I'd like to talk about my high school literature teacher, Ms Thanh, who had a profound impact on how I think and express myself.

She stood out because she encouraged us to form our own interpretations rather than memorise textbook answers. She drew parallels between literary characters and contemporary social issues, making the subject feel relevant and alive.

Her patient teaching style meant she never dismissed a student's answer. Instead, she guided us with thoughtful questions toward deeper understanding.

Her influence has been lasting. She taught me that critical thinking matters more than memorisation, and that articulating ideas clearly is valuable far beyond school. Whenever I face a complex problem, I apply the analytical mindset she helped me develop.

One of my closest friends is Minh, whom I've known since primary school. We met on our very first day and became inseparable almost immediately.

Growing up, we spent weekends cycling around our neighbourhood discovering street food spots. As we got older, we started playing basketball and studying together, and eventually travelling during university breaks.

What I value most is his honesty and loyalty. He tells me the truth even when uncomfortable, but always with genuine care. We've had disagreements, but resolved them through open communication.

The friendship endured because we both make a conscious effort to stay connected — we have a standing arrangement to meet for coffee at least once a month regardless of how busy life gets.

The family member I admire most is my maternal grandmother, who raised five children largely on her own after my grandfather passed away when her youngest was a toddler.

Despite enormous challenges, she put all five children through school by running a small tailoring business from home. She worked late sewing clothes yet always found time to help with homework and attend school events.

What I find most admirable is her combination of resilience and warmth. She never complained about hardship and instilled in her children the belief that education was their path to a better life. Even now in her eighties, she maintains an incredibly positive outlook.

She taught me that strength isn't about avoiding difficulties but facing them with grace and determination. Her life story constantly reminds me that perseverance and love can overcome almost any obstacle.

A place that left a lasting impression is the ancient town of Hoi An in central Vietnam, which I visited about two years ago.

What struck me immediately was the remarkable preservation of centuries-old architecture featuring a distinctive blend of Vietnamese, Chinese, and Japanese influences. Walking through the old quarter in early morning felt like stepping back in time.

I explored the Japanese Covered Bridge, wandered through vibrant markets, and took a cooking class for traditional dishes. In the evenings, thousands of colourful lanterns along the riverbank created a magical atmosphere.

What truly impressed me was how the local community preserves their heritage while welcoming tourism sustainably. Unlike commercialised destinations, Hoi An retains an authentic charm that makes visitors feel like genuine guests.

A place I find exceptionally peaceful is a small lakeside park about twenty minutes from my apartment, tucked away behind a residential area so few people know about it.

I visit at least once a week, usually on weekend mornings when it's quietest. There's a wooden bench overlooking the lake where I sit with a book and coffee. The lake surface is perfectly still in early hours, and you hear only birdsong and occasional rustling of leaves.

I usually read for about an hour, then take a slow walk along the path circling the lake. Sometimes I bring a journal to write down thoughts or plan my week ahead.

The reason it's so calming is that it feels completely separate from city noise. In a city where traffic and construction are constant, having somewhere this tranquil feels like a small luxury that helps me recharge mentally.

Copenhagen, the capital of Denmark, has been at the top of my travel wish list for years.

From what I've read, it has mastered the balance between urban modernity and quality of life. It's consistently ranked among the most liveable cities thanks to excellent public transport, extensive cycling infrastructure, and strong environmental commitment. More than half of all commuters there cycle to work.

I'm drawn to its design culture and creative scene. I'd love to see the colourful Nyhavn waterfront, explore food markets, and experience the Danish concept of hygge — that feeling of cosiness woven into everyday life.

Beyond sightseeing, I believe the trip would broaden my perspective on how cities can prioritise human well-being over car traffic, which is something I care deeply about.

A skill I'm particularly proud of is public speaking, which I developed over about three years during university.

Initially I was extremely shy and would feel physically anxious presenting in front of even a small group. The turning point came when I joined the debate club in second year. At first I could barely form a coherent argument under pressure, but the supportive environment and regular practice slowly built my confidence.

I started with two-minute speeches and worked my way up to competitive debates. By graduation I had won two inter-university competitions and delivered a keynote address at a student conference.

The transformation from someone who dreaded speaking to someone who actively seeks such opportunities is something I take genuine pride in. It taught me that most limitations we perceive are not permanent — they can be overcome with persistent effort.

A subject I genuinely enjoyed was geography, taught by Mr Long throughout secondary school.

What made it special was connecting classroom learning to the real world. Rather than memorising capitals, we explored how physical landscapes shape human settlement, why certain regions experience particular weather, and how economic activities distribute across the globe.

Mr Long brought topics to life with satellite imagery, interactive maps, and projects analysing real demographic data. Every lesson answered questions I hadn't thought to ask — why do monsoons happen, why do some cities grow while others decline, how do rivers shape civilisations.

It sparked a curiosity about the world that I still carry today. That sense of discovery made geography the one subject I always looked forward to attending.

A career I find deeply appealing is user experience design for educational technology products.

I'd need a combination of technical and creative skills — most UX designers hold a degree in design or human-computer interaction, plus proficiency in design tools and a strong portfolio. I'm building these through online courses and personal projects.

The role involves researching how people interact with digital products, creating wireframes and prototypes, conducting usability tests, and collaborating with engineers. It sits at the intersection of psychology, technology, and creativity.

I'm drawn specifically to educational technology because well-designed learning tools can democratise access to quality education. Growing up in Vietnam, I saw how limited resources held talented students back. Contributing to platforms that make learning more accessible would be incredibly fulfilling.

An app I use daily is a language learning platform combining spaced repetition flashcards with interactive lessons.

A colleague recommended it about two years ago. I was sceptical, having tried several apps that felt too simplistic. But this one stood out because of its adaptive algorithm — it tracks what I struggle with and adjusts review frequency accordingly.

I spend about fifteen minutes each day during my morning commute completing lessons and reviewing flashcards.

After eighteen months, I can hold basic conversations, read simple articles, and follow podcasts in my target language. The app makes learning manageable — each session is bite-sized, and the sense of daily progress keeps me motivated.

A piece of technology I find incredibly useful is noise-cancelling headphones, which I purchased about a year ago when I started working remotely.

I use them primarily for focused work sessions. When I need to concentrate on demanding tasks like writing reports or analysing data, I put them on and the background noise of traffic, construction, and household activity virtually disappears.

Beyond work, I also use them for language learning podcasts during my commute and for relaxation — sometimes I'll play ambient nature sounds when I need to unwind after a stressful day.

What makes them so valuable is the dramatic improvement in my productivity and mental clarity. Before I had them, I was constantly distracted by environmental noise and would often need to relocate to a quiet cafe just to get deep work done. Now I can create that focused environment anywhere.

An increasingly serious issue in my city is air pollution, particularly during the dry season from November to March.

The primary causes are vehicular emissions from growing numbers of motorbikes and cars, construction dust from rapid urban development, and industrial activities on the outskirts releasing pollutants that drift into residential areas.

On bad days, thick haze hangs over the city. Many people wear protective masks and respiratory conditions have been rising, especially among children and the elderly.

I believe a multi-pronged approach is needed: government investment in public transport, stricter emission standards for factories, and individual choices like cycling or using electric vehicles. No single measure will solve it overnight, but combined efforts could bring meaningful improvement.

About eighteen months ago, an abandoned industrial lot in my neighbourhood was converted into a community garden.

A group of local residents submitted a proposal to the district council, received approval and a modest budget, then recruited volunteers. They transformed the litter-strewn space into a thriving green area with vegetable plots, flower beds, and a small playground.

The impact goes beyond greening. The garden became a gathering point where neighbours who previously had little interaction now meet regularly. Elderly residents tend plots in the morning, parents bring children in the afternoon, and weekend workshops on composting attract all ages.

It demonstrates how community-led initiatives can improve both physical environment and social connections simultaneously — turning an eyesore into something that genuinely enhances quality of life.