The flight was long, longer than I last remembered (I was too cheap to get a nicer route, lesson learned). Olya once told me she felt like she was always on plane rides back and forth from the U.S. and Russia - how terrible that must be, I thought sympathetically while experimenting restlessly with my legs to find a comfortable pose. Tough luck.
Tan Son Nhat airport was more beautiful than I last remembered. Turned out it was brand new, freshly finished by the Japanese a few months ago. I could felt the change of attitude the minutes the plane landed: pride sparkled in the eyes of airport workers; returners were more awed at their stylish outfits than they were at eager visitors' blond hair and blue eyes. A good sign, I guess.
Honestly I don't remember much from this trip home. I only remember one feeling: that of waking up with the sun fully shone onto your face. That of calm blessing, full happiness, heart-wrenching warmth, and terrible, terrible nostalgia.
Truthfully I couldn't even recall what we did, obviously tons of family bonding since it was New Year. I did remember grinning from ears to ears with my cousins, playing badminton at the crack of dawn with Grandpa, cleaning vegetables with Grandma, and standing numbly in front of my sister's jar of ashes wishing so bad for an alternative...
Frankly now it is rather painful to recall, as such sweet thoughts trigger a bad case of homesickness. I can say though, that I was refilled with much souls and sunshine.