Minh Quang – Welcome to my space

Welcome to my
personal journey

I was born into a quintessential Asian family. Growing up in a household where both parents were highly skilled telecommunications engineers, I was exposed to a rich academic environment. With such advantageous conditions and “good genes” people always talked about, everyone expecting great things from me, I felt the weight of those expectations. In my view, these expectations served as both a pressure and a driving force, motivating me to grow and establish myself on my chosen path.

However, these "good genes" came at the cost of family time...

Due to the nature of their work, my parents were always busy with projects, meetings, and overtime. Early mornings and late nights were the only times I could see them. As I grew older, I felt like I had less and less time with them each day. I understood how important and proud they were of their careers. Despite this, I cherished every moment we had together, no matter how brief. Those small moments, like a shared meal or a simple greeting, I wanted to capture every memory in an album. Growing up in this environment also taught me to be independent and self-reliant at a young age – once again, I have to thank my parents and the environment they provided for me.

... because my parents are the epitome of Asian parenting.

When I look back at my childhood, it wasn’t the typical story of endless joy or carefree days. In our house, love wasn’t always loud or easy to spot. My parents were hardworking, often caught up in the daily grind, trying to make ends meet, and that left little time for the kind of warmth and affection you might see in the movies. But their love was always there, hidden between the quiet moments.

I remember the long evenings when my mother would come home, exhausted from work. She wouldn’t ask about my day, nor would she smile often. Instead, she would head straight to the kitchen to prepare dinner, her hands moving quickly, methodically, as though this was all she knew. And I’d sit there, watching, feeling like there was an ocean of silence between us. I often wondered if she ever saw me. If she noticed how much I wanted to talk to her, to share my thoughts, to just connect.

Then there was my father, a man of few words, a stern face that rarely softened. He wasn’t the type to play with me or sit down for a casual chat. He was the pillar of our home, always focused on providing, keeping things together. But as a child, it felt like he was more of a shadow—there but not really present. I longed for something more from him, something I couldn’t quite put into words. Maybe it was attention, maybe it was recognition, but whatever it was, I didn’t think I would ever get it.

It wasn’t until much later that I realized love, in my family, wasn’t expressed through words or big gestures. It was in the details, the everyday acts that often go unnoticed. It was in the way my mother, despite her exhaustion, always made sure I had my favorite dish on the table, even if it meant she went without. It was in the way my father would quietly leave a book on my desk, one he had heard me mention in passing, though he never once asked if I liked it.

I began to understand that their love wasn’t about grand declarations, but about sacrifice. The kind of love that doesn’t seek attention, that doesn’t need to be acknowledged to exist. And in that understanding, I found a new appreciation for them and for our home.

There’s a particular night that stands out in my memory. It was late, and I was struggling to finish a school project. The frustration must have been visible on my face, and though I didn’t say a word, my mother came into the room. She sat beside me, not saying anything, but just her presence made the moment less heavy. Then, unexpectedly, my father walked in. He didn’t ask what was wrong, didn’t offer advice. Instead, he quietly took the chair next to my mother, the three of us sitting together in silence. In that moment, I felt something shift—a silent support I had never felt before.

That night, I realized that family isn’t always about the things you say, but the things you do together. The quiet moments of simply being there, even when you don’t have the right words. Those moments shaped me in ways I’m still discovering, teaching me that love doesn’t need to be loud to be real.

This story is a reflection of the lessons I carry with me, the understanding that love can be silent, support can be unspoken, and the bonds we share aren’t always in what we say, but in how we show up for each other, even in the quietest of moments.

I am a typical example of Asian children…

My parents, products of the East, have always dreamed of their children’s success. Luckily, we share the same goal. I’ve dedicated countless hours to studying, both in school, extra classes and self-study. Although I am very tired of living under the label “Other people’s children”, I feel luckier than most other Asian children who are living under the same heavy pressure of studying. I’m fortunate to have parents who care more about my well-being and experiences than just my grades.

My mom often says, ‘Children shouldn’t be the fulfillment of their parents’ unfulfilled dreams, but should have their own. That’s true living.’ Her words have been my guiding light. Instead of comparing myself to others, I focus on improving myself daily. Thanks to my family’s support, I’ve gained more confidence in facing challenges. I know that success comes not only from grades but also from hard work, perseverance, and passion.

and be a role model for the younger brother

There are moments in life you’ll never forget: the moment your mom disappears behind the elementary school gate, leaving you in tears; the first time you could ‘fly’ on a bicycle… For me, it was the first time I saw my little brother—a tiny baby with sleepy eyes, nestled in my mother’s arms. Five years younger, he’s the complete opposite of me. If I’m a calm and somewhat serious watercolor painting, he’s a vibrant and colorful oil painting.

As a child, I thought a good big brother simply shared toys and comforted his sibling. As I grew older, I realized the responsibility was much greater. I wanted to be a role model, a reliable companion, a trailblazer smoothing the path for him. My brother has a natural talent for art, especially the piano. He could spend hours lost in Franz Liszt’s music. While our parents are progressive, they have traditional Asian views about the instability of an artistic career. Luckily, I’m the older one, and I’m on track to fulfill their desire for stability. This takes the pressure off my brother, making it easier for our parents to support his passion.

Despite our differences, we share a unique perspective on life: we see the world through a kaleidoscope. We love exploring new things, uncovering mysteries, and approaching life with excitement. It’s the perspective of youth – curious, innovative, and always ready for change.

The love for science was kindled at the dinner table…

I think everyone will clearly feel the interesting pressure from my family’s daily meals. It’s not just about watching the news; every book, every scientific article can spark lively discussions about our fields of expertise. I always feel a sense of pride, as if I’m attending a miniature scientific conference in my own home. The deep analyses, the passionate debates about specialized topics have become an integral part of our family meals. These unique “learning sessions” have ignited a lifelong passion for science discovery.

My father always used to say, ‘Cooking is a science.’ It sounded strange! But one time when I was little, I saw my father drinking beer for the first time. The foamy white bubbles, sparkling on the surface of the glass, caught my attention. Curious, I asked my father, ‘Why does beer have soap bubbles, Dad?’ My dad smiled and explained to me that those beer bubbles were the result of fermentation. When yeast ferments, it produces carbon dioxide gas, and when you pour the beer into a glass, this gas escapes, forming tiny bubbles. Not only that, but he also said that the foam helps keep the beer’s flavor fresher. At that moment, I was introduced to physics for the first time. I realized that cooking is also related to a lot of scientific knowledge. From the fermentation process to make soy sauce to choosing the right temperature to bake a cake, everything requires an understanding of scientific principles. I found physics very interesting; it’s present in almost all of our daily activities.