Demolition 'Nam Style

I live in an apartment on Phan Chu Trinh. It is fantastic. I have a bedroom, living room, kitchen, dining area, two bathrooms (full), and two balconies. I live on the 2nd floor (which is really the 3rd floor but let's not get started on that. I have enough conversations on a daily basis about the differences between America and the world). I have two televisions, two mattresses atop my queen size bed, and my own washing machine. I have milk in my fridge, handsoap by my sink, and I bought two dish rags with the sweetest little apple pattern on them you could just whip out a jar of peanut butter, slap some on, and start chewing. I single handedly managed to hang up a mosquito net around my bed (true, it fell down shortly after, but the fault was not mine. 'Twas the lousy hooks I stuck to the wall, and fine, maybe I did ignore the directions when it said to wait for 24 hours before hanging things on them, but they should know no one is going to do that. Patience, thy name is not Caolan). I'm slowly adding my own small touches to the apartment. For example, I plugged in two mosquito killing devices that are supposed to kill mosquitoes. The picture on the packaging is this really heinous dead mosquito lying on it's back with a big X over it. I figured any product that claimed to hate mosquitoes that vehemently was exactly the product for me. I spent a couple thou on them so they better work. Everyone knows that any device that claims to kill mosquitoes is clearly not a scam. I also stocked up on Raid and Orange Cleaner, both of which I keep under my sink. The Orange Cleaner is obviously for show. As is the washer machine. And the dish soap. And my stove top cooker. And the garbage can. Who actually uses these items? Oh, you do? Teach me. 

My apartment wasn't always like this though. I used to live one floor up in a small hotel-room-like apartment. I'm being kind. I lived in a closet. Let's not mince words. My entraceway was my kitchen. My living room, my bedroom. My bathroom, well that was still amazing. My balcony, suh-weet. But besides my "near ocean" view and my own private bath (which is my dream since I was 10 finally realized), the apartment left much to be desired. I knew that I wasn't going to stay there for long so I didn't even unpack. I sort of let my clothes flow out of the suitcases and left them where they lay. Anyone who has seen my room in the past 23 years should have a pretty good visual. I asked my landlady if there were any bigger apartments opening up and she didn't quite understand. So then I began my usual song and dance of using a combination of charades and bad grammar to explain myself to a Vietnamese person. "Small room no good. You have big room now?" Blank stare. I'll try this again. "I pay 4 million. I can pay 6 million?" Nothing. Last attempt. "My room bad. I want bigger."  There we go! Sweet Jesus she understood! She nodded and informed me that there would be a bigger single opening up at the end of the week. That was fine. I'd wait it out.

[a few days later...still living in the small apt.]

I came home after work and saw my usually smiling landlady named Ni (spelling most definitely not correct) looking forlorn and morose. I couldn't help but be concerned. While we do have our fair share of communication issues, our relationship is like a marble pillar supporting a house of wood; out of place but completely beautiful. I immediately asked her what was wrong, and she told me as best she could that there were not going to be any bigger apartments opening up for at least another month. Oi. Another month in the chest of drawers? It would be cluttered but doable. But wait! Ni's demeanor quickly changed from "I just ran over my dog" to "just you wait little American, all is not lost, I have the best solution EVER!" And then she said something that went like this, "No big apartment. We take down wall tomorrow. My mother take down wall. Tomorrow morning. Yes. I tell me mother. She take down wall." I'm just going to throw in this small sidenote. The apartment building I live has JUST been renovated. And when I say JUST been renovated, I mean I moved in while there was still dust on the floors. So in effect, Ni is telling me that they are going to take down the wall separating two small apartments to create one big apartment for me. The concrete is not yet dry and they are going to take it down. Obviously I protested, but I have found that disagreeing with the Vietnamese gets you no where slowly, which is even more futile and painful than no where fast. So I agreed. I agreed with this insane idea to tear down a wall dividing two apartments in order to create my dream apartment. And that's exactly what happened. They took down the wall that was put up mere days before. Correction: Ni's mother took down the wall. Ni is at least 25. Her mother is at least 50. So there she is, wielding her sledgehammer, tearing down the wall that she probably put up herself last Friday with her own sweat and tears, oh and blood of course. 

Did I feel guilty about this? A little. Then I got over it when I saw the sweetness that was born out of the demolition. Then I got completely over it when Ni decided to stick me with an extra 5ook a month in rent. Sneaky little...