31/03/2026
Lately at Wong
Yesterday, a couple from Brazil visited us; it was their first time in Asia, and Hanoi was their first stop. They had booked their table for this day a full two months in advance.
The girl seemed more captivated by Wong than her boyfriend; she appeared more deeply immersed in the space, quieter, often letting him do the talking. They asked me about how Wong came into being, and expressed how peaceful this place felt, especially compared to the restless, bustling Hanoi they had seen.
After a while, I returned to my writing while they focused on their conversation. I decided to put on In the Mood for Love - the only vinyl record we have at the bar. Recently, I’ve realized how well this album accompanies writing: gently aching, tender, and at times evoking a nostalgic sense of Angkor Wat.
Just as I began to sink into my words, I started to hear the guest sobbing. Tears welled up in the girl's eyes, mixed with awkward smiles, before they began to flow more freely. I didn’t quite understand what was happening, but seeing her boyfriend remaining calm, I gathered they were doing alright.
Later, when she stepped outside, I asked him: “Is everything okay?” - and he replied: “It’s all good. The music just got her emotional…”
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Late at night, Đ arrived, a guest both dreamy and hurried. We talked about the film Kokuho (National Treasure) that recently hit the theaters. I had seen it twice, yet only now did I have the chance to talk & hear more about it.
Đ told me something interesting about Japanese Kabuki: they always use the color Red in every performance, as it can transform into many things - the color of blood, of anger, of longing, of sorrow, of sensuality, even of sacred temples… (So it seems Wong Bar Wine and Japan meet at yet another intersection, don't we?)
Near the end of Kokuho, there is an incredibly beautiful line - almost the moment that unties and releases everything, offering an answer to the entire film and the artist's life.
The protagonist is a “national treasure,” the greatest Kabuki actor in Japan. He loves this art more than anything else, and from the beginning, he chose to sacrifice his life for it. Because of that, he was “careless” to his wife and daughter; his daughter grew up without a father’s presence.
At the end, the daughter suddenly appears before him and tells him who she is. She told him she never considered him her father, that she resented his absence and his lack of responsibility toward her and her mother. And yet, every time she watches a Kabuki play he performs, she feels as though her soul is welcoming another “new year”... His performance always brings her into a surreal, transcendent, beautiful world, and she knows she is proud of her father for creating such a thing.
Then Đ turned to me and said, “Every time I walk into Wong, it also feels like I’m welcoming another new year...”
