For many Vietnamese students going abroad, the journey is less of a blank canvas and more of a pre-painted portrait. It is the obvious next step, a path carved out by loving parents who have prepared everything from tuition to expectations since their child’s early years. It is an undeniable privilege, a ticket to the "big ocean". Compared to their peers, they have nothing to complain about, so they pack their bags and head to the airport, even if they don't quite know who they are yet.
But what happens when that obvious choice rushes at you so quickly that, even if you were prepared, the moment the plane takes off, you feel like you've stepped through a looking glass?
Trọng Trương sat with us in an online meeting, sharing the raw, less-talked-about side of studying abroad. At 21, he is a recent graduate of Boston University in Economics and Psychology.
On paper, his journey is a textbook study abroad story. But as we spoke, we uncovered a fascinating internal world: a story of a young man who didn't choose his departure, who found his superpower in deep isolation, and who chose to redefine a historically negative cultural term, "đua đòi" (greed/chasing trends), into his personal fuel for growth.
A lot of students spend months counting down the days to their flight, saying emotional goodbyes. But your journey started in a very different, almost bizarre way. You've described it as "waking up in America." What actually happened?
It was completely sudden. It was during COVID-19, and Vietnam was in strict lockdown. I wasn't really attending my online classes. My parents thought I needed a more structured, in-person environment, where I would actually have to show up, go to class, and take responsibility for myself. Since schools in America were still doing in-person classes, they decided that was the right environment for me at the time.
When it happened, I had started grade 11 online, then moved to the U.S. to continue the school year. I didn't even have to pack because they had already packed my bags for me. Literally, the night before, I was in my room in Saigon doing my homework, and the next morning I was on a plane to America, taking a school bus to a brand-new school. My mind was completely blank on the plane. I just had to tell myself: "New life, here we go. There’s nothing I can do about it, so might as well".
When the plane finally landed and you realized this was your new reality, what was that initial adjustment like?
It was a massive culture shock. First of all, the school was a very strict, small Christian school. We had to study the Bible and wear Christian style uniforms every day. It felt so restrictive. I kept breaking down, thinking, "Why am I wearing this? Why can’t I just be free?". I grew up watching American high school movies where everyone looked so cool and free, but my reality was very different.
The school was also highly cliquey. At lunch, everyone sat in rigid, separate groups. The American kids at one table, the basketball players at another, the teachers at their own, and the Asian kids had their own table. Back in Vietnam, I was used to feeling welcome at every table. Suddenly, I didn't know where to go or who to hang out with. I spent grade 11 feeling completely alone.
That level of isolation in high school would make many people want to run straight back home. But instead, you chose to stay in the US for college. What shifted in you?
When high school ended, my parents didn't give me a strict guideline for college. For the first time, the decision was mine. I could have stayed in Virginia near my older brother, but I decided to completely branch out. I chose to move to Michigan because some of my childhood friends from Vietnam were going to college there.
That move was the first time I took ownership of my life. Living in a dorm with my old friends, navigating a "fully white" Western culture where we ate pizza for lunch and had to search the entire town for the only two Asian restaurants. It was an eye-opening, bonding experience.
Being reunited with childhood friends in a completely new environment must have felt like a breath of fresh air. How did that change your perspective on growing up?
It made me grow up very fast. Back home, I had always been the "chill, comfortable" kid. I was content, and I always figured, "My parents have got this, I don't need to worry about anything" . But in Michigan, as I got closer to my friends and listened to their personal struggles, like their complicated family issues, their love lives, their anxieties about the future – I realized that everyone carries their own heavy burdens.
I started looking at myself and thinking, "I have my own issues, too. Why am I not thinking about them?". I realized that stepping into adulthood is incredibly hard, and I couldn't just coast along anymore. I needed to take real responsibility for my actions. I had been a person who took very slow, steady steps, and suddenly these rapid changes were hitting me. But instead of fearing the fast pace, I realized I actually liked the change. I wanted to become highly adaptable.
Speaking of wanting change, you didn't stay in Michigan. You pushed yourself even further by transferring to Boston University. Why Boston?
Going to BU was actually me keeping a promise to my 9th-grade self . Back in middle school, a friend told me she was going to Boston, and it was the very first university name I had ever heard. I locked it into my mind and promised myself: "No matter what my path looks like, I am going to BU".
Once you arrived in Boston, did it live up to the expectations of that 9th-grade promise?
Transferring to BU was a wholesome time because my friends and family supported me so much with my essays and applications. But once I settled into Boston, I entered what I call my "lonely period".
The last few years of college became deeply impactful, but not in a typical social way. I shifted back to trying to understand myself. I stopped talking to a lot of people and began doing everything alone. I would go to restaurants alone, walk through the city parks alone, and just explore everything by myself. At first, it was incredibly challenging because I always wanted company, but people weren't always free or willing. So I told myself: "Might as well be strong and just explore everything by myself".
Many people find doing things alone, like eating at a restaurant, deeply uncomfortable. How did you handle that discomfort?
I literally started having deep, internal dialogues in my head. When I was cooking or walking, I would split my thoughts and have conversations with my own "frontal lobe". I don't journal because I prefer to keep my thoughts alive in the moment, and I have a very strong memory.
Those conversations helped me understand who I actually was. Before studying abroad, I was always defined by my surroundings and my family. Sitting in that loneliness in Boston was the first time I actually understood my own needs, my own values, and what I wanted out of life. I grew to love that loneliness. It taught me how to be truly free.
Was this "lonely period" purely about seeking independence, or did it also come from a place of not knowing how to bridge the gap with others?
Honestly, it was a mix of both. I didn't know how to open up because sharing my feelings made me feel emotionally weak compared to others. To me, venting about my own struggles can be seen as a form of "đua đòi": chasing towards a common feeling and being relatable, even though my experience might be different or not as serious. I thought, "Everyone has their own heavy burdens, why should I bother them with my emotions? Isn't that just seeking attention?". Because of that, I kept everything locked inside. I lived with the assumption that people simply wouldn’t understand me, so I dismissed my feelings before anyone else could.
I still struggle to share how I feel. I avoid those emotions and seek independence through isolation, finding comfort in loneliness. But sitting alone with my thoughts in Boston made me confront a kind of defeat: carrying everything alone wasn’t making me stronger. Now, I’m trying to be gentler with myself and accept that growth can also mean letting others in.
Speaking of "đua đòi" (greedy/chasing trends), you’ve mentioned in the pre-form interview that your family often used the word "đua đòi" when you were growing up. Culturally, that's a very negative word. How did that word shape your relationship with them?
Yes, I heard "đừng có đua đòi" (don’t chase trends) all the time. In my family, the age gap is massive. My oldest sister is 41, my brother is 32, and I’m 21. My siblings and parents grew up during Vietnam's harder economic times, where the daily focus was strictly on survival, money, and financial security.
Our differences aren't just mental or generational; they are infrastructural and economic. I was born into a different era; I am an "iPhone kid". I grew up with technology and access to a developing, modern world, whereas my family's childhood was vastly different. Because of this, wanting to try new things, buy certain clothes, or visit places like France after seeing them online, my parents would naturally look at it through their survival lens and think I was being "đua đòi". They'd say, "Saigon has everything, why do you need to go to France?". It wasn't that they didn't care; it's just that they didn't understand why I wanted more than basic comfort.
That generational friction is something so many young Vietnamese relate to. How did you learn to take that word, "đua đòi"?
I realized that my family's definition of "đua đòi" came from a place of love and protection. They raised me with the philosophy of "hòa nhập không hòa tan" – to integrate but not dissolve, meaning to adapt to the world without losing your core values.
But as I grew up, I decided to reframe "đua đòi" for myself. Today, it doesn't mean blindly copying others just to fit in. To me, "đua đòi" is a powerful, motive-driven trait—it is the fuel to change, to personalize your life, and to strive for more than just settling. I studied Economics and Psychology at BU because I was genuinely fascinated by what motivates people to chase their desires. I realized that having a healthy "greed for growth" is what prevents us from staying stagnant. It is about having the courage to want more out of life, but wanting it in your own unique, personalized way.
You are now a BU graduate, living out of a suitcase, and planning to travel to almost every state in America. You’ve compared yourself to a bird that has just escaped its cage. Would you fly wherever the wind takes you?
Flying with the wind is simply too easy, I think. I choose to fly against the wind because my life has already had enough sudden storms, and those storms made me strong. I want to use my 20s to face the elements, to struggle, to adapt, and to actively grow, rather than coasting along a comfortable path.
But flying against the wind doesn't mean being a wild, irresponsible rebel. It’s a purposeful choice, my choice at least. I actually rushed to graduate from college early specifically because I wanted to help my parents. They are older and tired; they want to retire and travel the world, and they’ve been waiting for me to finish school so I can support them. For the next few years, I am dedicating myself to being a "good child" and putting my own concrete long-term plans on hold to stand by them.
That is my "đua đòi": choosing to live on my own terms, exploring the vastness of the world, while being completely dedicated and responsible to the people who raised me. I want to show that you can carry a fierce desire for independence and a deep sense of family duty at the same exact time.
You have a very strong sense of commitment to the things you choose for yourself. You can be spontaneous about where you want to go, but once you decide on something, you seem almost stubborn about making it happen. You chose Boston University because of a "silly" promise you made in ninth grade, and eventually you found a way to get there. Is that something you recognize in yourself?
(Laugh) Actually, I’ve never told my parents that I went to BU because of a promise I made in ninth grade. To them, choosing a university has to be highly practical and logical. But for me, that promise was a commitment to myself. I actually got rejected by BU the first time, so I chose Michigan, where I already knew people and felt I would be less alone. I also have the chance to experience life in a college town and begin university without spending two years at community college. Still, I never let go of Boston. I had this relentless drive to eventually transfer there.
I think that’s probably the funny thing about me: I’m able to follow my “dreams” and be spontaneous about it.
So with all this constant movement between Vietnam, Boston, Michigan, and various US states, between different purposes to pursue, where do you actually feel a sense of belonging? Where is "home" to you?
I've realized that I don't want a single place called "home" anymore. Living in America for so long, you realize there is no perfect sense of belonging. It’s a constant contradiction, a constant fight between cultures.
If I can't fit in anywhere, I might as well find 20 different places to fit in. I don't want to find a physical spot on a map to call home. To me, home is carried in the people I love. Wherever my friends and family are, that's where I'll be.
And this is the first time I've ever shared these thoughts with anyone, not even my family knows this side of me. In Vietnam, we rarely talk about our inner emotions. When people talk about studying abroad, they only share academic achievements or career milestones.
I chose to do this interview because I want to change that with myself first. I want my friends in Vietnam and America to see this side of me and know that "their" Trọng is not just a chill, carefree kid, but someone who carries deep thoughts and who would love to share and connect more deeply with them. I want to bridge that gap. Maybe this isn't just a reflection of my past, but a beautiful starting point, a way for me to open up, step into a new version of myself, and let the people I love truly see who I am underneath.
To wrap things up, what does your plan to "fly against the wind" actually look like in the immediate future? What are the concrete goals you’re chasing next?
In the very short term, it's a mix of spontaneous travels and hands-on creative projects. My lease in Boston ends on August 31st, and even though I haven't packed a single box, I’m heading to New York, and soon after, I’m off to Seattle, Oregon, Yellowstone, and Alaska. After my travels, I’m heading to Virginia for my brother's wedding in November, and then I’m returning to Vietnam.
Beyond that, I’m still uncertain about the next few years. For now, I’ll be traveling with my parents, learning more about my strengths and skills along the way. I hope to turn what I gain from traveling and spending time with my family into creative projects of my own.
I want to use my 20s to face the wind, to struggle, to adapt, and to carry my responsibility to my parents. I’m going to run as fast as I can now so that by the time I'm 30, I can finally "retire" and go back to being that chill, relaxed kid I've always wanted to be.