Beginning again, with fewer words and better shoes

There’s a kind of silence you don’t notice until you miss it.

The first time I walked through the cool mist of early morning Da Lat, I didn’t hear traffic or shouting or the click of inbox notifications. I heard birdsong. Motorbikes in the distance. The occasional laughter of strangers who didn’t expect to be heard.

And it occurred to me—maybe peace isn’t something we earn. Maybe it’s something we stop drowning.

Moving here wasn’t an escape. It was a return. Not to something I’d lost, but to something I’d never given enough space to grow: the quiet half of me. The one who doesn’t compete. The one who doesn’t fill silences. The one who writes without needing to perform.

This isn’t a new chapter. It’s a different book. Same author, better editor.

You’re welcome here, by the way. No need to comment. Just breathe, if you’d like. Or write back, if you feel something stir.

Sometimes we begin again by stepping into a quieter room.

This is mine.