A few weeks ago, the license plate to my bike was hanging on by a thread. And by a thread, I mean a small collection of rubber bands wrapped around in all directions. It wasn’t pretty, but it worked. Before constructing my design, I drove around the city with my license plate hanging around at a 45 degree angle. Somebody else would speed up next to me in traffic and point to my license plate. I would pull over and adjust it. This went on for a while until I finally put to use the rubber bands I had saved on my desk from daily com tam runs around the corner. “See! I was going to use them!” I told myself in triumph.
Then, one day, as I was getting ready to go to work, I went downstairs to get my bike and I noticed all of my rubber bands had disappeared. Someone had fixed my license plate for me while I left my bike unattended in my building’s parking garage. I checked behind the plate. Sure enough, someone screwed it back in for me. They took my rubber bands and replaced it with a screw. For a moment there in the parking garage, I was in shock. Someone fixed my bike for me. I don’t know who they were and I probably won’t ever but on my way to work that evening, I thought that was one of the kindest things ever.
Things like that give me hope. There are a lot of messed up things happening in the world any and every day of the week. But there are also a lot of amazing things happening in the world any and every day of the week. In fact, there are people out there heard but not seen, moving in the shadows, fixing door hinges, replacing light bulbs, screwing in license plates, without going noticed, without even the slightest expectation of being noticed. It’s an amazing thing even if you don’t see it happening right in front of you. Moments like that remind you that even if you don’t see it, there are people out there performing small miracles each day. Miracles like fixing a license plate.
Living in Saigon is like living in a big city packed into a small neighborhood. For as wild as Saigon is, it’s actually pretty safe. People are kind. People are helpful. People are open and easy to get along with. Locals and foreigners alike. If you smile, others smile back. If you get lost, others help you find your way. If your license plate is being held together by a collection of rubber bands piling up on your desk from daily com tam runs around the corner, somebody will screw it back in for you without going noticed, without even the slightest expectation of being noticed. If you run out of gas, a random person will pull over and help push your bike through traffic with one leg on their bike and the other leg extended out pushing yours along all the way to the gas stop. They may even give you some cash since you’re out of cash. It’s raining outside, you had a long day, and you just want to go home. Yeah, that also happened to me. People can be crazy cruel sometimes. People can also be crazy kind sometimes, too. We all have the capacity to find ourselves on either end of the spectrum. This is important to remember.
Nevertheless, Saigon is like any other major city in that you can get anything you want here — oftentimes delivered to your doorstep off the back of a motorbike. It’s lovely. Truly lovely. It gives off the big city, small neighborhood vibe. Perhaps any major city can feel like that the longer you’ve lived there. Regardless, as normal or as lovely as that fact may be, when I stop and think about it there’s an even lovelier, even more normal fact beneath the surface: the people you see around the city helping out others are only the people you see. In fact, Saigon, like any other major city, is filled with people who are practically invisible. People who are barely heard let alone seen. People moving around in the shadows. People holding everything together. People who see a license plate held together by the tension of a dozen rubber bands, and seeing an opportunity to relieve some of that unnecessary tension, replace it with something sturdier like a single screw.
Living in a major city filled to the brim with millions of people and millions of motorbikes can be overwhelming at times especially if you just moved here or even if you lived here for years. Saigon, like any city, can weigh on you. It’s hot. It’s rainy. Many times it’s hot and rainy. It’s crowded. The traffic is insane. So’s the pollution. But rest assured there is an entire invisible city within Saigon that keeps the visible city running. It’s not maps and districts that keeps this place organized. It’s not steel and concrete that keeps this place upright. And it’s not systems and signage that keeps this place humming. It’s the people. People unseen, unheard, and moving in the shadows.
Saigon’s invisible city isn’t fictional though. The people and the stories, even those hidden in plain sight, are very real. It’s the person replacing rubber bands with a screw. The one helping push your bike through the rain. The countless you’ll never meet performing miracles every day. It’s how a big city like Saigon can feel like a small neighborhood. It’s how the kindness you never see holds more than a license plate together.
