A Vietnamese American’s Emotional Journey Back Home After 30 Years Abroad

For three decades, I lived in the United States—a country of prosperity and opportunity. But no matter how long I stayed, a piece of my heart remained in Vietnam. I was born there. My childhood was shaped by muddy village roads, early morning market cries, and the sound of roosters crowing at dawn. After 30 years away, I finally decided to return—not for vacation, but for a soul-searching homecoming.

Counting Down the Days

As the departure date approached, I found myself tearing away calendar pages one by one like a child counting the days until Christmas. I lost sleep many nights, overwhelmed by memories and anticipation. Would my village still be there? Would I still recognize the streets I used to walk barefoot on? I wasn’t just returning to a place—I was returning to a part of myself I’d left behind.

My luggage was typical of any overseas Vietnamese returning home: full of gifts, snacks, vitamins, and little items from America. But the most important thing I carried was invisible—a heart full of nostalgia and a longing to reconnect.

The Moment of Return

My best friend drove me to the airport. I barely slept the night before. Even as I was physically still in America, my mind was already wandering the dusty paths of Long An, my home province in the Mekong Delta. I could almost smell the river, feel the breeze, and hear the laughter of children playing in the water.

Holding the plane ticket that read “Vietnam” brought a rush of emotion. I wasn’t just traveling—I was going home. As the plane soared into the sky, my heart soared too. I was finally heading back.

When Memory and Reality Collide

The moment the flight attendant announced we were entering Vietnamese airspace, I pressed my forehead against the window. The clouds looked the same, but my heart knew what lay beneath them. I wasn’t just returning to a country—I was returning to memories.

As the plane touched down at Tan Son Nhat Airport, I felt an indescribable surge of emotion. My eyes welled up. I wanted to cry, to shout, to kneel down and kiss the ground. I had made it home.

Stepping out of the airport, I felt a warm breeze on my face—the kind I hadn’t felt in years. The air smelled different, familiar, like a mixture of soil, incense, and fried street food. Strangers passed by me, yet they looked just like me—black hair, tan skin, gentle eyes. I wanted to hug them all.

The Road to My Village

Saigon welcomed me with a surprise rain shower, playful and fleeting. It felt like the city was teasing me, reminding me that even the weather here had its own personality. I laughed to myself. I hadn’t smiled like that in a long time.

As we drove toward Long An, each passing landmark triggered a flashback—school uniforms, laughter, market stalls, temple bells. But nothing prepared me for the moment I saw my sister waiting at the village gate.

Her hair now carried streaks of silver, but her smile hadn’t changed. We hugged tightly. I fought back tears. So many years had passed. So many things had changed. My brother, whom I had promised to return for his wedding, was no longer alive. But my sister’s embrace was a piece of home I had longed for.

The Taste of Childhood

Every meal was a reunion of its own. My sister cooked all the dishes I missed—canh chua, th?t kho tr?ng, bánh tét. Each bite brought back memories of childhood dinners, of rainy afternoons spent helping mom pick vegetables from the garden. Even the rice tasted different here—more fragrant, more soulful.

Neighbors came to visit. Old friends stopped by with beers, laughter, and karaoke. We stayed up late, not because we had something urgent to say, but because we had missed the simplicity of just being together.

Walking Through Time

I wandered the village alone one morning. The once-dirt roads had been paved. The river behind our house was quieter now—no kids splashing, no fish traps. But the trees were still there, and so were the dragonflies and the occasional purple water hyacinth drifting along the water.

In a dusty corner of the house, I found my old bicycle—rusted, but intact. I cleaned it, oiled the chain, and took it for a ride. As I pedaled through the village, I was no longer the man with gray at his temples—I was the boy who once dreamed of the world beyond the rice fields.

The Pain of Goodbye

All good things end, and so did my time at home. My bags were packed again—heavier now, not because of gifts, but because of emotion.

My sister stood at the gate, just like before. Her eyes were red. Mine too. I hated goodbyes. I always had. Especially now, when I knew this goodbye might last another decade.

As the car pulled away, I turned back. The dragon fruit trees, the bend of the river, and my sister’s fading figure all blurred through tears. My heart tightened. My ears buzzed. My country was behind me again.

Saigon’s Farewell

Back in Saigon for a short stay before my flight, it rained again. This time harder. It felt like the city was crying for me—or with me. I sat at a coffee shop, sipping bitter black coffee as I watched the streets turn into streams. Strangely, it calmed me. The rain disguised my tears, washed away my grief, and let me mourn quietly.

When night fell, the city glittered under neon lights—red, green, blue. But inside me was only one color: longing.

At the Airport

Tan Son Nhat Airport was a storm of emotions—families saying goodbye, children crying, hugs that lasted too long. One traveler, countless goodbyes. I walked through the crowd like a ghost. I heard nothing, saw nothing, felt everything.

And then, just like that, the plane was in the air.

A Promise to Return

I closed my eyes as the engines roared. My heart ached. I felt like I had left something behind that no amount of success in America could ever replace.

I whispered, “Goodbye Long An. Goodbye Saigon. Goodbye Vietnam. I will return.”

The road home no longer felt far. Because now, I knew—my heart belonged there.

Final Thoughts

This was more than a trip. It was a pilgrimage. A reconciliation between the man I had become and the boy I once was. Between America, the land of opportunity, and Vietnam, the land of my soul.

For all Vietnamese living overseas, I say this: Come back. Even if just for a moment. Smell the earth, hear the language, taste the food, and let your heart remember what home feels like.

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