Dear city in the north,
I found your name,
when I was lost in tangled tricks.
Neighbours put me to shame,
These two feet stand like torrefied sticks.
Your colours, your motions, your bluntness, have got me live like I was young again.
It was little to be spoken at first time we met, as I alienated what you say, but you treated me as your best friend.
Best friend? I have the most terrible description of a best friend. I have less than the fingers on my hands.
Ones who are called best friend are the honest ones, they have no shame. They overwhelm you, but never admit they love you.
Every alley, every gestures, and every 'what's going to happen' become so familiar. Every wrong turns, seems like I'm not the only one who was lost.
I admire your body language the most, how closeness can be build by familiarity of one's gesture.
I remember that time, strolling around for breakfast. That was the first culture shock, I would emphasise.
Just about getting ourselves seated on the stools by the street for phở, we were treated as a usual customer within the city.
I was astonished how my wallet was taken by one shop owner, and he took the money and gave the change to each of us.
Exactly, that's how blunt your closest friend can be!
I am grateful we let down our barrier, I'll miss the way we greet each other, I love the way you treated me as a friend, Hanoi.
Thanks for the earliest flight from Bangkok, for re-buying the new ticket, and all that leads me to be friend with this city.
From a friend of yours,