A video call connects us to Nick Vu, who is building a life for himself in Australia, far from his childhood home in Hanoi. As we talk, Nick points out something in his room that means a lot to him, a small reminder of home. Even his dog makes an appearance of sorts, though not quite visibly enough for us to see.
For Nick, some memories of Vietnam are easier to bring into the room than others. Take the smell of hoa sữa, the blackboard tree’s flowers that return to Hanoi’s streets each autumn and reliably divide the city between those who love their fragrance and those who would rather see the trees cut down. Nick belongs firmly to the first group. The scent is so vivid to him that even mentioning it can bring Hanoi to mind, transporting him back to the streets he knows by heart.
Since moving to Australia in 2023, Nick has learned to make a home somewhere new while carrying pieces of his old one with him. We spoke with him about the awkward beginnings of life abroad, the effort of finding his place in unfamiliar rooms, and the memories, habits, and parts of himself that distance has brought into sharper focus.
Before you moved to Australia, what did studying abroad mean to you?
I think it was always in the cards for me to move abroad. My parents came from provincial towns and moved to Hanoi to pursue their studies, which was also where they met. I thought that was really cute, and I guess I wanted to follow in their footsteps and see what the world had to offer.
Growing up, I had pretty unrestricted access to the internet, so I became obsessed with Western pop culture. I watched early YouTube videos, music videos on MTV, and American sitcoms. That was my window to the world, and my curiosity about life outside Vietnam kept growing.
I originally planned to attend a boarding school in the US. I was already in the final stages of the process: the school had been chosen, the decision had been made, and I was leaving in a couple of months. I had packed my bags and said goodbye to my friends. Then COVID hit, and the dream was put on hold.
For two or three years, I tried to redirect myself and find a new sense of purpose. I had almost given up on the idea of leaving home and building a life abroad. When travel restrictions were lifted, that desire came back.
My family and I eventually started looking at other countries. We fell in love with Australia, and my dad had a particularly practical and funny reason for supporting the decision. As he believed, Australia is so far away in the Southern Hemisphere, he figured it was safe for me. And I was like, “Yep, whatever you say.”
What was it like arriving in Australia and suddenly having to build a life from scratch?
My first two weeks were rough. I cried my eyes out and kept asking myself why I had done this. I had left my comfortable home, my siblings, and my dog to move somewhere I knew so little about. I had no friends, no family, and no career yet. School felt strange, and I was living in student housing with five strangers. The place smelled terrible. I remember thinking, “What am I doing to myself?”
Even the small things took some getting used to. I had a hard time understanding the Australian accent because I had learned English through an American curriculum and was more familiar with American and British English. I was also discovering everyday things for the first time.
During my first week, I ate Pop-Tarts exclusively because I had always wanted to try them. I got really sick afterward. I was so excited to finally have them that I apparently didn't think about the consequences.
Thankfully, I arrived to find other Vietnamese international students who became a kind of safety net. We were all experiencing this new environment through a similar lens, so we could figure things out together. Those friendships gave me a strong foundation, and over time, we began branching out into different social circles.
You’ve shared in the register form that you struggled with imposter syndrome. How did you learn to feel more comfortable in places where you didn’t always fit in?
I’ve had pretty strong anxiety for a long time. When you feel like you don’t fit in, you start wondering whether you belong there at all. That feeling can be especially intense when you’re away from home and suddenly a small fish in a big pond.
I once came across a line in a Substack article that said something like, “Discomfort is the price you pay for a fulfilling life.” It stuck with me. I wouldn't say I've completely overcome my imposter syndrome, but I started saying yes to things and doing them scared.
When I first started spending time with new friends, the first or second hangout could be so awkward. We had grown up in different environments, made different cultural references, and sometimes I didn't understand what they were talking about. But I started asking questions and getting curious about their experiences.
I think when you move abroad, you have to make an effort to understand the culture you're in, on top of promoting your own culture to other people. Once I began asking my friends to tell me more about their experiences, we found ways to connect. Now they're some of my closest friends.
It was even more intimidating when I entered professional settings. I'd be in a room full of professionals who were older and much more experienced than me, and I'd think, “No one here looks like me. Everyone knows what they're talking about. What am I doing here?”
Then I'd have to remind myself that I was in that room for a reason. I have worked tirelessly to get there, and my place in it was well earned. I had to tell myself, essentially, that I was that person and should keep going.
It's easy to choose what's comfortable. But I think the harder option, the one that makes you a little uncomfortable, can be more fulfilling in the long run. It doesn't always work out, but I try.
How has living abroad changed the way you understand your identity?
I think it’s how I interact with people and how I see the world. Some things you don't figure out about yourself until you're alone with your thoughts at 3 a.m. in a city you don't yet call home.
I also think about how I present myself in different social settings. My conversations with colleagues, who tend to be a bit older, are different from those with my university friends. Australian social culture can be more casual, while my Vietnamese friends and I might plan a dinner or a day out in much more detail. But I still feel authentically myself with each group. I don't feel the need to switch between different versions of myself nowadays as much as I used to.
I think part of that is also learning when and how to share different parts of myself. When you're in a new environment, you're still figuring out where you fit in and how comfortable you feel opening up to the people around you. It's something I'm still navigating, even as I've felt welcomed by the people I've met in Australia.
Living abroad has also given me a stronger sense of independence. I can go wherever I want, and no one is telling me to come home by 10 p.m. But that freedom comes with the responsibility of looking after myself, mentally and physically. That's precisely how it feels to have your wishes granted. The gift and the weight are delivered in the same box.
Has being away from Vietnam changed your relationship with home?
Definitely. When I lived in Vietnam, I was simply participating in the culture. After leaving, I started feeling more like a promoter of it.
For example, my Australian colleagues are always asking me for recommendations because so many of them want to visit Vietnam. They'll ask where to shop in Hanoi or where to eat, and I get so excited because I get to share places and food that I love.
Those little moments mean a lot to me. It's nice to share something from home with people who are genuinely interested. Vietnamese culture is rich, and I never feel embarrassed or less proud when I talk about it.
I used to think of Vietnam as home and Australia as somewhere I was visiting. Now I call Australia my second home because I'm building a life here. Studying abroad has also made me realise how many other places there are to explore. Why call only one place home when the world can offer so many possibilities? Of course, it's easier said than done, but it's important to know that you have options.
At the same time, coming back to Vietnam can feel a little strange. Sometimes I struggle to find the right Vietnamese word when I'm talking to my family, which is embarrassing when you grew up speaking the language. The last time I came home, during Tết, I also felt a little out of place in a traditional family setting because I hadn't experienced it in a while.
But that feeling didn't last. My family and friends still love me the same, no matter how much I've changed, and they're curious about my life in Australia, too.
When I think about home, I think about my neighbourhood in Hanoi. My family stayed in the same place throughout my childhood, so I know the streets, cafés, restaurants, and even the trees. I used to take my dog out every afternoon around the neighbourhood and get to know every corner. There's also the smell of milkwood pine in the street during late summer. Some people love it, while others find it overpowering, but that scent takes me straight back to Hanoi. Even when I smell it in Australia, I feel transported home.
You’ve graduated and started working in a field you wanted to enter. Do you feel like you’ve arrived where you hoped to be?
Ever since I moved here, it has felt like one thing after another: finish your first year of university, get a part-time job, get an internship, start contracting, then get a full-time job.
Even before achieving my present goals, I was already gunning for the one after that.. It's a little crazy. So I'm trying to learn how to stay present.
The position I'm in now is one I used to pray for. But now that I'm here, I sometimes struggle to enjoy it because I'm already expecting more from myself and thinking about what comes next.
I think some of that comes from the pressure around studying abroad. In Vietnam, going abroad is a privilege, and it can feel like a waste or a disappointment if you don't get something out of it. Your family and friends have put so much trust in you, and your family has invested in you financially and emotionally. You want to have something to show for it, and you want to prove to yourself that you're worth that investment.
Moving abroad has also made me wonder how far I can go on my own. My family could take me only as far as the departure terminal. After that, it was up to me to figure things out.
So it's a mix of wanting to test my limits and wanting to make the most of the opportunities I've been given. Right now, I'm happy with where I am.
Looking back, what would you tell someone who's thinking about studying abroad but is scared to take the leap?
I'd tell them that if your desire and passion for the experience are strong enough, you'll say yes even when you're scared. It will probably feel scary for a while, but you'll get to meet your future self who's so, so, so capable. That future self will look back and wonder what there was to worry about.
A lot of good things in my career and personal life wouldn't have happened if I hadn't said yes at their turning points. Of course, experiences can be good or bad. You can't predict everything that's going to happen, and saying yes doesn't guarantee that everything will work out. But even when something doesn't go as planned, you can still learn from it.
I'm still figuring things out myself. I still get anxious, I still have to remind myself to enjoy the present, and while staying hopeful for what's ahead. But I'm learning to take things one day at a time.
Sometimes, you have to sit with the discomfort long enough to realise that you can handle more than you thought. And sometimes, you just have to let yourself enjoy being where you once hoped you'd be.
