In Vietnam, the morning starts very early. Not noisy, not rushed – just the warm scent of sticky rice rising from a small street stall at the corner.
I was born in the countryside and grew up with mornings holding a warm packet of sticky rice in my hand. It was enough to fill my stomach, delicious enough to enjoy, and familiar enough to accompany me to school, to work, to faraway places… and always remind me of home. Sticky rice is not just food – it is a memory, a deeply Vietnamese part of life.
This morning, in a quiet corner, we met that familiar sight again – Ms. Tám, who has been selling sticky rice at this street corner for many years. The same flavor: roasted peanuts, lightly fragrant coconut milk, and her skillful hands wrapping each small portion carrying the scent of home.
A small packet of sticky rice holds so much: warmth, simplicity, and the childhood of countless Vietnamese.
