Eternal Frogger.

Ho Chi Minh City is a game of frogger. We used to joke that Manila was like that, a balancing act requiring supernatural traffic perception, but nothing compares to the hordes of identical bikers joined together in a messily synced onslaught on the streets and sidewalks of Vietnam.

Frogger aside, being here makes me feel really sorry for the Philippines. Kuwawa na sila gid. As my father says, we bombed the Vietnamese "back to medieval times" a relatively recent few decades ago, and yet it is indisputably much nicer to be a foreigner, or even a local, here.

**A side note on the above: There is an obvious resentment towards the United States "illegal war of aggression in Vietnam" - as written at the War Remnants Museum. As we toured the Cu Chi tunnels yesterday, it was at times a little icky to be the only Americans on the bus. The guide gleefully talked-up the peasants bravery and showcased re-created torture devices hidden within the tunnels. The sentiment was very obviously "America had everything, we had nothing, but we kicked their butts." Not entirely untrue, but the wording is obviously much stronger than what exists in our history books. At the Remnants museum, in particular, were scattered phrases along the lines of "here are pictures of pain and loss in Hanoi during the North Destructive War caused by U.S. troops." As I walked around, the museum echoed with American accents - not something I found in the rest of the city. The pictures were horrifying, but the locales I've spoken with don't seem to mind my nationality at all. In fact, dollars are as welcome as dong as a payment method, and most prices are quoted in dollars first.

In Vietnam, international foods abound, streets are clean, transportation is easy, tourism runs smoothly... The soups are delicious and varied, as is the local cuisine in general. The Philippines was along the spice route, but somehow never decided to use the spices. Beth and I visited the Reunification palace yesterday and bumped into a young British couple who had recently moved here for work. "What do you think of Vietnam compared to the Philippines," they asked. Our response was a chorus of happy, simlutaneous chirps, so much so that they literally stepped away from us; physically repelled and probably determined to never go to Manila.

We bought a one-way ticket from Ho Chi Minh to Hoi An for less than $40 each only one day in advance and in under twenty minutes from one of many tourist-friendly guides down the street from our hostel; a hostel which cost $5 per night for an air-conditioned room. Being here makes me want to re-visit economics and re-think socialism.

Nevertheless, I cried like crazy my last day in the Philippines. It finally hit me as we left pension, our Manila home for the past two years, that I was no longer a Piskor. A whole era in my life had officially come to an end. In twenty-seven months I had spent only one month away from the Philippines; this means I spent twenty-six months adjusting to life there. What I achieved in that time was a comfort that I'm not sure is going to come so easily anywhere else... including in America, where I will be jobless and broke and, at twenty-five, totally dependent on my merciful parents.

In the last three years, I have spent three months in the United States. The rest of the time I have been in Asia. I'm not sure what the point of it all was. I think it's going to take me a couple of years to think it all through.

I was talking to my father last night, who was happy to think of me "bopping around" Vietnam, though he spent the majority of his life "staying out of there!" Feeling sorry for my homesickness of the Philippines, he decided to google Tagalog words (he still hasn't quite figured out that I speak Ilonggo) to cheer me up.

"Kamustika?" he typed. How are you.

If you were my friend, I could ask you "Kamusta na?" he continued.

"Dad, you know of course what that is deriven from..." I asked. He didn't.

"Como estas. It's bastardized Spanish."

Suddenly we were both feeling very sorry for the Philippines.