Chapter 3 : Tears in Sapa

Before I Knew It Was Lupus: My Vietnam Story

19th July 2025

Sapa View from Cable car. Fansipan.

I woke up that morning the same way I had been waking up for weeks, with both legs screaming at me.

I bit down on the pain and let out the smallest, quietest scream I could manage, just enough to release it without waking anyone. My parents were in the next bed. I couldn't let them know. Mom already had enough to carry Dad's Parkinson leaving him frozen and unsteady, and that morning we had to train him again, coaxing his body back into movement, step by patient step.

There was no space in that room for my pain. So I swallowed it, grabbed my things, and shuffled to the shower.

'Am I okay?' The question followed me under the running water. I didn't have an answer.

Breakfast at Sapa Charms Hotel was a quiet comfort. The hotel was grand and spacious, the kind of place that feels like a small luxury in the middle of everything hard. I choose vegetarian halal options, grateful there was something I could eat. Then our tour guide surprised us which he had arranged nasi goreng specially prepared by a halal chef. That small, thoughtful gesture landed warmly.

Then we set off for Fansipan Legend.

My legs cramped the whole way. My shoulder ached. My neck was stiff. My ear kept ringing its familiar, relentless ring. But I kept walking because what else was I supposed to do? I just keep walking.

We boarded the cable car, and the moment we lifted into the air, everything shifted. The terraced paddy fields spread out beneath us like something from a painting, vast, layered, impossibly green, stitched into the mountainside in perfect curves. I pressed my face toward the window and forgot, just for a moment, that my body was hurting.

At the top, it was cold and wrapped in clouds. Mom and I hiked together up to the highest peak, both of us breathing through the thin, cool air, laughing a little at how our legs felt on the way up. Standing at the summit, I felt something I hadn't felt in weeks, something close to lightness. The clouds moved around us like we were standing inside a quiet dream.

On the way down, we stopped at the alpine coaster, a ride where you sit and glide through sweeping mountain views at your own pace. I sat down, held on, and let Vietnam rush past me. Someone in our group spotted the fresh-avocado-juice stall and ordered one.

Then suddenly, one by one, everyone else ordered too - classic FOMO spreading through the group like a gentle wave. I smiled. It was the most normal, human, silly little moment. I ordered mine and savored every sip.

By the end of the day, I was exhausted deeply, honestly exhausted, the kind that settles into your whole body like a stone. But underneath it, quietly, was something else. Enjoyment. Real, genuine enjoyment. My body was struggling. But I was still there. Still present. Still sipping avocado juice at the top of Vietnam's highest peak.