CHAPTER 1: WOMAN
I grew up surrounded by women who held the world quietly. My grandmother budgeting in soft whispers at dawn. My mother moving through airports with tired eyes and unwavering grace. The vendors near my old school, balancing baskets and hope in equal measure. Their strength never arrived loudly. It lived in steady hands, persistent love, and the certainty that life can be carried forward, even in silence. Watching them, I learned that women do not wait for doors to open — they hold them, prop them, and build new ones. And somewhere between their footsteps, I found my purpose too.
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Leader of External Relations Department, Vietnamese Female Students Association (VFSA)
When I joined the Vietnamese Female Students Association, I didn’t expect to lead one of Vietnam’s first student-run organizations focused on women’s health and gender equality. As the Director of External Relations and Advocacy, I helped manage an anonymous hotline and our Instagram page, @vfsa_helpcenter, which supports women’s emotional and reproductive health. Over time, it grew into a community of more than 2,200 members sharing safety tips, personal experiences, and mental health resources.
Running the hotline was not always easy. Many messages came late at night, and each one told a story of fear, confusion, or pain. Some girls asked about contraception, while others shared worries about being judged. I learned that what most of them needed was not only information but reassurance that they were not alone.
Our team also created “Protect-Doll” kits, which included a condom, alarm, and mini spray. They were small but symbolic, encouraging young women to take control of their own safety. We sold 300 kits nationwide, and half of the profits, about $400, were donated to Đồi Cốc Cemetery for abandoned infants. The rest supported the Compassion Fund, which helps women facing unplanned pregnancies.
Throughout the process, our biggest challenge was finding the right tone for every message and campaign. We wanted our words to empower, not shame. Every post and hotline reply had to be written with care. Over time, I learned that advocacy isn’t about loud slogans or big gestures. It’s about consistency, empathy, and small actions that build trust.
Leading VFSA taught me what real responsibility feels like. It’s replying to messages from strangers who trust you with their fears. It’s staying up late editing educational posts so that someone, somewhere, might feel seen. And it’s realizing that change doesn’t always happen in headlines - it happens quietly, one conversation at a time.
Co-founder, C.A.O Project
In many Dao villages of northern Vietnam, debt is inherited like land. Mothers pass it to daughters, not by choice, but by circumstance. What begins as a loan for farming or marriage can linger for decades, shaping the rhythm of entire families.
That was where C.A.O (Create An Opportunity) started, with a question about what keeps women in cycles they never chose. Our team, a network of high school and university students, partnered with the Sa Pa Women’s Union to meet and listen to 206 Dao women. We asked how their debts began and what they wished they had learned earlier. Their answers were simple but sharp: how to save, how to plan, how to trust their own judgment. From those conversations came the outline for financial literacy programs built around what they already knew.
We worked closely with the Dao Đỏ and Sapanapro cooperatives to turn knowledge into opportunity. More than 120 women were trained in herbal production and community tourism, creating new sources of income within their villages. The change was small but steady. Within months, average earnings rose by around sixty dollars, enough to pay off small debts or send a child to school.When we later hosted the Ethnic Cultural Exchange Festival, over five hundred people came together, including villagers, artisans, and volunteers from across the country. The event included workshops on managing household finances and booths that sold herbal products made by the women themselves. We distributed micro-grants and essentials to more than a hundred participants. I vividly remember when after the sessions ended, many women stayed behind, trading budgeting tips and talking about new plans for the next planting season.C.A.O became a place where stories met solutions. It taught me that empowerment doesn’t always look like a policy or a speech. Sometimes, it’s a group of women sitting together, realizing they can rewrite what they pass down to their daughters.
Founder & Owner, Nêm
I started Nêm after spending time with women who worked in salt fields and small workshops across northern Vietnam. Their hands were coarse from long hours, their backs stiff from lifting and bending. When we talked about rest, most of them smiled as if it were a joke.
That memory stayed with me. I wanted to make something small that could fit into their lives. So I founded Nêm, a project built around handcrafted herbal salt. Before producing anything, our team spoke with two thousand women to learn what comfort meant to them. Many described the smell of herbs after rain or the feeling of heat on tired muscles.
From those stories, we created a simple product: a herbal-salt blend and a Ritual Card that links to a three-minute breathing guide. It isn’t luxury; it’s a pause so that one can take even in the middle of a long day.
We worked with two salt-field producers to make around five hundred kilograms per batch, twice a year. Each round felt like a conversation with all acts of testing, refining, adjusting by touch. The products reached partner spas and small retailers, and online sales slowly grew through our Facebook page. It now brings in about $4,600 a year, enough to keep production going and pay every worker fairly.
We also organized three workshops for more than fifty women, focusing on health and safety in their workplaces. The sessions were quiet but honest. We sat together, stretching our arms, talking about pain, fatigue, and old remedies passed from mother to daughter. Some women stayed after, asking for another session.
Nêm began as a small idea: a handful of salt, a breath, a few minutes of calm. Over time, it became a reminder that care doesn’t need to be spoken loudly to exist. Sometimes, it’s enough to create space for someone to rest and heal.