It’s August, and just another month, it’d be a full year I have not seen my parents. Whenever I think of this, I remind myself to be grateful for not communicating through hand-written letters or for barely having money to live. I, as homesick as I am, still have the freedom to choose and the dignity of a young educated woman. But put the lives of others aside, a year away from Vietnam is still something I’m both proud of and sad of.
It’s August, and time is not going to stop. Soon, 2020 will be over. As much as the world was excited for the end of a decade and of a turn of a new year, we are seemingly not doing okay. We are constantly wondering if the end of a calendar year is an end of a pandemic, and we highly doubt that. August is just a word, but it carries great meanings.
It means plans cancelled.
It means a traditional education put on hold.
It means 2/3 of the year has disappeared into thin air and new year resolutions hanging out of reach.
August. I do love August. But if only it will be a little bit different…
And then we learn to adapt. We learn to thrive.
When I cannot go home or go to school, I am in love with my days at home. This is freedom: to wake up when I want and schedule things I love. For the first time in my lifetime, I understand what it means to truly surround myself with ones who matter, do what I’d normally do when no one is looking (reading and writing and being content with solitude), give up relationships and work on the schedule that don’t add meaning to my life. The pressure to make the most out of every second of quarantine has helped me to choose wisely, as wise as I can be, and that I am grateful.
So, August, 8 月, tháng Tám, hello. In your coming I look forward to the change color of Northwestern leaves, my Goodreads 2020 stats, and my goals progression. Your coming, despite all the disappointments I aforementioned, gives me hope to be better. And I will be better, as better as I can be. 🙂