Mixtape Hanoi #5: “Modern” Dormitory

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Ignoring the walking street, Hoan Kiem Lake or the old quarter where one in five people carry a camera, we decided to visit a small old apartment building nestled on Nguyen Cong Hoan Street.

A scene that couldn’t be more familiar appeared before our eyes: yellow walls stained with moss, with paint discolored by years of haste; standing in the yard looking up were triangular patches of sky cut across and across by a series of clotheslines.

Straight ahead was a low, small staircase with a tiny motorbike ramp in the middle, next to it were hastily painted doors, with a rough notice board hanging above them, worn in many places by too many chalk strokes.

All of that evoked a feeling of regret, mostly because of the fear that the apartment complex would gradually disappear and be replaced by shiny modern buildings. Like many others, the apartment complex appeared in our minds as old and ancient.

One auntie had a long pole in one hand, and a shirt in the other that smelled faintly of fabric softener that had entered the lens. Suddenly, she looked up, probably noticing the camera.

Contrary to what we thought, she smiled gently. That reaction surprised us a bit, and after asking her about it, we found out that she was a retired middle school teacher who had lived here for over 30 years. Back then, having a house in Hanoi was a great honor, only civil servants could be granted one, and the family of four only had a space of 50 square meters, but they were still happy. Auntie Thu pointed down to the yard, where two aunties were playing badminton:

Her story was suddenly interrupted by a shrill voice: “Ms. Thu, are you hanging clothes?” I looked over and saw a bright red head approaching, its owner was a girl about our age: Tinh, who lived in the house next door.

So the small group in the hallway had another member, and endless stories kept pouring out. Holding a gray cat in her hand, Tinh said: living in the apartment complex was also a blessing, because this was not her first choice.

There were many inconveniences in living here, such as having to bring the bike up to the front door because no one was watching it in the yard. Tinh vividly recounted the gestures of the neighborhood leader, making us laugh:

Furthermore, the majority of the households here have been living for decades, so at first, Tinh’s group did not have a very good impression. On top of that, you have dyed red and blue hair in an area full of elderly people. But in fact, everyone is very nice, and if you are polite, everyone will like you. Tinh concluded:

We curiously asked her, between a modern apartment with full amenities and a collective housing area, which would you choose? Contrary to everyone’s guess, she answered without hesitation that she would still choose to stay here, regardless of all the deterioration and inconvenience, and because she preferred taking the stairs to the elevator.

Besides, how could there be a place like this, a place where every afternoon the slanting sunlight dyes a corner of the wall a golden color, a place where the young and old live together in a square common yard, they nod to each other in the hallway or chat a few random sentences over a cup of strong tea every leisurely weekend morning.

If you look closely, the apartment complex is not just like a film full of scratches of time but there is much more to it, new winds still find their way into a very ancient space: new people, dynamic and full of life, new lifestyle and culture, more modern but still intact the beauty of Hanoi. In the peaceful afternoon sunlight of Hanoi autumn, we suddenly realized that

That glue can be the clothes fluttering in the wind on the clothesline, the gentle chirping of birds pouring into the ears, the love between people, they face each other more truly and sincerely, unlike modern houses with doors locked all day. It is also cramped, also contradictory, but above all it is still the feeling of “when the lights go out, there is each other” that modern life does not easily have.

And we feel more peaceful knowing that, like a giant tree that has stood firm through the years and the rapid changes in the city, the collective housing area will never disappear and wither, as long as that tree is nourished with gentle kindness, as long as the green leaves on the branches still sway and tremble in the fresh, cool breeze.

Where two heads with two different hair colors, one salt and pepper and one red, huddle together, chatting animatedly on the sunny porch with a cat curled up and sleeping soundly beside them…