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June 27

I’ve been in Hanoi for five days now.

At first, I probably got ahead of myself. I honestly thought I wouldn’t stay here very long. But the truth is, Hanoi has been a major revelation.

I absolutely love this city. It energizes me in a way I wasn’t expecting. Even though it doesn’t fit the cliché of the « perfect vacation » with beaches and resorts, I’ve realized that none of that really matters.

Hanoi is incredibly intense. Something is always happening. The streets are constantly alive, people are always moving, and yet I’ve never felt overwhelmed here. That’s probably what surprises me the most.

Unlike Paris, where I often lived with a constant knot in my stomach and a persistent sense of anxiety, here I feel continuously stimulated while remaining deeply calm inside. Looking back, I sometimes think those years of constant stress made me age twice as fast.

I’m staying in the Hoan Kiem district, and little by little I’ve started developing my own daily routines. There’s a temple just around the corner where I go every day to pray. Someone there gave me a copy of The Original Vows of Kṣitigarbha Bodhisattva Sutra. Kṣitigarbha is one of the great Bodhisattvas of the Mahayana tradition and is deeply revered in Vietnam for his compassion toward the deceased, those who suffer, and anyone going through difficult times.

The neighborhood itself feels strangely familiar, almost as if I had lived here before. Right next to the temple stands an old Catholic church built more than a century ago, and I love this quiet coexistence of different traditions.

Today I also stumbled upon an event featuring the Vietnamese musician and visual artist Do Trong Quy. I went purely by chance. His work combines drone music with visual and sound art, creating immersive and meditative environments. It was exactly the kind of unexpected discovery I was hoping this trip would bring.

I’ve met quite a few people already. To be honest, though, I tend to avoid spending too much time with Europeans—or, more generally, with travelers who aren’t really engaging with Vietnam. It’s not that there’s anything wrong with them; it’s simply not what I’m looking for. I want to immerse myself completely in this country instead of recreating a familiar Western bubble.

One thing I find fascinating is how the city transforms at night. Around 11 p.m., everything suddenly becomes remarkably quiet, only to come back to life around 5:30 in the morning.

I’ve decided to take a short flight to Da Nang. Originally I had planned to travel by train, but after spending nearly twenty hours flying to Vietnam, I just don’t feel like adding another sixteen hours on the rails. I may still take the train in shorter sections on my way back from Hoi An—I haven’t decided yet.

What I do know is that I need to spend some time by the South China Sea, to swim, to slow down, and to let new ideas emerge naturally.

I arrived here carrying a very different emotional baggage than I did last year, and every day has felt both rich and remarkably simple. Today, for example, I experienced the Lotus Festival, and almost every evening something unexpected happens. I’ve realized that I have a hard time staying indoors for more than a couple of hours. That was already true in Paris, but here the difference is that I genuinely feel more alive whenever I’m outside. And when I wake up in the morning, I don’t feel anxious at all.

I brought all my song drafts with me, along with the guitar recordings I’ve been making on my iPhone. I plan to listen to them again, rewrite them, work on the vocals, and develop new songs.

The modular synthesizer will naturally become part of the production process later on, with guitar parts woven into the modular textures. That’s always been the foundation of Zi Iacchos. But this time, something has changed: the songs are beginning as pure folk compositions before evolving into something else.

Everything I need is here with me. But instead of forcing anything, I’m taking the time to build a new foundation while remaining fully present in what I’m experiencing. I don’t want to lock myself away. I want to let things unfold.

What feels undeniably true is that doing is far more important than endlessly thinking. Living in direct contact with life is not just helpful—it’s essential.

I’m only beginning to understand that now, and it’s surprisingly difficult to put into words.

Zi