big feelings, small wins

the last two years and what's ahead for this newsletter

Since my last letter, I’ve written more than a dozen or so drafts in an attempt to restart this thing. For myriad reasons, I could never bring myself to finish one, let alone press send. It became routine. Every couple of weeks, the urge would strike. I’d open up a new blank document, write for a few hours—thoroughly convinced that this draft would finally be the one—only to abandon it completely the following week to start a new one. With every iteration, trying to get closer to what I wanted to say and find the best way to say it.

In each draft, I’d go over everything—the move, the short-lived relief it brought, the depression that soon followed—and inevitably, I’d hit a wall. It wasn’t until recently that I understood what that wall was and why I couldn’t get past it.

I don’t know why this time feels right, but it does. Maybe it’s the new year. Maybe because it’s been almost exactly two years since we moved back to Manila. Maybe this is exactly the amount of time I needed to get my shit together.

When I started thinking about leaving Hanoi, I had been depressed for months and was living with a perpetual sense of foreboding. The holidays were approaching, and we’d just gotten through several months of lockdowns and paranoia. I missed my family and was convinced that moving back to Manila would fix me, set me straight, my depression giving way to mania and, frankly, delusion. In hindsight, it wasn’t the best state of mind to be making life-changing decisions. But somehow, I managed to convince myself and my boyfriend that it was the right thing to do. Ultimately, due to a change in Vietnam’s visa policy at the time, it ended up becoming the only choice we had.

We arrived in Manila on December 14, 2021. And while everything was great in those first few weeks, after the holidays ended, and things didn’t click into place like I thought they would, the finality of the move started to sink in. That’s when things, or rather, I, started to fall apart.

Everything I’d been pushing away came at me with full force, like whiplash. Because of my tunnel vision in the weeks leading up to our move, I’d avoided thinking about the more unsavory parts of going back: the triggers I’d undoubtedly have to contend with, the relationships that, surprise, neither time nor distance had managed to fix, the many things swept under the rug and left unsaid.

It wasn’t just the move. At the same time, as if sensing something was off, our dog Peggy started exhibiting behavioral issues that made an already tense living situation even more stressful.

I started seeing a therapist who diagnosed me with an adjustment disorder. We’d meet once a week over Zoom. Her from her home office, walls a pale yellow, a snake plant that’d seen better days behind her. Me, from my old bedroom in my parents’ house, sitting on my bed in earphones, careful not to speak too loud, afraid someone might overhear when they walked by the room. Even though it ended up not being the right fit, and I stopped seeing her after a month, it felt good to be acknowledged in that way.

It didn’t occur to me until months later that I was grieving. Grieving the loss of a life I had spent five and a half years building. We left in such a rush that I don’t feel like I was able to say a proper goodbye to Hanoi, or even really grasp what leaving meant: all the things I was giving up and everything I was returning to.

It’s been two years since then, and I’m finally able to write about it without wanting to curl up into a ball. I’ve realized that things were always going to come to the surface; it was just a matter of when. Moving back just started the process a bit earlier than I think I was prepared for. It also forced me to confront all of the big, difficult feelings I’d been avoiding and reminded me that I’m capable of doing hard things, and that feels like a win, however small.

this month on rough age:

Next week, I’ll be sending out a recipe for the mighty tofu sando, an homage to my all-time favorite sandwich, the Cristina from Hanoi Sandwich House.

Then in two weeks: a list of my current favorite newsletters and how they’ve inspired me to prioritize my writing again.

And on the 27th, I’ll be publishing a culture catch-up! A little rundown of what I’ve been reading, watching, and listening to.

This is my attempt to make up for lost time. Hopefully, you’ll stick around. 🖤