Tang Ping with her husband and child at a family gathering on her husband’s side in 2015. (Photo: Courtesy of Tang Ping)

In 2005, when I had just turned 20, I left Guangxi for Hanoi to study Vietnamese for one year. At that time, Viet Nam was simply the country I had seen on maps and heard about through a few stories from my teachers.

The day I first set foot in Hanoi, everything seemed to unfold like a colorful film: the melodic rise and fall of the Vietnamese language, unfamiliar styles of dress, rows of brightly colored houses, and the hurried pace of life on the streets. I looked around with curiosity, wondering what the coming year in this place would be like.

I never imagined that one year would become a turning point in my entire life.

I met the man who would later become my husband at a rehearsal for a cultural performance marking the anniversary of the school’s founding. I was an international student who had signed up to take part, while he was the choreographer. That day, among dozens of people, I did not even remember anything about him.

At that time, people mainly kept in touch through text messages and phone calls. After each rehearsal, I would often receive calls from an unfamiliar number. With only a basic command of Vietnamese, I simply ignored them, neither answering the calls nor responding to the messages. Looking back, perhaps that was why he struggled for so long to find an opportunity to get to know me.

The turning point came quite by chance. An older student whom I already knew invited me out for coffee and introduced me to the person accompanying him - it was him. Only then did I realize, with surprise, that he was the one who had been patiently calling and texting me for so long.

Tang Ping and her husband on a date in Hanoi in 2008.

From that day on, he took the initiative to check on me, introduce me to his friends, and take me around Hanoi, where I tried local specialties whose names I had never even heard before. Our initial small talk - “How was your class today?” and “Have you got used to Vietnamese food yet?”, gradually expanded into conversations about our studies, families, and plans for the future.

And then he asked me to be his girlfriend.

Everything happened so quickly that I felt hesitant. I suggested that we remain friends for the time being, so that we could have more time to understand each other.

Tang Ping and her husband during a weekend getaway in Do Son in 2007.

He did not give up. He continued to care for me, encourage me, and offer help whenever I encountered difficulties. The more time we spent together, the more we realized how well we understood each other. He was not someone who was always saying romantic or flowery things, but every action made me feel a sense of trust and peace. It was only when I realized that, whenever something happened, whether I was happy or sad, he was always the first person I wanted to share it with that I understood how deeply my feelings for him had grown. I realized that I wanted to continue walking through life with that man.

Yet the journey toward happiness has never been a straight road.

After completing my course, I told my parents about our relationship, and met with fierce opposition. They demanded that I end the relationship and return home immediately. I understood their concerns: their daughter was alone in a foreign country, facing differences in language and culture, and if I married someone far from home, I could face many disadvantages because my family would not be able to be there immediately to protect me, care for me, or support me when difficulties arose.

Even now, I still clearly remember the worried voice of my mother over the phone: “You are a girl. Why would you want to marry someone so far from home? What will you do if you suffer hardship later? Who will you turn to if you run into difficulties? None of your relatives will be by your side. Who will take care of you?” My friends at the time also advised me to end the relationship.

During those days, under overwhelming pressure, I struggled with myself until I was completely exhausted. In the end, I chose to put my personal feelings aside and return to China. Over the phone, I told him that I would find a job in my hometown and would never return to Viet Nam again.

I could clearly sense his disappointment over the phone. But he said, “I will not give up.”

In the days that followed, he continuously sent me emails expressing how much he missed me and asking me to reconsider. Determined to make him give up hope, I responded with harsh refusals and then cut off all contact, even avoiding asking our mutual friends about him. I told myself that without my family’s blessing, it would be better to end things early. I thought our story had come to an end.

Until one afternoon, when I was sitting beside my close friend in my hometown, her phone rang. She answered it, and her expression suddenly changed to one of astonishment. She silently handed the phone to me. At first, I thought she was playing a joke on me. It was not until I heard the familiar voice that I believed he had actually made it to China.

I later learned that, in order to find me, he had contacted all of my classmates in Viet Nam and gone through several people to obtain the phone number of this particular friend. Then he traveled alone to China, carrying only three Chinese phrases in his luggage: “Hello,” “Goodbye,” and “How much?”

The moment I realized that the man had overcome both geographical distance and the language barrier simply to find me, my heart was completely won over. It was also when I understood that Viet Nam was no longer just a brief stop on my journey, but a place where I wanted to spend the rest of my life.

However, given my parents’ attitude at the time, it was difficult for our relationship to be accepted immediately. So I used the reason that I had found a job in Viet Nam to return to Hanoi. Eventually, my parents agreed, but on the condition that I would not continue the relationship with him.

I chose to quietly keep my feelings in my heart, silently accompanying him through the years that followed. Four years later, when our relationship had grown mature enough, I persisted in persuading my parents to give him a chance to meet them.

Tang Ping’s wedding took place in 2009, with the blessings of both families.

The first time he came home with me, the man who was normally so confident became visibly nervous. He kept asking me what my parents liked, what he should pay attention to when meeting them, and whether he might leave a bad impression. Despite his limited command of Chinese, his politeness, maturity, and sincerity touched my family.

After that meeting, my parents’ attitude changed noticeably. They began taking the initiative to ask about his work and family, while also becoming willing to listen as I told them about the years we had spent together. Not long afterward, my parents finally gave their approval: “This young man seems very decent, and he is genuinely sincere toward you.” Hearing those words, I finally felt the heavy burden that had weighed on my heart for years lift away.

Now, every morning when I wake up in our small home in Hanoi, hear our child chattering away in Vietnamese and then turn to call their maternal grandparents in Chinese over the phone, I smile. This little home is where our two homelands have come together.

Twenty years ago, I came to Hanoi with a promise to return after one short year. I never imagined that this land would embrace me so wholeheartedly - giving me love and a little family, and turning that one-year journey into a lifelong bond.

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