The fan is cooling me. Kind of. I am shirtless, sweaty and surrounded by backpackers. I am on on the 5th floor of the Hanoi Backpackers Hostel, the communal space with internet access, a pool table and couches with young, sweaty kids reading books, staring in their phones or preparing their bags as they are heading off to their next destination. I have a bag of lychees within reach.
I feel quite emotional, stirred up. As if I can start crying any minute. These are the times that I want to write because I know I have a chance to dig up something essential. I can feel the knot and I know I can untie it. And I am not too afraid of crying in public. But a little bit more peace and quiet around me would be helpful. So I want to write and I do not.