Staff Writer- Bao Vu

A few weeks ago, I read an article by Grace. Grace shared her study abroad journey in Germany—a journey that was lonely, yet not truly alone—telling of meadows and a soul that was, and always is, connected to many other souls.

Perhaps, here in the US, right alongside all of you, I am also finding a similar journey.

My journey began with a car ride by my dad to the airport in Hanoi, from the day I checked in for my flight at a crowded airport in Ho Chi Minh City with my mom and relatives, accompanied by the anxious and hopeful wishes of all my family.

Over 26 hours of flying, 8,000 miles, and three layovers—that was the distance between a high school student familiar with the pulse of Hanoi, with a fragrant morning bowl of Phở, a hastily bought Bánh Mì at the street corner, and the quick dashes home after school on a scooter before lingering at street stalls with friends—and an international student adrift in a completely strange school, city, and country. Everything happened so fast, I didn’t even have time to realize it.

In the early days, loneliness was a noticeable companion. It had little to do with a lack of welcome. But loneliness seeped into the strange meals (yes, just because I missed my mom’s home cooking) at Dining Service, into the moments of being adrift amid lively conversations where the speed and slang sometimes overwhelmed me, into Family Weekend when everyone had their parents visiting, and I did not.

But gradually, I also came to realize, as Grace wrote, that this journey is actually not at all solitary. Not only was I connecting with the world around me, but I was also connecting with the souls around me. It came gently, through the smallest things. It could be the smiling nod of a professor when I tentatively raised my hand to speak, even if my sentences were clumsy with jumbled grammar. It was the time a friend walking by waved and asked, “Hey, how’s it going?” Or the days my roommate’s family took me to explore The Cities, experiencing a truly American Thanksgiving with a really big turkey, and the days spent sledding on a small board.

These moments are like tiny raindrops. Falling quietly, but gradually seeping into the heart, soothing the arid feeling of those first days away from home. They connect with each other, forming a gentle underground stream, nourishing a young sapling trying to take root in foreign soil.

Now, as the first semester gradually comes to a close, I know I still carry within me a little of Hanoi’s bustle, a little of Da Lat’s gentleness, and a whole sky full of memories of Vietnam. I’m learning how to let these things hide, then reappear, in my daily life here. Sometimes it’s just when I describe the flavor of a morning bowl of phở, or imitate the sound of motorbike horns weaving through the streets. The curious, eager looks in your eyes as you listen make me suddenly understand: perhaps I am not only the one learning, but also quietly bringing to our Gustavus a little breeze, a little sunshine, a little flavor from where I was born.

Perhaps, we connect not by erasing our differences, but through a sincere curiosity about each other’s worlds. And I think connection is like small, winding paths. Not meant to level two hills, but so we can leisurely stroll into each other’s worlds, and then return—or stay—with the beautiful fragments of memory we’ve exchanged.

So, from the bottom of my heart, I want to say thank you. 

Thank you, Mom and Dad, for giving me this journey, for letting me use your hard-earned money to go places you have never been, to experience things you never got to experience. 

Thank you to the professors who helped me through my first semester, a special thanks to Dr. Mark Braun for his encouragement and trust. 

Thank you, Lila, my roommate, and your family, for giving me a second family. 

Thank you to the friends in classes, at The Courtyard, at The STEAMery, at the salad bar, at Carillon handbells, and to all those I have met, am meeting, and will meet at Gustavus—for making this unfamiliar place gradually feel like home, warm and familiar.

My journey still stretches long ahead. There will still be afternoons when I miss the street vendor calls of the Old Quarter, or days I feel very small in this big world. But I know I am not alone. Because within this beloved school, a soul from Vietnam is being welcomed, listened to, and connected—so gently—with many, many other souls.

Wishing all of us an excellent final exam week. Stay warm and stay safe!