Hi, I’m Meani. And if you're wondering why you rarely see my face in the pictures - congrats, you’ve just met a hardcore introvert in her natural habitat.
(no sudden camera flashes, please!)
Now, I’d love to tell you some deep, poetic story about soul-searching and personal growth…
But let’s be real: my life has been a full-blown soap opera from the start. The kind that feels like a telenovela directed by chaos itself.
But don’t worry! I won’t spill all the tea here. That’s what our podcast is for: THE SHEET SHOW.
Yes, it’s messy. Yes, it’s real. Yes, that’s a pun. And no, we’re not holding back.
So stay tuned 🎙️😌
🐶 A picture of us and our ridiculously cute dogs, just to lure you into our podcast 😈🎧
Anyway, back to the story.
I was born in 1996, right in the middle of the chaos that is Hanoi. The kind of place that never sleeps, never slows down, and never quite lets you catch your breath. It had everything - great food, history, heart, even noise, dust, and traffic jam.
But for me, Hanoi was never home. Not really.
It’s hard to explain, but from a young age, I always felt like I didn’t quite belong. Like I was watching life from behind glass. I followed the rules, played the part, smiled on cue… but inside, I was just tired. Of pretending. Of fitting in. Of holding it together.
When I was younger, I used to think being introverted and shy was something bad. So I was trying so hard to break out of my introverted shell, to become someone better. I joined all the clubs: singing, dancing, photography... - always busy, always surrounded. And sure, I had friends. But deep down, I always felt like I didn’t belong. Like I was just… floating. Surrounded, but still completely alone.
Hanoi was also where I learned what heartbreak really feels like. Sadness, hopelessness, emotional damage, pain... whatever you want to call it, I felt it all... At a very young age...
And yes, it hurt me deeply. It still does. It’s where people I trusted the most - people I thought would understand me, protect me - hurt me the deepest...
And that kind of pain stays with you.
It changes you.
It builds a quiet wall inside your chest, one that even love has a hard time climbing.
It's heart-wrenching whenever you think about it, and it makes you question "why would people do that to you? What did you ever do wrong to have to go through all that?", even after all those years, whenever you think about it...
The cruel part? Hanoi also gave me love.
It's also where I met my husband. I was 20. We crossed paths at a time when I was trying to figure out who I was. He didn’t try to fix me. He just… stayed. Quietly, kindly. Like he saw me before I saw myself. He was this sweet, patient, but also really loudly crazy Romanian guy who somehow looked at all my chaos and didn’t run. He saw the storm inside me and said "Yeah, you're as crazy as me. You're the one. I'll stay." And he did. He stayed. He chose to stay.
So yeah - the city might have given me love, but also a heaviness I couldn’t carry anymore. It was a place full of memories - some beautiful, most bruised. I wanted to love it. I tried. But no matter what, the weight of it was too much. I tried to make it work. I really did. But I couldn’t breathe there. I couldn’t be there. So I knew I had to go. But I couldn't go then, because I was only in my second year of university. And where would I even go? That was the bigger question.
And truth is, the real turning point came a little earlier.
At 19, before meeting the love of my life, I was freshly single and I wanted to change the vibe. So with no plan whatsoever, I booked a solo trip to Sài Gòn (SG/HCMC). Just me and my emotional baggage. I wasn’t looking for anything, I wasn’t searching for paradise. I just needed out. I was just desperate to feel free. It was an escape. To find a place where I didn’t have to perform, where I could let the sadness fall off my shoulders and just… exist. Be real. Be whole. Be me.
But when I landed… something shifted.
The city felt warmer. Softer. Lighter. Not in the weather - in the energy. People didn’t stare. Didn’t gossip. Didn’t care who I was with, what I wore, or how many weird dreams I had. I wasn’t news anymore... I was invisible, in the best way. For someone like me, that was everything. It didn’t feel like it was watching me, judging me, trying to fix me. It just let me be.
And for the first time, I felt light. Free. Alive.
I didn’t stay. Not yet. But I made myself a quiet promise: one day, I’d come back.
Fast forward a few years.
At 22, I shocked everyone - including myself - and got married. To a foreigner. Yep. To that crazy Romanian guy. Yup. Me. The emotionally tired, introverted chaos gremlin who couldn’t commit to a hairstyle for more than three weeks. I got married.
People were stunned. “You?! Settling down?!” My friends thought it was a prank. With my wild, free-spirited, always-chasing-something personality, everyone thought I’d be the last one to settle down — if ever.
But what can I say?...
When it’s right, it’s right.
Too early? Nah, perfect timing.
Best decision of my life? 10000%.
Zero regrets! Just daily laughter, passport stamps, and a few barking carry-ons.
And the thing is, it didn’t feel like settling. It felt like... arriving.
Like, for once, I was just perfect for someone. I didn't have to feel like we weren't equal. I knew that we would always be on the same page. I understood that whatever happens, he would always be there to back me up, no matter what.
And for once, I was just truly happy, from the bottom of my heart. I realized that I could love someone that truly, that deeply, and also could get loved the exact way I wanted to be loved. I've found my soulmate, really.
And yes, sure, I might’ve been the first one to tie the knot, but let’s be real: I’ll definitely be the last one to have kids. And to be honest, that checks out!
So anyway, I graduated (from the National Economics University) in 2018, got married, packed up my husband and made good on that promise to myself.
We moved to Sài Gòn. It wasn’t a fairytale, but it was ours. Loud, messy, full of stray animals and awesome food; we fit right in.
No flights, just four wheels, two humans, a few dogs, and the entire country ahead of us. Hanoi to Saigon, and somehow, also the ride of a lifetime.
2018 was the year I left Hanoi behind for good. Saigon was the dream. Until, of course, I decided life was too short to be comfortable (of course I did — I'm all about changes. CAN'T STAY PUT. Yup, that's me!).
So I convinced my husband to pack up and move with me to Danang. It was a totally random, impulsive move. Looked cute on paper - felt kinda meh in real life. He loved it. I didn’t. I missed Saigon like it owed me money. Desperately wanted to move back.
So what do you do when you’re emotionally allergic to routine? You pack your husband, eight pets, your favorite noodle maker, and your questionable life choices, and you move across the world.
We literally smuggled (legally) eight living, breathing furballs on the plane, and just... left.
International flight.
Layovers.
Jet lag.
Dog pee in airport pet toilet.
Missed our flight from Turkey. A legend was born.
(Shoutout to Turkish Airlines for not kicking us out.)
And Hello, Romania! ✈️
New country.
New language. New everything. Same me.
Now I’m here. Still figuring it out. Still healing from Hanoi. Still carrying pieces of every city I’ve ever loved and left. But this time, I’m doing it my way.
And whether you’re here for the drama, the laughs, the random soup cravings (I’m a little obsessed 🍜), or those moments that make you whisper, “Omg, same”… I’m so glad you’re here.
Because this isn’t just my story anymore. It’s ours now.
Ready or not, here comes the next chapter 🫶🥣
New country.
New language. New everything. Same me.
Now I’m here. Still figuring it out. Still healing from Hanoi. Still carrying pieces of every city I’ve ever loved and left. But this time, I’m doing it my way.
And whether you’re here for the drama, the laughs, the random soup cravings (I’m a little obsessed 🍜), or those moments that make you whisper, “Omg, same”… I’m so glad you’re here.
Because this isn’t just my story anymore. It’s ours now.
Ready or not, here comes the next chapter 🫶🥣
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