Editing a book
Afterword
In 9 swift years, Vietnam has become my refuge, a place of strength and a launching pad. It is where I found myself face to face with myself, where I realized that everything I can and want depends only on me and no one else — neither fate, nor circumstances, nor those I meet along my path.
However, the last five years at university made me understand: everything has become cyclical. Life here is good, but too simple; it feels like it’s going in circles. One more year — a little more money, and the rest is the same. I felt time slipping through my fingers, and I am not getting any younger. It was difficult with the Vietnamese: a completely different culture (or lack thereof), nothing to talk about or laugh about together. So, while I still have the strength, I decided to conquer one or more countries, learn Spanish, meet new people, and perhaps someday tell about it.
I decided to summarize and share these notes only after I left. However, Vietnam hasn’t disappeared from my mind: I still mentally convert prices into Vietnamese dong, read local news, and habitually give advice to Ukrainians in chats.
I thank this country that sheltered, embraced, and gave me a chance for a new life: inexperienced, but full of determination. I am grateful to the people who believed in me — employers who probably rolled their eyes at my desire for justice but agreed with my arguments, however unusual they may have seemed here.
To the landlady of the apartment, whom we saw only once in eight years and had no misunderstandings with.
To the people who became true friends and with whom we meet anywhere in the world.
To the people who turned out to be jerks and brought stress and pain, but with them came experience into my too simple life.
I believe that a piece of this country will forever remain in me. Be it the warm wind in my face; the dexterity with which vendors tie up a takeout soup bag; the smell of herbs you crush into pho; the midday nap; the sounds of karaoke, for which you don’t need to be a talented singer; the sound of badminton at 4:30 AM; the emptiness of the beach at 9:00; the willingness to drink with you from every café visitor; the readiness to help and understand your plight; and the sun that never stops shining over Saigon.
In 9 swift years, Vietnam has become my refuge, a place of strength and a launching pad. It is where I found myself face to face with myself, where I realized that everything I can and want depends only on me and no one else — neither fate, nor circumstances, nor those I meet along my path.
However, the last five years at university made me understand: everything has become cyclical. Life here is good, but too simple; it feels like it’s going in circles. One more year — a little more money, and the rest is the same. I felt time slipping through my fingers, and I am not getting any younger. It was difficult with the Vietnamese: a completely different culture (or lack thereof), nothing to talk about or laugh about together. So, while I still have the strength, I decided to conquer one or more countries, learn Spanish, meet new people, and perhaps someday tell about it.
I decided to summarize and share these notes only after I left. However, Vietnam hasn’t disappeared from my mind: I still mentally convert prices into Vietnamese dong, read local news, and habitually give advice to Ukrainians in chats.
I thank this country that sheltered, embraced, and gave me a chance for a new life: inexperienced, but full of determination. I am grateful to the people who believed in me — employers who probably rolled their eyes at my desire for justice but agreed with my arguments, however unusual they may have seemed here.
To the landlady of the apartment, whom we saw only once in eight years and had no misunderstandings with.
To the people who became true friends and with whom we meet anywhere in the world.
To the people who turned out to be jerks and brought stress and pain, but with them came experience into my too simple life.
I believe that a piece of this country will forever remain in me. Be it the warm wind in my face; the dexterity with which vendors tie up a takeout soup bag; the smell of herbs you crush into pho; the midday nap; the sounds of karaoke, for which you don’t need to be a talented singer; the sound of badminton at 4:30 AM; the emptiness of the beach at 9:00; the willingness to drink with you from every café visitor; the readiness to help and understand your plight; and the sun that never stops shining over Saigon.
Odessa 
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