A day that started cold and ended late
It was almost 10.30 p.m. when we finished the last online panel interview.
My voice was a little tired. My mind was full. Our team stayed back for a quick sync, going over candidates, impressions, little details that might matter later. By the time we wrapped up, the house was quiet, my parents already resting, and I finally had a moment to sit with the day.
It had been long. One of those days where everything feels stretched, time, energy, emotions. And yet, underneath the fatigue, there was a deep sense of meaning.
Earlier that morning, the day had begun in a very different way.
Cold air. Early light. A run through flowers.
Getting out of bed when it would be easier not to
Being back in my hometown always changes my rhythm.
Compared to Ho Chi Minh City, the mornings here are colder, heavier, quieter. The bed feels warmer. The temptation to stay under the blanket is real. Waking up early to train is suddenly not so romantic.
And honestly, the past few days, it has been hard.
But that morning, I pushed myself to get out of bed. I put on my running shoes and stepped outside, feeling the cold air on my face, that sharp freshness that wakes you up in a way coffee never can.
I went for a run near the flower garden, along Tran Phu Road, a stretch that becomes something magical every year as Lunar New Year approaches.
Running through the Tet flower street
Every year, as Tet comes closer, flower sellers from all over the country gather along this road.
Peach blossoms. Yellow apricot flowers. Pink, red, white. Pine trees standing tall like Christmas trees, but in a very Vietnamese way. Families setting up temporary camps, living there for weeks to care for their flowers, even overnight.
It is such a familiar scene, and yet it never gets old.
I have run this same route for years now, ever since I moved back to Vietnam. But each year feels slightly different because I am different.
That morning, the ground was still damp. The air was quiet. Some vendors were already awake, moving gently among the plants, adjusting pots, wiping leaves.
Running through that flower street always fills me with a strange kind of happiness. A mix of nostalgia, gratitude, and calm.
Cold weather. Flowers. Tet approaching.
Somehow, all of it together makes my heart feel full.
How small rituals keep me grounded
That run was about keeping a promise to myself, especially on days when life feels heavy.
Lately, my days have been full of meetings, interviews, preparation, decisions. Work has been intense as we try to close things before the Lunar New Year, onboard a new team member, and manage multiple moving parts at once.
On days like this, small rituals matter more than ever.
For me, running in the morning is one of them.
Not because I always feel motivated, but because it creates a small pocket of calm before everything else begins. A reminder that my body is still here, breathing, moving, alive.
That morning run gave me just enough steadiness to step into the rest of the day.
And I really needed it.
A busy day filled with responsibility
The rest of the day moved fast.
Meetings. Preparation. Messages. Tasks that had to be wrapped up before Tet. Decisions that could not wait.
I had planned to go to the tailor with my mom, something I always do when I come home. Growing up, getting new clothes for Tet was one of the most exciting traditions. Even now, it still feels special.
But this time, I could not make it.
Work had to come first.
Instead, I finished what I could, then had dinner with my parents. A simple meal, familiar dishes, quiet conversation. It grounded me in a way nothing else can.
Sometimes, just sitting at the same table you grew up at is enough to reset your nervous system.
Interviewing students and remembering why this matters
After dinner, it was time for interviews.
That evening, I interviewed students for the panel interview round of the UWC selection process. In total, we are interviewing 41 finalists during the next 2 weeks. Each conversation is intense in its own way.
At this stage, it is no longer just about achievements on paper. It is about depth. Values. Self-awareness. How students think, reflect, and show up.
I get to sit with them, listen closely, and understand who they really are.
And every time I do this, I am reminded why this work matters so much to me.
Because this process changes lives.
Mine included.
Carrying forward what changed my own life
Many years ago, my own life was changed by a UWC scholarship.
I still remember how it opened my world, took me far beyond what I thought was possible, and shaped how I see education, responsibility, and service.
Now, being part of selecting the next generation of students feels both humbling and heavy.
We are not just choosing candidates.
We are carrying the responsibility of young people’s futures, their families’ hopes, and opportunities that might only come once.
That responsibility sits with me, even when I am tired.
Especially when I am tired.
The invisible pressure behind the scenes
Once the interviews are done, the work is far from over.
There are timelines to meet. Different application windows for different UWC schools. The final window closes in April, and it is already early February.
If we complete interviews and decisions by the end of February, we have roughly one month to submit applications, receive approvals, and support students through paperwork and visas.
And visas are never simple.
Some schools are in countries where visa processes are unpredictable. I still remember cases like Costa Rica, where a student could not get a visa until the second semester and missed half a year of school.
Knowing these risks is stressful.
But avoiding responsibility because it is stressful would mean avoiding meaning altogether.
Stress that comes from purpose, not fear
I will be honest.
I do feel stressed sometimes.
There are days when my mind feels full, when I worry about details, timelines, outcomes. When I wonder if we are doing enough, fast enough, carefully enough.
But this kind of stress feels different.
It is not empty pressure.
It is the kind of stress that comes from caring deeply. From knowing that your actions matter beyond yourself.
I would take this kind of stress any day over feeling disconnected or directionless.
Finding meaning at the intersection of work and service
These days, my life feels busy, but it also feels aligned.
I am not just doing tasks.
I am contributing to something bigger than myself. Something that will continue long after today’s exhaustion fades.
Interviewing students, supporting education, shaping opportunities, it gives my work a depth that no job title ever could.
And on days when I run through flower streets in the cold, then spend hours making decisions about young people’s futures, I feel the full spectrum of being human.
Joy. Pressure. Gratitude. Responsibility.
All of it together.
The quiet joy of doing meaningful work
When the day finally ended, I did not feel empty.
I felt tired, yes.
But also deeply grateful.
Grateful for the ability to run in the cold. For parents waiting at home. For students who trust us with their stories. For a team that shows up even late at night.
Meaning does not always arrive with loud celebrations.
Sometimes, it arrives quietly, at the end of a long day, when you realize that despite the exhaustion, you would choose this path again.