It’s been over a month since the suitcases have been cleaned and stacked up in the loft; the holiday gear, jackets, and snorkels have been washed, dried, and put away. The gifts have been distributed, and the souvenirs and shopping have been tucked away. There is no physical trace of my vacation to Vietnam except the silk lanterns hanging in the garden or the bamboo root masks occupying the wall. But what remains after everything has returned to its grind is the cackle of laughter, the rattle of tiffs, the cacophony of tantrums, and the cumulative sense of joy from the trip.

However, because my camera fails me, it is in words that I preserve these precious memories. Memories that hug me with gentle contentment. As I recount these memories, I promise you that you’ll feel them vicariously in your body because I am writing from my senses and not from my intellect. Dear reader, if you have indulged me by reading thus far, I am obliged not to bore you with the drabness of my itinerary or the list of things to do.