One of the most striking differences we’d noticed as a mixed-race couple in Sài Gòn compared to Hà Nội was the daily lack of stares and pointing. We weren’t so odd after all. We were almost normal. People ignored us. I recalled how we’d previously dealt with the situation in Hà Nội. “She’s beautiful,” said one of a group of young men in a watch shop talking about Sophie. “Yeah, she’s Korean,” said another. “She can’t be Vietnamese,” said the third. This is the thing when you’re a foreigner—or not really a foreigner, but a Việt Kiều, and you understand the lingo, but people think you don’t. The
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