The earth is very big, and I live in a small town in Vietnam. Even though the world seems so wide, my little town was my whole universe. Today, I am just born, tiny and fragile, and yet my parents have already chosen my name: Viviann. At first, I think it sounds strange. It doesn't roll off the tongue like the names I hear around me, but slowly, as I grow, it starts to feel like mine, like it belongs to me.
When I am ten months old, the world still feels safe. The warm sunlight through the windows, the smell of rice cooking in the kitchen, the soft hands of my grandparents holding me — these are all I know. But by the time I reach twelve months, something changes. My parents are gone. I do not understand where they went or why. Confusion and a quiet emptiness settle inside me, though I do not yet have words for it. I am left with my grandparents, my tiny anchors in this sudden, unfamiliar world. They care for me as best as they can, and slowly, I learn that love can come from more than just parents.
The years begin to flow like gentle rivers. The sun rises over the small town each morning, painting the sky in gold and pink. I am four now, and mornings are always for helping my grandpa with the chores around the house. He teaches me how to sweep, how to carry small baskets without spilling, how to take care of things. I listen carefully, trying to mimic his actions, because even though I am small, I want to be helpful. These routines make me feel important, part of the world around me.
Afternoons are different. Afternoons belong to the streets and the playgrounds. I run outside to meet my friends, our laughter echoing through the narrow lanes. We chase each other through the dusty paths, climb trees, and invent little games with sticks and stones. The world is wide and open, full of adventure, and for a few hours, all my fears and sadness seem to melt away. With my friends, I am just Viviann — no worries, no questions, only running and playing and dreaming.
Even in these simple days, I begin to notice things. I notice how the sky changes as the sun moves across it, how the wind feels different when it carries the scent of flowers versus the scent of cooking food. I notice the way my grandparents smile at me when I do something right, and the way their eyes hold a little worry when I stumble or fall. I do not yet understand everything, but I begin to understand that life is made of small details, and sometimes, small details are everything.
Though my parents are absent, my world is not empty. My grandparents fill it with stories and warmth. My friends fill it with laughter and light. And I, little Viviann, begin to feel the first stirrings of curiosity — of wanting to explore, to grow, to understand the world beyond my small town. Each day is a lesson, each day a chance to learn who I am and what I can become.
The sun sets slowly over the town, turning the sky into shades of orange and purple. I lie down, tired from a day of chores and games, and watch the stars appear, tiny lights in the enormous sky. Even though the world is so big, I feel a small spark inside me — a spark that tells me I will find my way, that I will grow, that I will live fully, no matter the challenges ahead. And with that, I drift into sleep, ready for tomorrow's sun, tomorrow's laughter, and tomorrow's discoveries.