Hai
The Cyclo Driver Searching for Dignity
Three wheels, one soul, endless streets.
You see the sweat, the worn seat, the tired eyes — but not the mind turning behind them. I watch this city like it’s a poem I can’t finish. I carry people who never see me, lovers who only touch for a price, and memories heavier than the rain during monsoon season. I'm not asking for rescue. Just a moment where someone sees my face, not just the ride.
What I'm Into: wet street reflections, ghosts of green papaya, shared silences, Saigon at dawn, the ache of stillness
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