, and write a story about all my (mis)adventures. but i am here, in hanoi, in this room, in this constant state of "huh"ness as events pass by me like a milkyway shower of shoot stars. my relationship with my roommates is not going well. me and my short temper... someday i just dont want to deal with it. i can't really contact my ex because my phone was stolen in the night market. my reaction is close to aloofness. i feel kind of glad that my parents or my relatives cant call, but i want to visit my grandparent's village. somedays i feel like im on top of the world, then just on a wimp, or because of a sad song, or a word that reminds me of that certain person, I feel entrapped in the collapsing labyrinth of my own confusion and if i dont seek the exit soon, it will consume me. and idk if im making any sense anymore. half of the time, my sporatic stream of consciousness sounds like the very stuff i write--no endings, no logical direction, just solitary strands of . somedays it scared the shit out of me because it begins to sound like my own future. someday, the lethargic cement and eardrum-beating noises of vietnam feels like the reoccuring post-apocalyptic wasteland inside my head. someday, after all the city-exploring is done, i just want to sit inside my own little wasteland world, having a conversation with Ms. Kieu on my left and Ms. Hồ Xuân Hương on my right. and all we will talk about is feminism. crazy shit. someday, i try to find vietnam in between my history book, in the back-alleys coffee shops, in the converstations of the locals. i haven't found it yet. maybe im looking too hard. i walked close to it with an elderly man on his daily walk in a rice-farming village. his footsteps drop invisible bread crumbs but i dont have enough time to collect and follow. i almost feel it as i slashed though the rice stalks, expecting each golden rice grain to reconnect me to my ancestoral roots. but it's always this feeling of almost, but not really.