A memoir
of a survivor
Some said I was strong,
others thought I was reckless.
My mother named me a mistake,
My sisters believed I was a dreamer,
CC called me a fighter.
As for me—I have always seen a survivor, pushing against the waves to stay afloat in the wild sea of my own becoming.
Every book begins somewhere, sometimes with an idea, sometimes with a wound.
I began Bồng Bềnh with both.
Bồng Bềnh, which means afloat, started as a private space I created for myself. A place to unload the heavy train of thoughts in my head, and the quiet weight life had been placing on my heart. The further I walked through life, the heavier that weight became, pressing against my chest until I knew that if I kept everything inside, I would eventually break.
Writing became the only way to release my mind - overflowing, messy, chaotic, full of questions, and to release my heart - overflowing with love - for life, for people, for nature, for art, for... every little thing.
Yet for the longest time, I didn’t know what I was supposed to write about, or why anyone would read my stories.
Because,
I am not famous.
I am not wealthy.
I am not successful.
I am not the kind of person someone feels the need of pausing to listen to. I don’t have answers or expertise, only a lifetime of questions and a heart that feels too deeply.
So often I wondered: Who would ever read my book? Why would anyone care?
I began writing in 2015, then abandoned the manuscript. I was ready to accept that it would remain unfinished forever. But in 2023, someone came into my life, placed a pen in my hand, and in that small moment I realised something simple and true:
There is one thing I know best- my life.
What I have witnessed.
What I have pondered,
What I have
learned,
loved,
lost,
fought and survived.
In Oct 2025, while walking through a quiet forest in Budapest, I told D that I was writing a memoir. He smiled gently and teased, “Are you on your way out of life? Aren’t you a bit too young for that?”
Perhaps.
But parts of me have already lived a full life, and died once.
It is a miracle that I’m still here at all.
So I write from that miracle and from that rebirth.
Bồng Bềnh was not meant to change the world. I may not even change a single household. But I refuse to remain silent when something must be said. I refuse to turn away simply because speaking up feels risky.
Because there is no justice, if we all stay quiet out of fear or ignorance.
If BồngBềnh reaches you, even in the smallest way, then its purpose is fulfilled.
These are the pieces of a life I lived, lost, and reclaimed.
Thank you for holding them with me.
🦋
Papaya tree
Beside the well, Dad planted a papaya tree. Each time I bathed, I looked at it, letting my eyes rest there as the cold sank deeper into my body. Slender yet upright, its leaves spread wide against the wind, as though it could withstand anything. One day, I noticed it had grown large, its roots cracking the concrete around the well. With so much excitement, I told my sister the tree was brave.
But...fearing it would damage the well. Dad cut it down.
That afternoon, I cried...
The Shadow,
&
Sunny Days
And,
I stopped playing with my shadow. Shadows were ghosts now. After the ghost stories, darkness was no longer empty. It was crowded with shapes.
Much later, when I moved to the city for university—where streets overflowed with people and lights burned bright—I reminded myself:
When life flourishes, darkness retreats.
But back then, in that tiny village, all I knew was how tightly I clung to summer, to moonlight, to human voices.
And every morning I woke hoping it would be a sunny day—enough happiness to store away, enough to survive the coming rainy months.
Just one day.
That was all I needed, as simple as that.
Dad
His love for me ran so deep that it could pull him back even when he was drunk. He said I was born so fragile that he was afraid even the slightest touch would shatter me.
Mom said I was naive enough to dare hug him when he was furious.
My siblings said I was lucky—because he had poured all his anger out on them already, and what remained was love, he gave it all to me.
As for me, I never wondered why. Then one winter day, in October 2025, sitting in Amsterdam and telling Megan about my dad, I broke down and cried like a child. I suddenly understood: he loved me most because I was the only one, who sat quietly and patiently, listened to the dreams he never got to live.
And perhaps he believed— that I, one day, would live those dreams for him.
And I did, indeed.
Sun and Moon
To dad, looking at Hải was like looking into a distorted mirror—himself, but stripped of the qualities he valued most. Hải reminded him not of who he had been, but of who he feared he might have been: a man who failed to rise, a neglected youth, resigned, unable—or unwilling—to fight his way out of life’s limits. That resemblance poisoned dad with bitterness.
Hải seemed to be punished not only for what he did, but simply because he looked like dad.
The school gate
Weeks passed, Dad told me the teacher spoke to the principal, and I was accepted as an official student.
I was over the moon.
I treated my notebooks like treasures, kept them spotless, practiced my handwriting for hours, chasing perfection line by line. When Dad asked which subject I loved most, I answered honestly: all of them, because every page was new, every lesson a door opening.
I took school seriously, like a small soldier entrusted with a sacred mission.
Spring, elsewhere
We believed, foolishly and without saying it aloud, that if we continued to live responsibly—clean, quiet, present—things might eventually change.
So no matter how the night had gone, every morning we washed our faces, wiped our tears, and put on clean clothes for school.
We lined up with other children, sat at our desks, and tried to live ordinary lives.
Ordinary became a luxury.
The river in Aurhus
I want my funeral there.
In Denmark—
the happiest country in the world,
the only place with an Institute of Happiness.
Please, please, let it be a summer day.
Full of light.
I do not want a gravestone with my name.
Please, plant a tree instead.
And when this body becomes ash,
let it drift along the river in Aarhus.
Let me float...