SPEECH & MENTORSHIP
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I used to believe that speaking was simply about being heard. But over time, I learned that real speech is not loud — it is responsible. It carries someone’s experience, someone’s story, often someone’s silence. From district halls to school auditoriums, I found myself speaking to parents, teachers, students, civil servants, even women who had never touched a smartphone. Every time I stepped onto a stage, I reminded myself: a speech should not end with applause — it should leave a trace.
Honored Speaker, Women’s Union – People’s Committee of Thuong Tin District, Hanoi
In September 2025, I was invited to serve as a Nominated Speaker for the Women’s Union under the People’s Committee of Thuong Tin District, Hanoi. The hall was filled with familiar sounds: the hum of a projector, the rustle of notebooks, and the quiet anticipation of twenty women waiting to learn. Many were civil servants, mothers, and community leaders, all gathered for a workshop on Technology for Women’s Empowerment.
My keynote speech lasted an hour, but its preparation had taken months. I spent weeks designing a 6,000-word action guide that translated complex digital concepts into practical lessons. The guide covered safe social media use, online job opportunities, microbusiness tools, and household financial management. My goal was not just to teach technology, but to show how digital literacy could become a path toward independence.
After the session, I led a follow-up initiative in partnership with local organizers. Together, we trained more than 300 women across nearby communes in digital safety and basic finance skills. Within five months, 78% reported stronger control over household finances, and more than 40 participants launched small online businesses, selling handmade products or managing community stores through e-commerce platforms.
That experience taught me that technology is only powerful when it is accessible. The day I saw one of the participants show me her first online store, smiling shyly but proudly, I understood that empowerment is not a speech. It is the quiet moment when someone realizes she can take charge of her own future.
Orientation Speaker & Senior Academic Consultant, High School Help Kit
Every August felt like a familiar beginning. The banners changed, the student faces were new, yet I always found myself standing at the same place — onstage, facing a hall of nervous eyes and hopeful hearts. For three consecutive years, I served as the Orientation Speaker and Senior Academic Consultant for the High School Help Kit program, a city-wide support network that guides middle schoolers preparing for specialized high school entrance exams in Hanoi.
What started as a one-time invitation slowly became a tradition. I returned each year not out of obligation, but because I felt tied to the mission. Each event reminded me of how I once sat in their seats, clutching practice papers and wondering if I was capable enough for a Literature-specialized education.
My speeches were never the same twice. One year, I focused on strategy and discipline; the next, on how to balance creativity with logic. The third year, I spoke about self-worth — that success in competitive environments comes from persistence, not pressure. As the sessions ended, I would always be met with quiet conversations: students asking how to handle stress, parents wondering how to listen without pushing too hard. Those small exchanges often felt more important than the speech itself.
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After the auditorium emptied, I continued with one-on-one consultations. I helped students revise essays, decode their own writing patterns, and find the courage to speak in their own voice. With parents, I talked about realistic schedules, supportive systems, and how trust is the strongest form of motivation. Some sessions lasted ten minutes. Others lasted hours. Each one always felt necessary.
By the third year, I began to witness a gentle cycle. Former students returned as volunteers. Some entered Literature majors at top high schools. A few even began mentoring younger peers and turned back to the event to become the next-generation speakers. That continuity made me realize something I now carry with me: guidance is not measured by how loudly one speaks on stage, but by the footsteps that quietly follow afterward.
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That is why I kept returning. Every August, another beginning — not for me, but for someone else. And I wanted to stand there when it arrived.
​Academic Advisor,
Advisor-Advisee 2024 Program
​My introductory picture posted on the program page!
In early 2024, I joined the Advisor–Advisee Program to mentor two students preparing for selective Literature and English entrance exams. I thought it would be mostly academic work, but it soon became something more personal.
Both students were bright in different ways. One loved ideas but hesitated to express them clearly. The other had confidence in grammar and vocabulary but lacked structure. Our first meetings were quiet, filled with uncertainty. By the third session, they began to speak freely about their thoughts and interpretations. I slowly realized was more about creating a space where students could trust me and voice their feelings rather than where I command and they follow.
We met every two weeks for four months, spending more than twenty hours together per mentee. Each session started with close readings, followed by guided analysis and writing practice. I focused on helping them build strong thesis–evidence–analysis skills and, more importantly, to see writing as a process of exploration. Instead of giving them answers, I asked questions that made them think deeper about what they wanted to say.
​Me and my advisee loved to talk about Literature for hours.
Their progress was steady and genuine. The first student earned admission to Nguyen Hue High School for the Gifted with a concentration in Vietnamese Literature. The second achieved a 9.75 out of 10 in English and was accepted into the Hanoi–Amsterdam Dual-Degree (Cambridge) Class. Seeing their messages after the results felt like watching a story reach its turning point.
At the end of the program, one student told me quietly, “You didn’t just teach me how to write. You taught me how to see the world in an unique lens.” That single sentence reminded me that teaching is not about transferring knowledge. It is about nurturing courage and helping others realize how capable they already are.