There are lands we come to and leave behind, leaving only a few photos and a stamp in life's passport. But there are also lands where, just ten days are enough to gently slip into the heart — like morning dew settling on leaves, like ocean waves striking Son Tra's rocky shores each dawn. For me, Da Nang is such a land.
I came here on a business trip that I initially thought would be just a journey of plans, meetings, and numbers. Yet that boat of intention drifted into a different current — the current of people, of culture, of things so simple yet so profound.
Saigon raised me with its hurried rhythm, with the directness and openness of a city more than three hundred years old. There, people meet and shake hands to work, no need for lengthy preambles. There, every day is a wheel turning, every moment has its price. I'm used to that rhythm, I love that rhythm, and I thought it was my standard.
Until I set foot in Da Nang.
Here, people speak slower, walk slower, but look at each other longer. A greeting is not just politeness, but an opening of the heart. A meal is not just to fill the stomach, but to connect. I sat with new friends at a small restaurant along the Han River, eating Mi Quang, Nam O fish salad, listening to the heavy yet strangely warm Quang dialect, only then understanding why Da Nang people love their city so much. They love it with a very particular love — not loud, not flashy, but soaked into every gesture, every story, every glance when they mention the sea, the mountains, the Dragon Bridge spitting fire every weekend.
I came with the mindset of a businessperson. I chose Da Nang to place part of Linh Nam Group's infrastructure — not because this is an easy place, but because it is a trustworthy place. A city worth living in, dreaming of, worth sowing seeds for a long-term vision. A land transforming powerfully on Vietnam's innovation map, where government and businesses dialogue with a rare language: the language of receptivity. VNYC at 179 Tran Hung Dao, the early steps of the DAVAS Angel Investment Summit, the first meetings with local partners — all are gradually shaping a strategy that I believe will bear fruit.
But I am also sober enough to know that placing an office is easy, placing one's heart in a new land is much harder. Central Vietnam's culture is a deep underground vein, where the word "trust" weighs heavier than "profit," where relationships are built by time, not by contracts, where people remember kindness for a long time, and also remember broken promises for a long time. As a Saigonese, I need to relearn how to listen. I need to learn more patience with myself. I need to learn that some things cannot be rushed, cannot be "closed deals" over one coffee, but only through being present long enough, real enough.
I joyfully accept this. Joyful with every sincere kindness shared by new friends — people who didn't know me well, but were willing to take me for midnight fish noodle soup, willing to tell me about the hidden corners and prides of their city. Joyful with the opportunities gradually opening, not only for the business, but for the very growth of someone who has been in the profession for more than half a life.
Ten days, not enough for me to fully understand Da Nang. But enough for me to know I chose right. Enough for me to know that the road ahead will not just be a business project, but a long dialogue between a son of the South and a land rich in identity. I will return, many times more. Not as a guest, but as someone learning to become part of this place.
Because I believe, to leave one's mark on a land, one must first let that land leave its mark on one's heart.
The Han River, a ribbon of drifting cloud shadows
Ten days away from home — already a lifetime seen
Foreign soil transforms into mother soil
The hearts of Da Nang's people — heavy, full, overflowing.