April 28, 2026
It started as a regular Tuesday.
As a digital nomad, I can work anywhere, but with a catch of having a good internet connection, of course.
And on a quiet Tuesday night, my friend Kris had invited Di and me for Korean BBQ and Karaoke afterwards. So I did what any digital nomad in Quy Nhon would do: I paused and since I had a meeting that day, I took the meeting from the karaoke place (it’s like a compound only for karaoke).
Not my most professional moment. Probably one of my more memorable ones.
As Filipinos, we eat like we’re used to, an unlimited buffet of meat, vegetables and side dishes. It’s like dining in a many-course-meal place and you get excited every time another plate comes in until you can barely breathe because you’re pregnant with food. And as always, the food is not the only savory dish on the table but also the ever-random chikas.
After dinner, we moved to the karaoke place. And here’s the thing about me and karaoke. I don’t do it easily. I don’t sing in public. I barely sing in private. For me, karaoke only happens when I feel safe enough with the people around me. No expectations, no judgment. Just the kind of fun that doesn’t need an audience.
That night, I felt it. And so we sang.
We sang and danced like JLo and Beyoncé. We sang and felt different emotions conveyed in every song we chose (in English, Filipino, Korean and even Japanese). We moved like we owned the song and the floor pouring every ounce of emotion we had. We felt alive. I never thought I could sing, dance and feel this way.
And the thing that caught me off guard the most wasn’t the singing. It was the food.
Growing up in the Philippines, karaoke, a bit of alcohol and pulutan are basically one word. You don’t do one without the others. And pulutan means fried things, always. French fries, fried chicken, kropek, chicharon. Oily, salty, unapologetically indulgent. That’s the deal.
So when the snacks arrived at our table in Quy Nhon, I genuinely did a double take.
Fruits. Yogurt.
Yes. You read it right. The indulgence of the usually oily food in a karaoke session was replaced by a healthier and filling version of yogurt and fruits.
I stared at it for a second like it had said something to me.
This was my first karaoke experience in Vietnam, and apparently Quy Nhon does it differently. Lighter. Fresher. Healthier. You’re belting out classic (stopping myself from calling it oldies lol) music with either a cup of yogurt in your hand or a slice of ripe guava, mango, a piece of jackfruit and more, and somehow it works. Somehow it’s still a party. Well, it was a PARTY.
We sang, we danced, we poured our emotions out and we had what felt like our own private concert in that little room. The kind of night that doesn’t need a plan to be good.
By midnight, we were home. Because yes, here in Quy Nhon, the party ends at midnight. Feeling like Cinderella having a good time, minus the prince charming and a left-behind glass shoe (but a left-behind Heineken).
We ate. Sang. Danced. Drank. Had desserts. And by midnight, our Grab carriage arrived.
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