The edges of my anxiety paralysis started to peel in Ho Chi Minh. For the last month in Busan, I’d lugged around a suspicion that I was forgetting something or should be doing something or seeing someone. But, presently, my skin was in hot weather, sweating away the stress. I strung together a couple good sleeps. I got excited about vacation. I snipped the Korean umbilical cord.
There was a lot of food. Maybe I had defeated “airport gut”, or maybe my taste buds welcomed an absence of kimchi and red chili paste, or maybe Eli just took me to phenomenal restaurants, but I ate well. Very well.
Three times a day, Eli and I would laze through our future neighborhood to a grub spot. His role was to order. My role was to chew and moan at mouthfuls of tacos, noodles, rolls, toasts, sandwiches, ribs, burgers, and ramen. Saigon has a worryingly vibrant food scene, and I think Eli knew he was unlatching a pandora’s box of calories into my life.
In Korea, junk food is overpriced, which was for my benefit: money is probably the only thing that extinguishes one of my sugar and/or starch cravings. Healthy or not, Saigon meals are cheap. Local cuisine for a buck or two. Solid Italian, Mexican, or Western food for 5. And, if you want to “splurge”, 15 bucks will assure quality ribs, sushi, or gourmet burgers in your gut. Pairing any meal with a beer never punishes your purse either.
Even more threatening than taste and price: convenience. Various kitchens are only walking distance away. Most workers in District 2 speak English. And, if you’re truly lazy or hung over or anti-social, there’s a fleet of delivery services that’ll bike meals to your front door.
During my Saigon stay, I made a mental sketch of my soon-to-be life: Kyle, Eli and I sharing a clean apartment, morning workouts, daily writing sessions, workshops twice a week, basketball three times a week, falling asleep at responsible hours. Days would be productive and fulfilling. However, I couldn’t ignore the sustenance tsunami looming on the horizon, threatening to occasionally crash into my body, lay waste to a flimsy portion of my routine, and lay me out on the living room couch.