Bridging Generations: A Conversation with Global Students on Vietnam, Identity, and Resilience

Last night, I had the opportunity to present My Vietnam, Your Vietnam, the book I co-authored with my father, to a group of high school students currently based in Vietnam. These students are part of THINK Global School (TGS), an independent high school where students travel the world, studying in twelve different countries over the course of three years.

Presenting online via Google Meet, I found it difficult to gauge their reactions. I could only see a few students in the front, who appeared disengaged. I assumed they were bored. But as the conversation unfolded, I realized engagement doesn’t always look the way we expect.

I was honored to share the stage with Dau Thuy Ha, co-author of The Bridge Generation of Vietnam, a book that captures personal essays from individuals who lived in Vietnam between the early 1950s and just before 1975. These voices represent a generation that experienced three critical periods in Vietnam’s modern history—war, food rationing, and rapid economic growth. Many of the contributors are now among Vietnam’s top business, governmental, and educational leaders.

It was deeply meaningful to have Ms. Ha there, offering her perspective as someone born during the war and raised in Northern Vietnam.

Photo by HyggeLab Concept on Unsplash

As we concluded, she shared a Lunar New Year message with the students, encouraging them to reflect on what it means to be a bridge—between generations and cultures. She also spoke about the importance of understanding one’s priorities, acknowledging that these shift over time, and making decisions accordingly.

One recurring theme in both of our presentations was resilience. One student asked a thought-provoking question: Since we both described Vietnamese people as resilient, what word would we use to describe the younger generation—especially given their unprecedented connectivity through technology? I let Ms. Ha take the lead in answering, but the question stayed with me long after the session ended.

I have drawn strength from my father’s story of resilience. His experiences, in turn, have shaped my own. The hardships I’ve faced have made me stronger, and I believe that’s true for most people. But a sign of progress is that younger generations don’t have to endure the same struggles to grow strong. Instead, I hope they seek to understand their family histories—to explore what their parents and grandparents endured and allow that knowledge to shape their perspectives.

Another student, half Japanese and half Belgian, asked me about identity. He wanted to know how I felt arriving in Hanoi, given that I grew up with little Vietnamese influence.

I told him that going to Vietnam in my early 20s felt like completing a missing part of myself—filling a hole I didn’t even know existed. In a similar way, writing My Vietnam, Your Vietnam has reconnected me with the Vietnamese community, filling yet another void I hadn’t fully recognized.

The biggest lesson I took away from the evening was this: While history is marked by periods of profound difficulty, our hope lies in the next generation. These students—coming from all over the world, receiving an education that broadens their perspectives—represent a future shaped by understanding and curiosity. Meeting them, and the educators guiding them, reminded me that despite the challenges of our time, there is reason to be hopeful.