






During my photo tours in Hoi An, our meetings followed a familiar ritual. She would approach, extend her hand, and ask for money. I would give her something, and only then would she allow the photographs. Once the money changed hands, her face softened, and she often laughed out loud.





In September 2021, I went to visit her, bringing a large bag of empty bottles. I was told she had died two days earlier, at the age of eighty-nine.
The room had been cleared. Where the sacks once stood, there was now a large altar, quietly marking her absence.
