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When does someone tell me what’s toughest to imagine?

In Saigon, I’ll respond to the rains.

Rain in Saigon is really weird! It often looked like a 17-year-old girl, as it rushed-she was like having some troubles of being spoiled. The rain here is oddly close to the pace of life: hurry and panic. Sometimes, we lose the opportunity to feel the thunder, and then, as the rainy season arrives, our hearts turn hawkish.

Sometimes the rain came only briefly to refresh the city’s heat and quickly rushed away like leaving some water on busy people’s shirts, which were briefly sunny. Crop out. Spread out. Crop out. Then there was a day when the girls were counting the rain, and there was the rain, the rain and the rain endless. Then there was a day…