So it has been four days since I set out on this new path. I just came back up to Ho Chi Minh City after a four-day holiday. During that time I kept thinking about what to write next for this blog—whether it should be a new story from my life, or something about To Kill a Mockingbird.

Why am I only starting to write now, and not during the break? Because for almost the whole holiday I was at my parents' place in the countryside, about two hours away, with my younger brother in tow—he weighs close to a hundred kilos. Even so, that time with family, eating together around the table with my parents, is precious; what could be better? Sitting down to write a little doesn't actually take that long, but there are things I simply couldn't put into words. It's the swirl of feelings in my head that I'm trying to sort through and quiet down—hard, but I think I can manage. Another thing that annoyed me was the unbearable heat; the temperature wasn't even that high, but something about it felt stifling, and I couldn't nap at all with my back soaked in sweat (I swear I'm getting air conditioning at home this year). Still, late on Saturday there was a heavy rain—maybe the season I hate even more than this heat has arrived: the rainy season.

I only had to commute in Ho Chi Minh City during the rainy season once, and I'll remember it forever: evening rain and rush hour are a nightmare because of the traffic. Normally my commute is about twenty to thirty minutes. That day it took an hour to get home, soaked through, no mask on. I don't remember if I caught a cold, but I know I hated that feeling—breathing exhaust from tailpipes, rain dripping on my head, seeping into my skin. Swearing wouldn't be very elegant; you can fill in the blanks.

Back to where I started: after the first post, with my emotions all over the place, I didn't know what to do next—and friends, the people I've always leaned on when life felt dull, showed up again. On the evening of the 29th they asked me out for drinks. I'd planned to meet them only after going back to my hometown, but they didn't leave town; I was a bit disappointed, but at least we had a plan. Four of us in total. I'd misread the time that day, so I showed up about thirty minutes early—which meant I had time to wander with music. Lately I've been into "Nắng ấm trong tim" by Duongg; it's a great song and easy to sing along to, and the remix is just excellent.

Over drinks I told my story. You don't need to know every detail—it wasn't some tragic epic; I see it as a story, an interesting lesson. There was sadness underneath, but I think that's unavoidable. And even though I tried not to side with myself in the telling (believe me, I don't play favorites in my own stories)—when you've been brothers through middle school, high school, and university, they had my back so hard it almost scared me. I felt a little guilty telling my own story, but sharing it with them left me steadier than ever. I've never imagined my life without friends I can dump my boring stories on (or borrow money from when I'm broke). It's wonderful.

Back to the present: the feelings are still there, but I feel more okay facing them. When I started the blog, I thought it might be a way to escape reality—or a way to face this bruising reality head-on. I know rambling like this will never draw a crowd, so I bought Anne Lamott's Bird by Bird to see if I could learn to write better. I'll try to take writing seriously; I think it will help me let out a lot of what's bottled up inside.

As for writing about books—we'll see. Reading has never been my main outlet in life. What I use most to unwind is building my own website; it's not exactly a money-maker, but building and growing it brings me joy—especially when someone signs up (even though there aren't any great features for users yet). Another release valve is hanging out with friends on weekends, or gaming. Books, for me, are a way to learn more about the world; my day job is pretty narrow, so I want reading to widen that.

The first book I finished was Harper Lee's To Kill a Mockingbird, and it will be the first one I review. After finishing it, I realized the self-help books I'd tried before weren't really for me—they seemed fine as I read them, but I never applied anything. With Mockingbird, I'm not sure I've "applied" anything yet, but at least I can remember some of the story, the content, what it meant. So I decided to read classic literature: Nobody's Boy, The Old Man and the Sea, Don Quixote, Man's Search for Meaning, Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea. Looking back, that's not a huge list to claim I'm "reviewing," but everything starts with a start—so I'll just do it and not overthink it. I'm reading Bird by Bird to write better, and next will be The Rings of Saturn, which a friend recommended.

In the early morning of my reading journey, honestly, it's been hard to focus and really take in what I read. Maybe I have some attention issue people call ADHD? I hope not, but I do struggle to concentrate. To Kill a Mockingbird took me about six months. Sometimes I felt like I wasn't cut out for books at all, but slowly I sank into the worlds the greatest writers paint. I truly admire writers—people who can build a whole world with a pen. If I ever became one, I think I'd only write light, happy stories; I could never put black or gray tones in my books. I'm afraid of sad endings, even though I know they're part of life.

As for what's next for this blog, I want to finish Bird by Bird before I start posting book reviews. At the same time I'll keep writing whatever I can—maybe tech and life stuff. Whatever it is, as I write these lines I feel lighter and more floaty than I expected, even with a bit of worry and fear. That's what I wanted to share with you today, and I hope you had a wonderful holiday—even if this wish comes late (I really do like wishing people well). Goodbye for now!