On September 7th, typhoon Yagi - the strongest storm Vietnam had seen in three decades - swept through Hanoi. Humans sought shelter and birds flew low to the ground, but an estimated 40,000 of Hanoi’s defenseless trees were uprooted. The city turned into a cemetery of banyan trees, flamboyants, jackfruit trees, mahoganies, pomelo and tamarind trees, some over 100 years old. In the Old Quarter, the uber dense heart of Hanoi, large trees had toppled in narrow streets and a soundtrack of chainsaws cutting through trunks played on a continuous loop.

Feeling restless at home, Thao and I headed into the Old Quarter to understand what the destruction had meant to longtime residents of the neighbourhood. We soon found ourselves on Mr. Cường’s son’s doorstep, who invited us into his home consisting of a few small rooms in a former French colonial mansion and dove straight into conversation about a fallen banyan tree over cups of tea.

Mr. Cường’s son’s story unfolded in many directions, but mostly towards recollections of wartime Vietnam, when the tree was planted. The tree’s uprooting had brought memories along to the surface, memories that are perhaps kept silently close at all times, or are stored away somewhere deeper in our subconscious.