Remembering My Last Decade (2010s) pt.1

The 2010s have transformed me mentally, though not much has changed on the outside 😝. I've become—perhaps just a little—more mature, yet I still need time to fully evolve. Looking back, I’ve taken the time to reflect on my failures 💥 and others’ successes 💪 in the hope of better understanding what “happiness” 💖 truly means to me.

Since the age of nine, I’ve rarely had the chance to go on vacation with my family. That changed in mid-autumn 2014, when I finally took a trip with my mom. For years, I had been helping with our family’s bookstore, and outside of school, my world revolved around the business, the church across the street, and cram schools. When I left home at 15 to attend high school, it was both a challenge and a relief. Living apart from my parents gave me more time for myself, away from the responsibilities of the bookstore. I spent that time mostly online, indulging in dramas and adding a bit of “drama” to my own life, too—LOL. Despite the academic pressure (especially from classmates obsessed with medical school, which I didn’t make it into 💀), I found peace in a simpler life, even if it wasn’t perfect.

Growing up in the countryside of Vietnam, my childhood was, in hindsight, better than that of many others. Though I often complained, I remain deeply grateful for it. My father was rarely home—his presence was inconsistent, shifting between various ventures and periods of inactivity. From a young age, I helped run the family business: first a newspaper stall, then a bookstore. It wasn’t like the ones in big cities, but surprisingly, when I later browsed bookstores in the U.S., I realized the essence was quite similar. The biggest difference was simply the look and feel. Those experiences made me wish Vietnam had a strong library system—safe havens where kids could escape and find comfort, no matter their circumstances.

Life began to change during high school. I moved to the provincial capital, living apart from my parents but still close enough to visit. The city offered a new rhythm and more space to explore who I was becoming. Looking back, I may have already shown signs of mental health struggles—perhaps even early symptoms of schizophrenia—though I didn’t recognize them at the time. Being free from the pressures of the bookstore helped ease my mind. I began learning Japanese, inspired by the idea of studying abroad in a country that was both developed and within reach financially.

Things gradually improved for my family from my junior year onward. After years of renting, we finally had our own house. My grandmother bought a home in Saigon, which later helped fund my college tuition. For the first time, I felt a sense of security and could compare my family’s situation to my peers’ without shame. I was proud to have a stable home while attending college in Saigon. Still, life always has its surprises.

In my final year of high school, everything shifted again. My father won the lottery—right as I failed both college entrance exams I had pinned my hopes on. I thought about taking a gap year to reapply, continuing my language studies in the meantime. But my family had other plans. They insisted on America, largely because we had relatives there. To them, it was the dream destination. For me, it wasn’t. I had never even considered the U.S.—it felt like a world meant for the ultra-rich, far removed from anything I knew.

Until 2014, I hadn’t traveled beyond my home province, apart from family trips to Saigon and Dalat. So when my mom and I took a short trip to Singapore and Malaysia that autumn, just after Singapore’s National Day, it marked a major milestone. It was my first time leaving the country—and I loved it. Not long after we returned, I had my U.S. visa interview in Saigon. Strangely enough, I wasn’t expecting much. I had heard too many horror stories about how hard it was to get approved. But ironically, it was our family connections to the U.S.—the very thing that had made me hesitate—that made all the difference. In hindsight, that unexpected turn may have changed everything.

So I came to America—carrying with me the passion of youth and a future I’d never dared to imagine. Once there, I was overwhelmed. I lost my direction for a while and tried to avoid politics or overthinking, just focusing on living simply and making the most of what I had. There were beautiful moments, and there were missed opportunities. But that’s life. And I’m still learning how to live it.