“Attention!” Once commanded, we lined up, stood still, and saluted the flag. Every Monday for twelve years, our weekly school assembly was just like that. The stiff posture assumed immense importance and signified good moral values.
“Put your hands up!” Another command issued but this time nobody was watching. The clock might have struck midnight and the magic on the street worn out but inside makeshift soundproof walls the show went on – the girls, the boys, the laughing gas, the bottoms up. Despite a government decree stipulating that all nightclubs and karaoke parlours must close at midnight, Vietnamese youngsters still find a way to have fun after dark. There is something almost religious and rebellious in the shared sweat of sonic vibrations, something triumphant in the process of getting rowdy behind closed doors.
