Bùi Thị Thanh Phương

“When a woman is educated, an entire generation is transformed.”

I became a mother at 18.

Yes, I know it may sound controversial. Even I never imagined my story would be told here. Some might scroll past after reading that first line, assuming this is a tale of regret, or worse, a “mistake of youth.” But if you stay a little longer, I just want to share the journey of a girl once trapped in judgment - a girl who withdrew into silence, then slowly learned to rise again, to keep moving forward, and to find herself all over again.

I used to be a girl brimming with energy - spending my days immersed in History lessons and my nights perfecting traditional dance moves. I still remember that morning in 2019, when my name echoed through the school hall amid applause for winning the Citywide Excellent Student Award and the Hoa Phuong Do Gold Medal. A year later, I stood on stage again, this time as the Champion of the “Ngo Quyen Icon” contest, representing more than two thousand students in the school’s 100th-anniversary celebration. Back then, I truly believed the road ahead would be nothing but bright and full of hope.

But life rarely follows the script we write for it.

I became a mother at 18.

Right after my high school graduation exams, I found out I was pregnant. The acceptance letter from one of the country’s top public universities still lay neatly on my desk, but I had to fold it away. My friends were heading off to campus, while I stayed home, listening to the whispers, feeling the stares - some filled with pity, others with quiet judgment. There were nights I wanted to disappear, wondering if this was the end of every dream I’d ever had.

And as if to test my strength even further, Tam Bac Market, where my parents had worked for over forty years, suddenly caught fire. Everything they owned was reduced to ashes. I watched them silently clean up the wreckage, neither complaining nor collapsing.

It was then I realized something I had never understood in my 18 years of life: failure is not an ending. It is a test to see whether we have the courage to begin again.

After everything that happened, I couldn’t stop thinking: “If I had understood risk management, if I had known more about finance, could I have helped my parents avoid some of that loss?” That question became the spark that pushed me to search for a learning environment where I could truly rebuild myself - a place where I could learn how to take control of my own future.

During long nights of rocking my baby to sleep, I quietly searched for information about university programs. When I came across Finance and Accounting, one name appeared on the screen: British University Vietnam (BUV). At first, I clicked on it out of curiosity. But the more I read, the more I realized something was different. It wasn’t just the international degree or the modern campus, but it was the philosophy behind it: “Respect individuality, encourage each person to be their true self.”

That was exactly what I needed: a place that wouldn’t look at me through the lens of judgment. At BUV, I believed I could start over, have honest conversations, learn without fear, and be trusted just like any other student.

Submitting my application to BUV was one of the boldest decisions I had ever made. When the acceptance letter arrived, I burst into tears, not out of relief, but out of the quiet certainty that I was stepping into a new chapter. One where I would no longer hide from judgment, but face it head-on.

I still remember what my high school teacher once told me:

In 2023, I officially became a BUV student - the first in my family to ever set foot in a university lecture hall. On my first day of class, my hands trembled. I was terrified someone would find out I was a mother, afraid of curious glances or quiet whispers. But within just a few weeks, that fear began to fade away.

My lecturers encouraged me, and my classmates trusted me enough to make me team leader for the Vietnam ESG Challenge 2024, a competition that demanded real strategic thinking and leadership. Working with Dr. Jyotsna Bijalwan taught me to see problems from multiple perspectives and to stay calm under pressure.

And then, I reconnected with a part of myself I thought I had left behind - music. I stood on stage at the concert “Somewhere in Times”, singing a traditional Vietnamese folk song as the audience applauded. For the first time in years, I felt truly alive. The flame of art had never gone out; it had simply waited for the day I was brave enough to ignite it again.

Later, I took another leap and performed the ‘chèo’ piece “Thi Mau Goes to the Pagoda” at BUV Talent Show 2025, unexpectedly winning Third Prize. The judges said it was one of the most demanding performances, requiring singing, dancing, and acting all at once. I smiled, because by then, I knew I was capable of far more than I had ever believed.

The day I held my Party membership card in my hands, my throat tightened. I thought back to those lonely nights years ago: sitting in a small, dimly lit room, tears falling quietly amid the sound of my baby crying.

Now, I take part in social initiatives, connecting with organizations that support women and children. In every gathering, I recognize familiar eyes- the same mix of hesitation and hope I once carried. I share my story to remind them that a new beginning is always possible, no matter how many times you’ve fallen.

If I could return to eighteen, I would still choose to be a mother, but one who dares to live with purpose, to learn, to dream, and to rise again.

My experience at BUV taught me to cherish knowledge more than ever, because knowledge reshaped my life. I didn’t just learn theories, but learned to manage my emotions, my fears, and the invisible boundaries I once thought I could never cross. To me, BUV is not just a university; it’s the place where I was reborn with renewed faith, self-respect, and compassion that grew through every class, every conversation with teachers and friends.

Now, as I share, support, and empower others, I realize something deeply true: knowledge, when sown with faith and love, can become a legacy.

I have always believed that when a woman is given the chance to learn, she doesn’t just rewrite her own story - she rewrites the future for an entire generation. And that, to me, is what it means to be Lionhearted: quiet yet enduring, resilient yet graceful, strong in a way that needs no spotlight.

I’m still walking that path, the path of a mother, a student, and a woman who has journeyed through pain to find the strength within herself. And I know, the best things are still waiting ahead.