PointThe person who springs to mind is my aunt Lan, my mum’s younger sister. I’ve known her literally my whole life — so about twenty-six years now — but I’d say we really got close when I was around twelve.

DetailShe’s a primary-school teacher in the town where I grew up, and she has this calm, patient way of explaining things. She never raises her voice, even when I used to be a really stubborn kid. People in our family often describe her as soft-spoken but firm, and I think that’s a fair description.

WhyThe reason she’s influenced me so much is that during high school I almost dropped a maths competition because I was scared of failing. She sat with me one weekend, walked me through the questions, and told me that losing is fine, not trying isn’t. I ended up entering and didn’t win, but the feeling stuck.

WrapLooking back, that line has shaped how I handle setbacks at university, and that’s why I’d pick her without hesitation.

PointThe place I’d like to talk about is a small rooftop café in District 3, only about ten minutes from my flat. It’s tucked above a tailor shop, so most people walk past without noticing it.

DetailI usually pop in once or twice a week, normally on Sunday mornings before the city wakes up. The owner plays soft jazz at low volume, and the place is dimly-lit with old wooden tables and a few potted plants. There’s a corner seat near the window where you can see the rooftops stretching across the district.

What I doWhat I do there is fairly simple — I bring a notebook, order a long black, and just read or jot down ideas for about an hour. Sometimes I don’t even open the book; I just people-watch.

WhyThe main reason I love it is that it gives me a real break from the constant buzz of work chats and notifications. Honestly, that one quiet hour resets my whole week.

PointThe object I’d like to describe is a brass wristwatch that used to belong to my father. It’s not particularly expensive — just an old Soviet-era model — but I would never give it away.

BackgroundI’ve had it for around twelve years. He passed it down to me on the morning of my fourteenth birthday, right after breakfast, and just said, “It’s your turn now.” Before that he had worn it daily for almost three decades, so it was a bit scratched up by the time I got it.

DetailThe watch ticks much louder than any modern one I’ve owned, and you can hear it across a quiet room. I’ve had it serviced twice — once when the strap broke and once for a full clean.

WhyThe main reason I want to keep it is sentimental. Every time I wind it in the morning, it reminds me of him. So even if I ever switched to a smartwatch, I’d still hold on to this one — that’s non-negotiable.

PointThe journey I’d like to share is a motorbike trip from Da Lat down to the coast of Nha Trang, which my two cousins and I took two summers ago.

SetupWe had been planning it for months, mostly through messages, and we finally set off on a crisp Saturday morning. The road winds through pine forests and tea plantations, so the air smelled really fresh for the first few hours.

What happenedAbout halfway, my cousin’s bike got a flat tyre in the middle of nowhere. While he was sweating over the repair, the two of us actually stumbled across a tiny noodle stall run by a local family. The owner refused to let us pay for tea, which I still find quite touching.

WhyThe reason it stuck with me is not really the destination — Nha Trang was lovely, but predictable. It was that random unplanned stop that made the trip unforgettable. Looking back, I’ve realised that the best parts of travel are often the bits you can’t plan in advance.

PointThe celebration I remember most clearly is my grandmother’s eightieth birthday, which my family threw about three years ago in her hometown.

When · WhereIt took place on a Sunday in late October, in the courtyard of her old house in the Mekong Delta. The weather was perfect — breezy and not too humid for once. My uncles had spent the whole morning putting up lanterns and a small stage.

Who · WhatPretty much the entire extended family turned up — around forty of us, including a few relatives we hadn’t seen in years. My cousins and I had secretly prepared a short video of old photos, and we played it after the meal. My grandma cried a little, which made everyone else cry too.

Why · WrapThe reason it’s stuck with me is the sense of togetherness. Honestly, if that day hadn’t happened, I don’t think I would have realised how rare it is for us all to be in the same place. That’s what makes it unforgettable.