“Same same, but different.”
— Crazy Rich Asians (2018)
New place.
Different culture.
My first impressions of Vũng Tàu come in quietly:
A beachside town.
Open-air restaurants.
Farm fields just beyond the road.
Tropical trees bending in the wind, sand floating through the air like it forgot where it was supposed to land.
I walk along the beach and a thought surprises me:
Nicaragua.
Not the language. Not the culture.
The feeling.
People buzzing around.
Hustling.
Selling.
Living.
Street vendors calling out.
Families lingering.
Life moving forward in familiar rhythms.
The world is smaller than we think.
Or maybe it’s always been the same size.
I watch children playing in the sand —same.
A clown twisting balloon animals —same.
Adults kicking a soccer ball back and forth —same.
Joggers pacing the shoreline —same.
Different words.
Different gestures.
Same impulses.
Travel keeps reminding me that culture changes the surface, but not the core. Humans are humans everywhere. We want safety. We want joy. We want to be seen. And we all deserve respect and dignity, no matter the language we speak or the customs we inherit.
Standing there, watching the beach breathe in and out, I realize the comfort isn’t familiarity it’s recognition.
Different place.
Same world.