From Buenos Aires to Singapore: A Heartfelt Homecoming and the Perfect Comforting Flaxseed Porridge Recipe

Tonight marks the beginning of an eagerly anticipated journey. As I meticulously zip up my luggage, the thought of heading to Ministro Pistarini International Airport, checking in, and boarding my flight home fills me with a joy so profound, it’s akin to being a child on Christmas morning, ready to unveil presents beneath the shimmering tree. This overwhelming excitement isn’t just for one reason, but for a confluence of deeply personal and heartwarming factors.

The Irresistible Call of Travel and the Warmth of Home

The Thrill of Taking Flight

Firstly, my enduring love for flying and the boundless possibilities that travel offers is a major source of this exhilaration. There’s an undeniable magic in the sensation of an airplane taking off, that breathtaking moment when the wheels gracefully detach from the runway, lifting us into the vast expanse of the sky. That familiar flutter in my stomach as the plane ascends has become almost synonymous with happiness, a prelude to new adventures and cherished reunions. I am incredibly fortunate to be able to globetrot, to witness different cultures and landscapes, and even more so when the destination is the one place I truly call home.

Two Years is Too Long

Secondly, and perhaps most significantly, two years is an incredibly long time to be away from the comfort and familiarity of home. My last visit to Singapore was in February 2013, a memory that now feels like a distant echo from another lifetime. While those two years in Buenos Aires have, in some ways, flown by in a flash, the past few months have been marked by a poignant wistfulness, a deep yearning to return to the bustling streets, vibrant flavors, and loving embrace of my family and friends. The longing has been a constant hum beneath the surface of my daily life, growing louder with each passing day.

Reconnecting with Singapore: A Detailed Itinerary of Joy

This weekend, that yearning will finally be satisfied. I’ll be back in Singapore, immersing myself in all the small, precious things I’ve dearly missed. My mental itinerary is already overflowing with anticipated joys:

• Familiar Comforts: Sleeping in my third-story bedroom, where the balcony opens up to a mesmerizing starry night sky, a stark contrast to the city lights I’ve grown accustomed to in Buenos Aires.
• Family Breakfasts: Sharing heartwarming breakfasts with my parents in our newly-refurbished patio, catching up on countless stories and making new memories.
• Playtime with Little Ones: Playing with my baby cousins who, after two years, might not recognize me immediately, but whose innocent laughter will undoubtedly fill my heart.
• Coastal Adventures: Cycling with my best friend along the picturesque East Coast Park, feeling the invigorating salty sea breeze against my face, a cherished tradition we’ve maintained for years.
• Culinary Delights: Indulging in generous portions of authentic local Singaporean fare – from the aromatic chicken rice and spicy laksa to the flavorful char kway teow and sizzling satay. My taste buds are already tingling with anticipation for the unique blend of spices and fresh ingredients that only Singapore can offer.
• Precious Moments with Grandparents: Spending quality time with my grandparents, listening to their wisdom, and simply enjoying their loving presence.
• Rekindling Friendships: Catching up with the few dear friends who have made a consistent effort to keep in touch despite the vast geographical distance, proving that true friendships can withstand any separation.

I genuinely cannot wait for these moments. They are the fabric of my home, the essence of what I’ve missed, and the reason this homecoming feels like the greatest gift.

Read more

Discovering Ho Chi Minh City: A Journey Through Vietnam’s Vibrant Heart and Complex History

I crane my neck, shielding my eyes from the piercing, hot Vietnamese sunshine. Against the vast expanse of the brilliant blue summer sky, I discern a striking tableau: a solitary yellow star set upon a field of vibrant red, flapping with an almost rhythmic grace in the gentle breeze. This powerful symbol, the flag of Vietnam, unfurls proudly, an immediate and potent introduction to a nation that is both deeply captivating and, at times, profoundly challenging to comprehend.

We find ourselves in Vietnam, the captivating S-shaped country that stretches vertically across the map of Southeast Asia. It is a socialist republic whose recent past is indelibly marked by decades of arduous power struggles, a nation that has grappled with significant poverty at various junctures over the last half-century. Yet, it endures as a land brimming with an undeniable spirit and a rich tapestry of resilience, making it an experience that resonates long after you leave.

More specifically, our destination is Ho Chi Minh City, a bustling metropolis still affectionately known by many as Saigon. This former name harks back to the period before the reunification of the country’s North and South in the mid-1970s, a historical pivot that reshaped the nation’s identity and its future trajectory.

Before this trip, my knowledge of Vietnam was largely confined to a few prominent facts: its immense output of rice from vast paddy fields and its renown for producing exceptionally thick, strong, and aromatic coffee. However, my five-day journey through this dynamic city in South Vietnam with my parents quickly evolved into a condensed, immersive lesson. I found myself compelled to delve deeper, attempting to grasp the intricate layers of this country, its remarkable people, and its profound history, all within a remarkably short span of time.

Our arrival in late April placed us squarely in the midst of Vietnam’s dry season, a period that typically stretches from January through September. The moment we stepped off the plane, the air hit us like a physical force—thick, heavy, and relentlessly hot. Temperatures soared, rainfall was a distant memory, and an almost tangible humidity enveloped us, clinging to the skin like a warm, wet blanket. This wasn’t just ‘warm’ weather; it was an enveloping intensity that urged constant perspiration.

If asked what impressions linger most vividly from our time in Ho Chi Minh City, I would unequivocally speak of the intense, pervasive heat. It beat down on our backs and struck our faces anywhere that shade did not cover, a relentless presence that made us yearn for cool respite. And I would describe the feeling of constant perspiration, a humid film that adhered to the skin, providing no true relief until we finally retreated into the blessed sanctuary of an air-conditioned room. It was hot, humid, and then hot again, a cycle that made us truly appreciate the ingenious adaptations of the local populace. Only then did the practicality and widespread use of the conical “nón lá” hats truly make sense, serving not just as traditional headwear but as essential personal shields against the sun’s scorching intensity.

Yet, despite this almost unbearable heat, a striking observation was how most locals remained clad in long-sleeved tops and long pants. Many even wore face masks, a practical form of protection against the harsh UV rays and the urban smog that often hangs over the bustling city. It was a testament to their resilience and their understanding of their environment, prioritizing protection over perceived comfort.

Walking through the vibrant, narrow streets of Ho Chi Minh City, I was utterly mesmerized by the seemingly endless streams of motorcycles and scooters. They flowed like a relentless river, bombarding us from every conceivable direction, creating a symphony of horns and engines that became the city’s constant soundtrack. Navigating this vehicular ballet quickly became an acquired skill, a vital part of the urban experience.

The cardinal rule for crossing the street became clear: look everywhere, always. And then, cross neither too quickly nor too slowly. You needed to maintain a steady, predictable pace, allowing the chaotic flow of traffic to intuitively navigate around you. This gave you enough time to react if a motorbike or scooter suddenly swerved, but also allowed riders sufficient time to spot you and find their path without disruption. Within just two days, my parents and I began to grasp the intricate dance of crossing Saigon’s jam-packed roads. Still, at every intersection, we instinctively held onto each other, finding strength and reassurance in numbers against the swirling tide of two-wheeled vehicles.

Echoes of the Past: The Cu Chi Tunnels and Unforgettable Encounters

Our journey took us to the historic Cu Chi tunnels, a vital network used by Việt Cộng soldiers during the Vietnam War. On the bus ride there, our tour guide, affectionately nicknamed Frank the Tank, regaled us with a series of deadpan jokes, delivered with a perfectly straight poker face. His subsequent description of the Vietnam War—or, as he framed it, “the American War”—offered a poignant glimpse into the local Vietnamese perspective. It painted a picture of a nation still grappling with the profound, lingering effects of the conflict, suggesting that some sentiments towards North Americans remained complex and, at times, less than amiable.

We ventured into just 40 meters of the extensive tunnel system that played a pivotal role in the guerrilla warfare waged by the North Vietnamese forces against the Americans. As the oppressive afternoon heat combined with the physical exertion of trekking through the cramped, narrow passages, I found myself longing intensely for an ice-cold glass of water and the immediate comfort of an air-conditioned room. In that moment, I recognized myself as a product of the first world, a creature accustomed to modern comforts, utterly unprepared to withstand the impoverished and grueling conditions of war. A wave of profound gratitude washed over me for never having to endure such a conflict. Deep down, I questioned whether I possessed the resilience to survive an experience as traumatic as that. I quickly dismissed the thought; I doubted my own capacity to do so.

On our return journey, we visited a unique lacquerware factory. This establishment, run by the military, proudly employed veterans of the Vietnam War who had been maimed during the conflict. We were guided meticulously through the entire lacquerware-making process, from the initial raw materials to the exquisite finished products. Witnessing the arduous, backbreaking work performed by these dedicated employees, who, I overheard, were afforded only a meager 15-minute lunch break each day before returning to their relentless grind, stirred a deep ache in my heart. My emotions were raw for these individuals, whose struggles I could only begin to imagine.

Read more