The Unspoken Stares and The Stretching Souls
The night was brief and just right for a fresh start. I woke up at 4 a.m. and laced up for a run around Hoàn Kiếm Lake, eager to breathe in the crisp air of the first morning of the new year. For me, it felt like a clean beginning. But for others, the night hadn’t quite ended.
Some were making their final stop for food before heading home with bleary-eyed, laughing, and swaying as they stumbled toward the street vendors. A small group of drunk friends stood nearby, caught in what looked like a heated disagreement, their voices echoing faintly through the quiet streets.
Vendors were already stirring to life, sweeping sidewalks, boiling broth, and chopping herbs for the coming breakfast crowd. Restaurants and stalls, having barely slept, were brushing off the remnants of the night before, quietly preparing to welcome a new day.
Running, however, wasn’t as smooth as I’d hoped. The streets of Old Quarter Hanoi aren’t exactly made for jogging, uneven pavements, surprise puddles, and the occasional loose tile make it a bit of an obstacle course. I also didn’t see any other runners, which made me feel awkward. The few people out—vendors, restaurant workers, drivers looked at me curiously. Their stares made me feel self-conscious, though it didn’t feel unsafe at all.
As I got closer to the lake, the morning truly dawned. Passing the iconic Shark Jaw building, it felt like the city had never really gone to sleep. Motorbikes and bicycles moved in the usual chaotic rhythm. Left to right, weaving through early traffic, though lighter than usual.
At the park around the lake, it was a different world altogether. The space was alive.
Locals and a few expats were out running, some lapping me multiple times as I made my way around. A group of aunties danced Zumba-style to “YMCA,” while nearby, others engaged in laugh therapy. Uncles sat on benches, people-watching, chatting with friends like it was just another regular Tuesday. It felt joyful, communal, comforting. A ritual of renewal, as if the city itself was stretching awake.
A few early tourists wandered by, watching the local morning rituals with wide eyes. A couple stared at me in a way that made me feel oddly observed like I was out of place. Maybe I was just overthinking it. But sometimes, a stare like that, when heavy with history often sends me down the rabbit hole. And it made me think about how deeply perception shapes experience.
Nonetheless, I completed nearly a full loop around the lake before stopping for a fresh fruit juice. With a light heart and a clearer mind, I made my way back to the hostel for breakfast.
“There was something grounding about watching the city reset, as if it, too, was quietly resolving to begin again.”
“How do you find ease in discomfort? Has history ever shaped the way you see someone? If so, share your story.”