Return to Roots: Vietnamese Abroad Flock Back Home

Minh Tam's choice to go back to Vietnam following eight years in Canada surprised her family and friends, who considered it a "wild plan."

At the age of 30, Tam had a secure job and a stable life in Canada. She stated that she didn't encounter any difficulties in adapting to Canadian society, except for a persistent sense that, over time, she never truly felt she belonged.

Living by herself, she spent her days conducting research at a university and her evenings and weekends working a part-time job at a shopping mall. There were weeks when she worked seven days straight, starting early and coming back late. Her daily routine involved purchasing roasted chicken, vegetables, and bread from the supermarket.

"A life that is lonely and monotonous," she says.

Tam's choice to go back to Vietnam was shaped by two significant events. While visiting her homeland in 2023, she experienced a strong sense of longing as the plane touched down at Hanoi's Noi Bai Airport.

"Only after I stepped into my homeland did the yearning emerge," she remembers.

The second incident took place when she had a dream in which her parents were weeping and begged her to remain. After waking, she looked out the window at the moving delonix trees and understood that, just like the blossoms, she was part of Vietnam.

Tam is a member of an increasing number of returning migrants—individuals who previously lived abroad but chose to come back to their native country. According to theMigration Profile VietnamA report from the International Organization for Migration indicates that approximately 500,000 Vietnamese individuals return to their home country from overseas annually, with 25,000 of them being former emigrants.

This movement is gaining momentum in tandem with Vietnam's economic development and higher quality of life.

Vietnamese people living abroad were welcomed by their families at HCMC's Tan Son Nhat Airport in January 2025 as they returned home for the Tet Lunar New Year. Photo by VnExpress/Quynh Tran

Nguyen Thi Huong, following years spent in the United States and Australia, also decided to come back to Vietnam, living by herself in a home located in District 8 of Ho Chi Minh City.

The former nurse was left to care for two daughters by herself after her husband passed away. Following her retirement, her children encouraged her to move abroad with them. She relocated to California in the United States in 2019, feeling assured that her English proficiency and friendly nature would enable her to adjust swiftly.

However, she quickly experienced a sense of loneliness. In the United States, her daughter, son-in-law, and grandchildren were occupied with their jobs. Although there was a significant Vietnamese population, it was spread out, and individuals were too preoccupied to engage with one another.

In an effort to fight loneliness, she began taking the bus to a local supermarket, where she met staff who were cold and uninterested, making her feel excluded. This situation caused her to stop going out and interacting with others.

One day, as she was seated in a park, a woman accidentally handed her $10, believing she was in need. This moment caused her to break down emotionally, reinforcing her choice to go back to Vietnam.

Hương's second daughter then invited her to Australia, but life there was also disappointing. The speed of life was too rapid, the housing conditions were inadequate, and her only responsibility was cleaning the yard.

"I felt so isolated that I collected every leaf individually and hesitated to rake them, worried that there would be no more leaves left and no more tasks to occupy me," she remembers.

After spending three months in Australia, Huong was determined to return to Vietnam. In 2023, she came back, renovated her home, and split it into two sections—one for her residence and the other for leasing to a pho restaurant.

Now she takes pleasure in observing people arriving and departing, engaging in conversations in front of the store, and experiences a feeling of calm. Although she needs to have her medications by her bed and her phone nearby for emergencies, Huong states: "For me, this life is what truly feels like living."

A study from the United Nations Department of Economic and Social Affairs highlights that numerous second-generation Vietnamese immigrants experience a sense of not fully belonging in their host countries, which leads some to choose to return to Vietnam. In the U.S., 60% of Vietnamese Americans continue to face challenges with language difficulties, cultural adaptation, and social standing.

Dr. Catherine Earl, a social anthropologist affiliated with RMIT University Vietnam, suggests that various elements play a role in reverse migration, beyond just challenges in adjusting to life overseas.

Her studies indicate that in the 21st century, migration is no longer a single-direction process, but involves continuous movement between various locations, such as home countries, places of study, work, marriage, and child-rearing.

Numerous immigrants end up in a state of uncertainty, not completely fitting into any nation. If they are not adequately prepared, they might encounter culture shock and feel out of place regarding language, cuisine, faith, weather, and daily habits in a different country. Some become disheartened when the actual experience falls short of their hopes, while others modify their aspirations after uncovering fresh possibilities, such as going back to their native countries.

Return migration highlights not only individual decisions but also shortcomings in policies concerning education, job opportunities, and cultural adaptation, she states.VnExpress. If Vietnam's education and employment policies are not enhanced, this may result in additional relocation, leading to inefficient use of human resources, interruptions in family ties across generations, and restricted participation on the global stage.

On the other hand, if suitable policies are implemented, returning migrants could have a beneficial impact on the nation's growth.

Thanh Binh, who spent two decades in Regensburg, Germany, chose to go back to Vietnam in 2023.

Thanh Binh during his journey across Vietnam. Photo provided by Binh

Having moved at the age of 10, he is fluent in German and slowly adjusted to Western life. He encountered racial discrimination and school violence, but the majority of his time in Germany was spent in a favorable living environment with steady employment.

Nevertheless, he consistently experienced a sense of emptiness and emotional dissatisfaction that he only encountered in the profound ties of Eastern relationships.

"I began questioning where I genuinely fit in," he states.

Following the death of his close friend in Germany, who left him a message to "live true to your dreams," Binh chose to go back to Vietnam.

This choice came as a shock to his family and friends, particularly since he was near finishing his doctoral studies and had secured a teaching job at a renowned German university. He promised his family that he would give life in Vietnam a two-year test period, with the possibility of returning if circumstances didn't improve.

"At worst, I would gain the experience of residing and working in my native country, which I have always desired," he states.

But when he reached Vietnam, he realized he didn't want to go back.

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Under a Shared Roof: The Heartrending Lives of Two Families in Rural Vietnam

For years, a 98-year-old veteran and a deaf-mute couple in the central province of Ha Tinh have dreamed of a sturdy home, but that dream has yet to be realized.

In Hamlet 3 of Huong Thuy Commune, Huong Khe District, nestled in a narrow alley, stands the crumbling three-room home of Tran Viet Van, 98. Built 24 years ago with the family's savings, the house, made of pine planks and topped with a fiber roofing, is visibly deteriorating. Termites have eaten through the wooden walls, the roof is riddled with holes, and the support beams are severely decayed.

Van, a veteran of the Battle of Dien Bien Phu who also served in Laos and southern Vietnam, shares the house with his wife, Nguyen Thi Tam, who is 100 and bedridden with cognitive decline. The couple relies on their daughter-in-law, Nguyen Thi Hong, who lives 2 kilometers away, for daily help with cooking, cleaning, and personal care.

Veteran Tran Viet Van in Ha Tinh Province. Photo by Duc Hung

Van and his wife have three children, all of whom live nearby but are financially constrained and unable to offer much support. Each month, the elderly couple receives a pension and social allowance totaling just over VND4 million (US$152.62), which barely covers medicine and daily essentials, leaving no funds for repairs.

For years, Van has watched his home deteriorate. In the summer, their house turns into a furnace, and winters are bitterly cold. He once saved more than VND10 million to reinforce the roof, but a relapse of old war injuries forced him to spend the money on medical treatment instead.

"I feel sorry for my wife. My heart aches whenever I see her huddle up during rainy days," Van said. On stormy days, he would call his children to stretch tarps and stuff bricks into the gaping holes. If the storms grew too fierce, the couple had to seek shelter at their children's homes.

Hong revealed that the family once discussed borrowing money to build a new house, but Van refused, insisting the funds should go toward his grandchildren's education. He even threatened, "I won't live in it."

Tran Viet Van sits outside of his run-down home in Ha Tinh in early April 2025. Photo by Ngoc Anh

"My parents-in-law always put their children and grandchildren first," Hong said. When the cold and damp weather sets in, she often stays overnight at their house, burning charcoal in an aluminum basin beside their bed. After a storm last year severely damaged the house, the family reinforced it with thick steel cables, which now make the house "look like a bunker," according to Hong.

As a young man, Van dreamed of building a sturdy one-story house that could withstand storms. Now nearing 100, that dream remains unfulfilled. Yet, the wounded veteran still considers himself lucky to have returned home and to be surrounded by children and grandchildren. "Many never made it back from the battlefield," he said. "I’m grateful just to be here."

Still, if he had one last wish, it would be for a proper house—not for himself, but for his frail wife. "If I pass away first, where will she live when this house finally gives way?" he said.

About 500 meters from Van’s home, a winding dirt road leads uphill to the modest home of Mai Hai Dang, 30. Perched halfway up a hill, the 60-square-meter mortar-walled house, built in 2010, now suffers from a leaking roof and cracked walls.

Mai Hai Dang (L) and his mother Phan Thi Hien. Photo by Duc Hung

Dang's life has been as rough as the path to his door.

His mother, Phan Thi Hien, 60, recounted the struggles of raising a child with congenital deafness. The family borrowed money and traveled to multiple hospitals in search of treatment, but their efforts yielded no results. Eventually, Hien came to terms with her son's condition and taught herself sign language so she could communicate with him more fully.

Dang shared that by age five, he was fully aware of his condition and felt deep sadness. School became impossible; instead, he stayed home, helping his parents with odd jobs. Later, Dang attended a vocational training center for people with disabilities in Ha Tinh City, where he met Nguyen Thi Quynh, who shares his condition.

"Six years ago, he quietly slipped me a note that read, ‘I want to get married,’" Hien recalled. Shocked, she asked him what the other person was like. He signed, "She has the same condition as me."

Mai Hai Dang’s home perched halfway up rugged hills in Ha Tinh. Photo by Ngoc Anh

Despite concerns about their shared disability, Hien and her husband agreed to the marriage, hoping Dang would have a companion to share life’s burdens.

Three months later, the couple wed. In 2020, Quynh gave birth to a healthy baby girl. Hien said she held her breath for months, fearing her granddaughter might inherit her parents’ disability. But at 18 months old, the child called out, "mom and dad—grandpa and grandma," leaving the whole family in tears.

Today, Dang proudly signs to neighbors, "My daughter can talk."

Dang shared that his family motivates him to overcome adversity. Despite poor health, he picks up construction jobs when possible to pay for milk and his daughter’s kindergarten, covering basic costs. Yet, with a monthly income of just VND3–4 million, saving for house repairs remains out of reach.

Whenever it rains, Dang scrambles to catch the water dripping through the cracked roof with basins and buckets. Hien has thought many times of taking a bank loan to build a new house, but she fears falling ill and leaving her son with the heavy burden of debt.

Dang often tells his mother that he wants to save up to move the family away from the landslide-prone hill. Above all, he dreams of giving his four-year-old daughter a safe, sturdy home where she can grow up well.

Ha Van Dan, Chairman of the Fatherland Front Committee of Huong Khe District, said that Van and Dang's families have long been classified as poor households under policy support. Occasionally, local authorities provide them with small-scale assistance for farming or unsecured loans. However, they rarely receive support from associations or organizations.

"Regarding housing, for years they've lived in dilapidated, makeshift structures that are unsafe during storms. Their dream of a sturdy house to shield them from sun and rain is a constant longing, but one they never dared to make plans for due to their dire circumstances," Dan said.

To help Tran Viet Van's and Mai Hai Dang's families secure safe homes, Hope Foundation, in partnership with Agribank, is running the "House of Hope" program. Readers can contribute to the initiative to eliminate temporary houses and dilapidated houses for poor and disadvantaged households in Ha Tinh Province here .

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