Vietnam was alive.
With blue skies and bustling streets.
With bowls full of colorful noodle soup in which greens and mushrooms dived in.
With ladies serving soup on the street side and road junctions while sitting on the smallest stools you could ever imagine.
With the Bánh Mì sandwiches that erupted into my taste buds and the beautiful blend of the Vietnamese coffee served with condensed milk.
With the death that lingered in the war museums that crushed me to the core and I took days to recover.
With the long-curvy rides in the toiletless buses to reach one city from another.
With the streets crowded with millions of red, blue, green scooters that must have looked like crawling painted ants when seen from the top.