At this very moment, you’re in the city, where traffic bustles all around. You wander through the book street, a little lost, stopping now and then to chat aimlessly with a young university student who, just seconds earlier, was staring out the window, perhaps counting raindrops or lost in thoughts that weighed on her heart. It’s autumn in Saigon, though you can’t tell where summer ends or winter begins. All you feel is a mess of emotions, a flood of memories, longing, and affection threading through every bone, aching like winter cold.
To you, she was all four seasons. But you liked to call her Pandora, yours alone. She was Saigon’s rainy and sunny days, tender green, the scent of lotus. She could be Saigon’s fall, Hue’s winter, Dalat’s pine forest, or a foreign ocean shore, you never tried to pinpoint her. All you needed to know was that somewhere, you lived in her heart, and she always reigned in the left chamber of yours. She was a realm of your thoughts, a blooming golden lily, a small alley, and Saigon in autumn.
You closed your eyes, and you were somewhere inside a fairytale garden. Dewdrops sparkled purple and crimson on the grass, reflecting the sunlight filtering through the sky. You wandered around the garden, the sunflowers drooped while the last asters stretched upward, clinging to bloom.
“You’re late,” her voice was soft and warm, like a breath of autumn, like a leaf fluttering gently. Music drifted through the chill air. She was right there, beside you, yet loneliness still lingered in the wide-open space.
She whispered something about music you didn’t fully grasp, but you listened anyway, drawn to the fragrance in her gentle voice. She spoke of rock and pop tinged with wistful chimes, of bittersweet ballads strummed by a distant guitar, of unrequited love, of death beneath decaying trees, and of mournful melodies. The leaves turned golden, and the morning air was brisk and clear. You watched her, so vibrant in a pastoral scene full of allure. Through her voice, music became innocent and luminous. Somewhere, a violin solo began to rise, just a bit more skilful, a bit more joyful and the crisp late-autumn air pulled you deeper into her presence. Her voice, its softness and seduction, merged with the crackle of leaves underfoot. At times, her eyes lit up with a radiant smile.
She wore pale brown boots, a grey knit sweater, a delicate scarf, and a silky A-line skirt. Around her fair wrist, a glittering bracelet fastened with Pandora’s iconic clasp and sparkling stones. In a tender moment, she removed it, handing you a single silver Pandora Moments charm, an emerald star. They said nothing more. Just listened to music playing softly from her tiny phone. You were overwhelmed by a serene intimacy, a sweet romance. The sound was like a soul-deep embrace, one you never wanted to end. You felt a deep, almost aching familiarity, as if nothing in life could surpass this. Listening to heartfelt music, sitting beside a graceful, intelligent woman, you knew then that this was the one you wanted to spend your life with.
When the song ended, all you wanted was to tell her how much you wanted her, needed her, loved her. You wanted to open your arms, pull her close, and place a warm, earnest, and pure kiss on her lips, a kiss of that perfect morning, of youth. Some melodies seem powerful enough to change everything. And yet, you couldn’t move. You just stood there, frozen, until her footsteps faded and only the light rustle of falling leaves remained in the air.
Back in the city, you couldn’t forgive your own hesitation. A block of ice had formed in the middle of that floating autumn. The discomfort lingered for weeks, then months. Every time you woke up, every afternoon after work, every night before sleep, she was there. Her image filled Saigon’s streets, radiant, clear, confident. Autumn passed. Winter came. Seasons changed. Encounters came and went, but your fear never left. You feared shattering the fragile autumn clouds, feared a gust of wind blowing in the wrong direction, feared her scarf wrinkling when the music hit its climax.
You saw her again and again, in that garden, on crowded streets. Each time, you wanted to say something, but the words collapsed inside, your limbs trembled like you had a fever. Each afternoon after work, you wandered aimlessly, mind blank, staring at your coffee cup and a bare wall, ignoring every phone call, never logging into Facebook.
Until one day at the end of August, what strange force gave you the courage to finally hold a girl’s hand, to kiss her cheek softly, scented with purple flowers? That girl, with fair wrists, a gleaming silver bracelet, high heels, and a floral dress. And at that moment, a familiar tune echoed, a gentle fragrance lingered. You were overwhelmed; your heart throbbed as if struck by a sudden storm.
She stood there, watching you and the girl, or maybe lost in Vivaldi’s Four Seasons. The horizon opened before you in shades, but what lingered deepest was the brown of fallen leaves and the gray of her knitted sweater. The scene was pristine, canopied in green, sky scattered with clouds. It deepened your view of things. And now, every time you return to the city, you ask yourself: Who am I in this life? Why does the Pandora charm in your left coat pocket still glow with warmth? And when will you ever forget her, especially when autumn returns to Saigon?
Võ Thị Như Mai is a Vietnamese-Australian poet, translator, and cultural contributor currently living in Western Australia. Her writing explores themes of memory, identity, diaspora, and the quiet power of everyday life. With a deep love for both Vietnamese and English literature, she often bridges the two through translation and creative expression. Như Mai’s poems have been featured in various literary platforms, and she actively participates in international poetry and cultural exchange events. Her work is marked by sensitivity, lyrical grace, and a strong connection to her cultural roots. Her work was featured in BRUSHSTROKE WA 2023 and in recognition of her contributions to cultural and literary exchange, she was recently honoured by the Consulate General of Vietnam in Australia for promoting Vietnamese literature and arts abroad
I remember a whisper I heard when I was seven; a uniformed policeman was addressing my aunt, with whom I lived. “Your brother, Mrs. Allen, was killed in an automobile accident last night.” Aunt Livy’s only brother was my dad, Tom Lewis, Jr. I was named after him, which made me Tom Lewis, III.
I heard a sharp intake of breath and then screaming. I remember worrying about how Aunt Livy was taking the news, but then I realized that the heavy breathing and screaming was coming not from my aunt but from me. But nobody else could hear it. They paid me no mind.
“His body was taken directly to the mor- gue, Ma’am,” said the cop. “There was just no hope. I’m sorry.” She said some- thing like, “Yes, that’s probably for the best; I’ll phone the funeral home this afternoon.” What I thought I heard was: “Yes, indeed, Tom should bring around $1.49 per pound at the butcher’s; and I’ll see to it that Mr. Lindsey doesn’t put his thumb on the scale this time!”
I startled, stared disbelievingly at Aunt Livy but her face was the same as always. The conversation between the policeman and my aunt continued for several more minutes with no further surprises. I took a deep breath.
“I’ll get out of your hair now, Mrs. Allen; I know you must have just skads of people to contact.” What my aunt then said was, “That’s correct, Officer: his ex-wife, our parents, his work, there’s just a hundred things to do!”
But, what I thought I heard was: “That’s correct, Officer, I have calls to make, invi- tations to send out, caterers to call, for the huge party we’re giving in celebration of my brother’s passing. You and the misses should come, too.” I didn’t hear his re- sponse but she added, “Don’t bring a thing; we’ll have noise-makers, balloons. I think we’ll even have fireworks.”
As he turned to leave, the policeman swiveled round to me and said, “Take care, Young Man, things are going to be alright.” Then he smiled and left. But, what I thought I heard him say was, “You little shit! If I catch you out after curfew, for any reason, I’ll tear your heart out!” Then he grinned grotesquely and left.
When the cop had gone, Aunt Livy, who had been my guardian all my life, since even before my mom and dad split up, said, “Well, I guess you heard most of that, Tommy. I know it’s not easy to lose a parent–or a brother–but we’ll manage somehow.” She smiled sweetly at me.
But, what I thought I heard her say was, “Now I’m stuck with you, you little parasite!” She drew her finger to her chin, thinking. “But it might not be all bad: I could get his house!” And she smiled sweetly. It was at about that time that I began in earnest my life-long love affair with Lithium and Quaaludes.
Why Are Study Abroad Semesters Valuable for Students?
Meaning of These Programs – What Are They?
A study abroad semester is a life-changing experience – but how exactly?
Costs, Challenges, and Requirements
Nowadays, there are many foreign citizens in my country. Are they just tourists? Not quite. Today we see young people coming from abroad to various parts of our country. The reason is the global student exchange program. This program has a long history and began to develop in the 20th century. It was created to promote cultural and scientific cooperation between countries. A student exchange program allows students to temporarily study at a different university abroad. Through it, students gain knowledge and experience.
Historically, the United States was one of the first countries where such programs became popular, beginning with the Fulbright Program. One of the most well-known is the ERASMUS program – the oldest student exchange program in Europe, launched in 1987. Germany later developed its own version, with the DAAD program starting in 1925. These programs are highly popular among young people.
Experiences of Students:
Many students report positive experiences with exchange programs. Jabboraliev O., who studies at Kuala Lumpur University in Malaysia, said: “I expanded my professional experience through the exchange program. That’s why I’ve worked in many areas of my field.” This shows that exchange programs offer career benefits too.
Dilafruz, a student who studied in Japan, said: “My verbal communication improved significantly.” In particular, her ability to express herself in Japanese grew. This proves students can also benefit linguistically from exchange programs.
Advantages of Student Exchange Programs:
Exchange programs offer many benefits. Students gain new knowledge and boost their academic progress. But that’s not all. Studying abroad helps develop important personal skills, such as:
– Intercultural Competence: Students learn to understand and respect cultural differences by engaging directly with people from diverse backgrounds.
– Independence: Living in a foreign country forces students to organize daily life independently – from housing to daily routines.
– Language Skills: Constant exposure to a foreign language helps students improve their language proficiency.
– Better Career Opportunities: Employers value international experience, which signals flexibility and adaptability.
Challenges:
Of course, there are also difficulties. Many students face the following challenges when moving abroad:
– Financial Issues: Living abroad can be expensive. Students often need scholarships or part-time jobs.
– Different Education Systems: Learning methods may differ from those in the home country, requiring students to adapt.
– Cultural Differences: Adapting to new customs and traditions can be tough in a foreign country.
Conclusion:
In conclusion, student exchange programs are an excellent opportunity for young people to gain international experience, explore other cultures, and improve both academically and professionally. They help students adjust to new environments and foster mutual understanding between cultures.
During the program, students learn how to navigate life in a foreign country, speak new languages, and enhance communication skills. These experiences are valuable in today’s world and can improve future career prospects. Additionally, students form international connections that may benefit them later.
Despite the challenges, such as financial burdens, housing issues, or differences in education systems, these very obstacles help students become more independent and adaptable.
Overall, exchange programs are a key component of global education. They not only help young people expand their knowledge but also support personal growth. International exchange strengthens relationships between countries and universities. Therefore, such programs should continue to be supported so more students can benefit.
Oyatillo Jabboraliev was born in Fergana region. He is a student at Xiamen University in Malaysia.
Konstantinos FaHs has another article published following up on his Synchronized Chaos pieces about ancient Greek myths and their continuing role in modern Hellenic culture. He’d like to share his piece in The Rhythm of Vietnam,which is a Vietnamese magazine with a mission that seems similar to our own.
Also, disabled contributor, lyric essayist, and ALS activist Katrina Byrd suffered hurricane damage to her home and seeks support to rebuild and make ends meet while she’s getting ready to move. Whatever folks can contribute will make a real difference.
Now, for our new issue: Chaos Does Not Exclude Love. The reverse of a phrase from a review of Elwin Cotman’s urban fantasy collection discussing how Cotman’s work was from a loving place yet made room for the complexity of the world. At Synchronized Chaos, we are intimately acquainted with the world’s nuance and chaos, yet we see and find room for empathy and connection.
Neven Duzevic reflects on travel memories and reconnecting with an old friend. Dr. Perwaiz Shaharyar speaks to the awesome and transformative power of romantic love. Dr. Prasanna Kumar Dalai reflects upon the intensity of romantic feelings. Duane Vorhees speaks to loneliness and heartbreak and sensuality and various forms of human-ness. Kristy Raines speaks to the beauty of love and the tragedy of heartbreak.
Harper Chan reflects on his bravado and the reality of his feelings in the past year. Mickey Corrigan’s poetry shows how psychological and cultural shifts and traumas can manifest in our bodies. Abigail George speaks to how support from friends and family and a commitment to live in the present rather than reliving old traumas can help those addicted to drugs. Alan Catlin mixes cultural memories and touchstones with personal and societal losses.
Vo Thi Nhu Mai offers up a poetic tribute to the international vision of fellow poet Eva Petropolou Lianou. Greek poet Eva Petropoulou Lianou interviews Bangladeshi poet S. Afrose on how she hopes poetry and joint exploration through literary sci-fi will obliterate the need for war. Dr. Jernail Singh laments that morality and compassion have become passe to a generation obsessed with modernity and personal success. Priyanka Neogi speaks to the beauty of carrying oneself with noble character. Maria Koulovou Roumelioti urges us to remember the world’s children and create love and peace as Anwar Rahim reminds us to live with kindness and courage.
Mykyta Ryzhykh speculates on whether love can continue to exist amidst war. Haroon Rashid pays tribute to Indian political leader Dr. A.P.J. Abdul Kalam, who loved peace but led through strength. Christine Poythress reflects on how easy it is for a once-proud and free nation to slide into fascism simply by admiring the fascist aesthetic and its seductive power. Ahmed Miqdad renders a global tragedy in simple terms: he’s too scared to go back to his home in Gaza to water his cactus plant.
Lili Lang probes the meaning behind things that seem simple: the work of a hairdresser, a family packing up the belongings of a recently deceased grandmother.
Mahmudova Sohibaxon offers up a tribute to dependable and caring fathers. J.J. Campbell writes of the visceral love and physical work of aging and caregiving, of inhabiting an elderly and a middle-aged body. Taylor Dibbert’s poetic speaker embraces age with joy, thrilled to still be alive. Bill Tope crafts an expansive and welcoming vision of perfection that can welcome more types of people and bodies as Ambrose George urges the world to maintain an open mind towards gender roles and identities.
Leslie Lisbona pays tribute to her deceased mother by writing a letter catching her up on family news. Stephen Jarrell Williams considers endings and beginnings and the possibility of renewal. Asma’u Sulaiman speaks to being lost and then found in life. Cheng Yong’s poetry addresses ways we hide from each other and ourselves, physically and psychologically. Mahbub Alam wishes for a romantic connection that can extend and endure beyond Earth. Dibyangana’s poetry touches on love, grief, and personal metamorphosis. Mely Ratkovic writes of spiritual contemplation and the nature of good and evil. Lilian Dipasupil Kunimasa describes souls who turn away from greed and evil and heal, in smaller and larger ways. Christopher Bernard suggests that creativity and storytelling might play a part in what makes life worth enduring.
Brian Barbeito speculates about intention and communication with the universe. Svetlana Rostova speculates on what spirituality might mean in the face of a seemingly indifferent world. Shamsiya Khudoynazarova Turumnova’s piece conveys spiritual ecstasy, love, and beauty.
Sandro Piedrahita’s story highlights the power of enduring and sacrificial spiritual devotion in the midst of our human-ness.
Paul Durand reflects on teaching first-grade music in a time of hatred and divisiveness. Su Yun collects the thoughts and observations of a whole selection of schoolchildren in China about nature and their world.
Jibril Mohammed Usman shares a photograph of a person looking into nature, at one with and part of his world, altered in the same way as the trees and house. Mark Young’s geographies play with and explore Australia from new angles, turning maps into works of art.
Odina Bahodirova argues for the relevance of philology as an academic discipline because of its role in preserving cultural wisdom encoded in language and the ability of students to understand and think critically about language. Sevinch Shukurova explores the role of code-switching as a pedagogical tool in language learning. Surayo Nosirova shares the power of an educator giving a struggling student tutoring and a second chance. Nozima Zioydilloyeva celebrates Uzbekistan’s cultural accomplishments and women’s education within her home country. Marjona Mardonova honors the history of the learned Jadid Uzbek modernizers.
Nazeem Aziz recollects Bangladeshi history and celebrates their fights for freedom and national identity. Poet Hua Ai speaks to people’s basic longings to live, to be seen and heard. Leif Ingram-Bunn speaks to hypocrisy and self-righteousness on behalf of those who would silence him, and self-assertion on his part as a wounded but brave, worthy child of God.
Z.I. Mahmud traces the mythic and the heroic from Tolkien to Harry Potter. Poet Hua Ai, interviewed by editor Cristina Deptula, also wonders about the stories we tell ourselves. She speculates through her work about what in the human condition is mandatory for survival and what is learned behavior that could be unlearned with changing times.
Synchronized Chaos contains many of the stories we tell ourselves about ourselves and our world. We hope you enjoy and learn from the narrative!
