I’ve always been an introvert, though I suppose there’s a bit of an extrovert in me too. I get recharged by being part of social gatherings, but after a while, my energy starts to drain. As a child, I witnessed my father’s tears more than anyone else in the family. Often, I would retreat into a dark corner, silently reflecting on his words, and soon enough, my own tears would follow.

My father might not fit the ideal image of a perfect man in the eyes of most Vietnamese women, except for my mother, of course. But to me, he has always been the perfect father. He gave everything he had to his children and his parents. I remember how he would save the best food for us, always saying, "I’ve had this before, you eat it." He knew exactly what we liked and would save up to buy plenty of it, so we’d never go without. Sometimes, he’d buy so much that we’d joke, “Dad, we’ve had enough!”

Dad secretly took on extra jobs at the docks after his regular working hours, hiding it from us so we wouldn’t see the hardship he went through. He pushed us to study, not just with words but also, at times, with discipline, even though he knew, “when you kids hurt once, we parents hurt ten times.” That’s how he was—always keeping his emotions to himself, not wanting to burden anyone. But we all knew, we understood his silent struggles and his wish for us to have a peaceful life.

He would share stories about his life, both the happy and the hard times. Stories of pedaling a cyclo after school to make ends meet in Saigon, scraping together enough money to visit his parents, or the simple meals of morning glory and salt with his friends in the dormitory. He often talked about cycling long distances to visit his hometown—60 kilometers from Quy Nhon—or how he sold ice cream on his bike, or the times he narrowly escaped death as a commando soldier. After each story, his message was always the same: “Study hard, because education is the only way out of poverty.” That was what my grandfather told him, and now it was his message to us.

My father even went back to school to finish his university degree while I was still in high school, just to set an example for us. No matter how high his position in the company became, he would always remind us to stay humble and to keep learning. He taught us how to navigate life with integrity and always reminded us to respect everyone, even those who may have wronged us.

Of course, by his side, through everything, was my mother. She was always there to listen, encourage, and be his emotional anchor. She would often say, “That’s just how your dad is, but he loves you kids deeply.” Their love was never in grand gestures but in the small, thoughtful actions they did for each other—like bringing back food for the other when they weren’t together or pretending to be full so the other could have the last bite. When my father would go on business trips, my mother always got the most gifts. And when we talked about traveling abroad, my father would say, “Take your mom. I’ll stay home to take care of your grandparents.” To which my mother would always reply, “You can’t handle that, I’ll do it.”

My father often told me, “The happiest thing in my life was marrying your mother. She brings peace to this family.” He would say to me, “When you get married, remember, don’t ever do anything to hurt your wife. She’s left her parents’ home to be with you, to build a family together.”

Though my father had high expectations for me, he never showed it because he didn’t want to add to my pressure. After I graduated with my master’s degree, I chose to pursue a career in economics research, even though my income at the time was modest. Instead of asking if I was struggling or working too hard, my father would ask, “Are you happy with your work? If you are, keep going, and support your professors as much as you can.”

Year after year, as I faced rejections applying for PhD positions abroad, I thought about giving up and moving into industry for a more stable income. I asked my father for advice, and he responded with his usual calm: “Are you happy with what you’re doing? If you are, then keep trying. Success will come.”

The years I’ve spent abroad, in Norway, Canada, and the U.S., have given me many moments to reflect on myself, my family, and the relationships around me. I’ve always planned to take my parents to Europe for my graduation and for a long-overdue vacation. But, as always, my father would say, “Take your mother. I’ll stay home and take care of your grandparents.” He always put others before himself.

As the song goes in Cha già rồi đúng không, “cả cuộc đời của cha chỉ sống để yêu một người, là mẹ của các con thôi,” I wonder now: Dad, how many more decades do we have left together?

I love you, Dad.