Other people’s lives in alleys (Vietnam)

Hoa took me to a hidden vegetarian café for lunch. It was in a narrow Saigon alley off a busy street. I can always rely on her to show me such places. There was a house across us. The door was open, and we could see three women and a man sitting around and talking. All were in their late fifties. It appeared that two of the women and the man were siblings, and one woman was the man’s wife. They had large suitcases around. Some of the suitcases had an Austin, Texas address pasted on them. It looked like they were ready to leave on a long journey.

They were recalling past events and teasing each other, mostly teasing the man. Pretending irritation, but enjoying the taunts, the man got up, stepped out of the house, and started pacing the little alley. A young woman arrived on a motorbike, followed by a taxi which waited a little distance away as this part of the alley was too narrow. The group rolled suitcases to the taxi. A grandma emerged from the house; the young woman held out her hand to support her. Together, the grandmother and young woman followed the group to the taxi. Some more banter and hugs later, the taxi left. The young woman and granny quietly walked back. Granny went in and closed the house door. The woman rode her bike out, perhaps to rush back to work before the lunch hour ended. The last few days must have been so happy in that house.

The best part about inner alleys is that most neighbors’ doors are open, letting us eavesdrop on their lives. Hoa and I often create our own backstories for the people we observe. We imagined the young woman when she was a little girl. Her Texas uncles and aunts must have showered her with cute Disney pencil boxes and colorful books whenever they returned to Vietnam. Her classmates must have been so envious of her. These days, the uncles and aunts would be hard-pressed to find something novel for their niece. She can buy anything from local shopping sites.

A few days later, Hoa was in Singapore, and we went to the Raffles Hotel. We did not get much time for fictional backstories of the tourists we saw. I was busy being Hoa’s photographer.