It's coming closer...

Around this time a year ago, sitting in a dark room with a glow of pink coming from the window, I bursted to tears feeling completely empty and lonely. It was the first day back in the States, it was only 24 hours after saying goodbye to Ha Noi. The song was playing in my ipod, that one song I try not to think about every time i leave. That one beautiful but very sad song about my dear Ha Noi, my dear city that I can never get enough of.

My friend translated the song into english, made it a poem, a rather incomplete one. I've listened to it countless time, tried to imagine myself at home sitting at some coffee place.

"Tomorrow, I'll be leaving Hanoi
Goodbye to each familiar tree and conner,
To each trilling sound of pagodas' afternoon bell
And sparkling lights on the Sword Lake...

My dear Hanoi, how each wind excites my heart
A whispering wave on the West Lake's surface,
In a peaceful afternoon, I listen to the wind singing...

It's time for a farewell, my dear Hanoi,
How touchingly the summer's rain comes.
Hanoi dear, what else still bothers you?
Memory of you I will never forget...

Wishing one day I could come back,
Walking by your side on Hanoi's streets,
I would still have you like days in the past.
Now we're parted, but will meet again,
My dear Hanoi..."
_NXH_

I have not heard afternoon bell from pagodas for a long time. I have not stopped just to look at West Lake, I have not stopped just to look at Sword Lake. Leisure is how Hanoians lived, they drank coffee and let the day went by slowly into imagination, and i have not done that in a while. I no longer visit 13 Dinh, no longer feel the urge to sit on the tiny balcony over looking Sword Lake. 13 Dinh only exists in my memory now, once my hide away place, one contains all my pain and secrets, a place where we talked by eye contacts and listened to death metal.

Oh, my dear Hanoi streets.
I still remember you with the perfume of orchid.
I still remember you with the perfume of milk flower.
The quiet street whispers with rain.
A girl waits, her long hair wet, covering her shoulders.
I still have you, Hanoi, and the memory of the lonely tree in winter.
I still have you, the lonely street corner in winter.
The lonely cresent moon in winter.
That winter, in a collasped house, sounds of a piano echoed.
The afternoon prayer is over, but why still echoes the bell?
I still have you, ever green, though time has gone by.
In an afternoon when the girl waits, her hair radiant.
The artist wanders on streets,
suddenly unable to remember even a street name.
I still have you, the old streets covered by moss
An uneven tile roofs fill my heart with memories.
West Lake in the afternoon echoed with waves.
Twilight came unexpectedly.
Oh, my dear Hanoi streets.
_Translated by David Lamb_