no address in Saigon

they say, it is a strange. to belong to Saigon and still have nowhere to call home. as though my heart had been misplaced somewhere in the crowded streets, as though even my longing had forgotten where it was meant to return.

they say, it is heartbreaking. a child of Saigon living here like a permanent guest, sleeping beneath roofs that belong to other people's lives. i was born on this ground, yet every move feels like another small farewell, another piece of myself packed into boxes and carried elsewhere. no place has ever kept me longer than a season of rain.

they say it is strange to live at the very center of a city and still feel so far outside of it. Saigon glows all night, headlights and neon spilling across the streets, yet somehow none of it can illuminate a way home.

they say it is sad to love a city this much when it has never quite known how to love me back. it simply watches in silence as i lose pieces of myself to it, one by one.

they say, poor thing. a Saigonese living as though her whole life were temporary, stitching her days together with old memories and dreams that have never had an address.

they say, hold on. someday, things will settle. someday, everything will be alright.

but in Saigon, someday can be nothing more than a promise the city forgot it ever made.