I took a walk in the park with a friend today and found myself revisiting old thoughts. She must be special, because every time we meet I start pondering big themes—questions that probably aren’t “my business,” yet I can’t help unpacking them out loud with her.
I know plenty of families back home in the countryside who aren’t financially comfortable. Yet when their kids hit 18 or 20, they stretch themselves to buy a “nice” motorbike. Not a racing bike, but at least an Air Blade or Vision so their daughter looks presentable. Many have to finance the purchase, adding monthly repayments to already tight budgets. It becomes a loop that’s hard to escape, making it even harder to save or build capital.
Take that 50-million-VND bike. Invest the same money in an English course and the child could earn significantly more. Even a hospitality job serving international guests pays differently once you can hold a conversation in their language.
But because of limited information—or warped value systems—people miss what truly matters. We say “art and music are frivolous,” yet without music, spirit, art, or culture, it’s easy to be seduced by money and hollow status, especially cash.
Maybe hardship in the past makes people cling to money now, hunting for as much as possible. I told my friend: sometimes people buy expensive watches not to show off. That’s only part of it. Mostly they’re comforting themselves, creating a sense of safety, compensating for years of scarcity.
The other day I shot photos for a singer friend. On the ride home, the cab driver lamented how tough London is. My friend just said, “Honestly, I find London easy—even delightful.”
She doesn’t say that because someone else is funding her life. She knows what she enjoys. Here she can shop for fresh food, cook healthy meals, run in the park, take the Tube and avoid traffic. She earns enough to live alone and still carve out time to sing, play music, and do what she loves. That, to her, is wonderful.
She told me that ten years ago, when she earned far less, she already felt lucky. The difference was she recognised “enough”: basic comforts plus a vibrant inner life. Isn’t that happiness already?
I keep thinking: if kids in the countryside—or anywhere—discover hobbies that heal them, motivate them, and make them feel alive, they wouldn’t drop 50 million on a bike. They’d save for art supplies, start an aquarium, buy an instrument, or travel to see the world and learn.
They could still ride a regular scooter to school. It doesn’t have to be fancy. When you have other anchors to be proud of, the bike stops being your whole identity.
In the end, no matter how expensive the motorbike is, you can’t bring it along when you study or live overseas. But the knowledge and experiences you invest in will stay with you for life.