This Is Viet Nam
A quiet collection of ordinary moments that somehow stayed with me
From midday haircuts to motorbikes carrying dogs, lovers, or entire families — this series captures the offbeat, heartfelt, and fleeting moments that quietly define life in Vietnam.
Drawn from lived experiences and everyday observations, these illustrations celebrate the humor, chaos, intimacy, and cultural rhythm of a country always in motion.
Drawn from lived experiences and everyday observations, these illustrations celebrate the humor, chaos, intimacy, and cultural rhythm of a country always in motion.
A personal project
Medium: Digital illustration using Photoshop
Medium: Digital illustration using Photoshop
67
Inspired by the Honda 67 — a quiet icon of postwar Saigon
I’ve never ridden a Honda 67.
But somehow, I’ve always known its sound — like a soft rattle in the alley, or a stubborn heartbeat that never left the city.
People say it carried Saigon through the years right after the war — when the country was rebuilding, when the streets were quieter, and every ride felt like a small statement of freedom.
This one’s for that bike. For the men who wore wide pants and pomade. For the friends it carried and the stories it never told out loud.
But somehow, I’ve always known its sound — like a soft rattle in the alley, or a stubborn heartbeat that never left the city.
People say it carried Saigon through the years right after the war — when the country was rebuilding, when the streets were quieter, and every ride felt like a small statement of freedom.
This one’s for that bike. For the men who wore wide pants and pomade. For the friends it carried and the stories it never told out loud.
Saigon Nails
A quiet moment from my mother’s Sundays
My mom used to get her toenails done at a small salon down the street, usually on Sundays.
It wasn’t anything fancy — just a plastic stool, a bucket of water, and a quiet woman who always worked barefoot. But I remember how my mom would walk a little lighter on her way home, hoping my dad would notice.
She never said it out loud, but I could feel it: it wasn’t just about the nails. It was about being seen.
Where do we go?
I saw this dog once — paws steady on the basket, face to the wind like he was heading somewhere important. The man didn’t drive fast. He looked like someone who knew the joy wasn’t in the destination. I stood there wondering: where were they going? Then I thought — maybe it didn’t matter.
When No One’s Around
Sometimes the mirror gives back more than you expect
My job is to make people look good. But on slow days, when no one’s sitting in the chair, I catch my own reflection in the mirror and think — hey, I don’t look too bad either. Maybe it’s the lighting. Or maybe it’s just the quiet finally giving me back a little something.
Just a few moments for now — more will come as I keep looking.