Saigon, May 28th, 2026

It has been almost twenty years since I left that city behind.

…I arrived in Sydney at 16, on a summer day in December.

Strange, isn’t it?

First Arrival

A New Beginning

I had always imagined Australia as a place of cold winters and grey skies.

But Sydney that day was filled with sunlight.

And I still did not know how to call this place “home.”

I, 14, only me, but not crying.

Sydney, 200, unfamiliar, yet strangely kind.

Sydney never tries to make people fall in love with her immediately.

Maybe that is because the city has always been gentle in its own quiet way.

Sydney was clean air and empty sadness.

Sydney was old stone and fading time.

And somehow, we all loved Sydney like that.

Not futuristic.

Not dazzling.

But dignified and compassionate.

Landmarks and Memory

The City in Symbols

Dignified like Harbour Bridge — the steel giant that had stood silently for decades, watching over Sydney Harbour like an old gatekeeper.

Compassionate like the Opera House — its great white sails facing the ocean, as if guiding generations of immigrants toward a promised land, toward dreams.

Like the first quiet sign that whispered to strangers from far away:

“Welcome to Sydney”

Quiet like Bondi Beach — where the sea remained endlessly blue, watching people arrive, leave, and someday return again.

Graceful like Darling Harbour — a dreamy muse of the city, glowing softly whenever the water began reflecting the evening lights.

Timeless like the QVB — where stained-glass windows and old clocks somehow made time move a little slower in Sydney.

Worn and weary like Central Station — the city’s old beating heart, crowded from the first trains at dawn until the final rides home at night.

What Stayed With Me

Small Things That Last

But strangely enough, the things that stayed with me the longest were never those famous places.

They were the sounds of trains at 7AM in Town Hall.

The faint smell of coffee drifting from a hidden café somewhere in Surry Hills.

The pale winter sunlight falling across the windows of a train passing through the Inner West.

Sydney was never the kind of city that tried too hard to impress people.

It was not as dense as Tokyo.

Not as fast as New York.

And never as artistic as Melbourne.

Sydney felt more like a quiet person.

You had to live there long enough before understanding why people missed it so much.

Quiet Corners

Space to Breathe

I passed through Circular Quay almost every day.

That station opened directly toward the harbour, where white ferries quietly drifted away beneath the golden Sydney sun.

Some afternoons, I would simply sit by the pier and watch the reflections of city lights tremble across the water as evening slowly arrived.

Tourists were always everywhere.

Cameras.

Laughter.

Footsteps rushing by.

Yet somehow, Sydney always kept a quiet corner for itself.

That was what I remembered the most.

Not the glamour.

But the feeling that this city always leaves you enough space to breathe.

The Rhythm of the City

Trains and Everyday Life

The trains in Sydney were never fast.

Never smooth.

Honestly, they were loud, old, and sometimes exhausting.

But they belonged to everyone.

You could survive in Sydney without owning a car.

But you could never survive without a train ticket.

Beauty in Passing

The Softest Memories

Sydney was always the most beautiful in moments when nobody was trying to look at it.

Not while standing in front of the Opera House.

But in sight of a girl asleep on the ferry to Manly.

In the late sunlight falling across a wooden café table in Newtown.

Or in the cold wind brushing past your collar while walking home after work.

On Friday and Saturday nights, young people flooded into the city centre, only to quietly disappear again on the last trains home.

I think those were the things people remembered most after leaving Sydney.

Not because the city was extraordinary.

But because it had quietly become part of everyday life — theirs, and mine.

A city that could make you feel lonely sometimes…

but only in the gentlest way.

Sydney was never loud in my memory.

Sydney was sad, perhaps —

but only with the sadness carried by those who once lived far away from home.

Sydney of December 2006– July 2009.

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