Chapter 23 — Anonymous Drawing

A week after the evening at the construction site, Dieu Linh accepted Mr. Huan's invitation to attend a small discussion organized by the Truc Giang Architects Association, with the topic "Architecture for the community - Between ideals and market reality", where she was invited to be a speaker to share experiences from the Old Ben project.

The discussion took place in a small hall of the old university where she once studied, with about fifty final-year students and a number of young architects attending. After the main presentation, during the question and answer session, a fourth-year female student stood up, her voice a bit timid.

"Miss Dieu Linh, I want to ask a somewhat personal question, I hope you understand," the student said. "I read online that it seems like you had a personal relationship with the investor representative of the Ben Cu project, since high school. I'm curious, how were you able to overcome that psychological barrier to work professionally, especially when the two of you were in such different social positions?"

The question made the whole hall silent, many curious eyes turned towards Dieu Linh, waiting for the answer. She was silent for a moment, not because she was confused, but because she was actually thinking seriously about the answer, instead of avoiding it like she had done with the magazine editor before.

"Your question touches on something I've been thinking about a lot over the past few months," she began, her voice slow and sincere. "I used to think that the biggest barrier between me and that person was the difference between rich and poor — that he came from a world I didn't belong to, and that made all the affection and all the help I gave him when I was in school meaningless, even ridiculous, when I learned the truth."

She paused for a moment, took a deep breath before continuing.

"But recently, I realized that the real barrier does not lie entirely in that difference between rich and poor. It lies in the way I define my own value. I grew up in difficult circumstances, and I learned to be proud of myself by always being a giver, someone who helps others, even though I am in need myself. When I discovered that the person I helped did not really need that help, I felt like part of the value I built for myself suddenly collapsed, I felt despised, even though in reality, he never intended to despise me."

Dieu Linh looked down at the row of student seats, her eyes somewhat distant as she continued to share. "It took me many years to understand that my deepest hurt that day came largely from my own guilt about poverty, not entirely from the other person's mistakes. He was at fault for not having the courage to tell the truth sooner, yes. But the way I reacted, the way I let anger and guilt control my entire decision for eight years, was also partly my own responsibility."

The hall listened silently, no one interrupted, feeling the rare sincerity in her sharing.

"So what did you learn from that experience?" the host asked again, realizing that her story was touching on something deeper than the original discussion topic.

"I learned that a person's value does not lie in whether they are rich or poor, nor in whether they give or receive more in a relationship," Dieu Linh replied, her voice now steadier and more confident than at the beginning of her answer. "True value lies in the sincerity in every action, every choice. I used to measure my self-worth by how many less fortunate people I helped. Now, I think, my value lies in my ability and the dedication I put into each project I design, without having to compare with anyone else, rich or poor."

The discussion ended with a long round of applause. Many students came to meet her privately afterward to talk more, sharing their own similar experiences about growing up in difficult circumstances and the silent complexes that come with it.

A young man, a third-year student, lingered until the end before timidly approaching her. "Ms. Dieu Linh, I'm also from a poor family, working part-time to pay for my tuition. Listening to you share, I feel like you just told me something I never dared to admit to myself. I thought I had to always act strong, not needing anyone's help, to be worthy of respect."

"Being helped by others, or helping others yourself, does not reduce your value," Dieu Linh said, placing her hand on the young student's shoulder, her voice warm like an older sister. "The real value lies in how you treat your work and your passion every day, not in your background."

The young student nodded, his eyes slightly red, thanked her and then left with his group of friends, leaving Dieu Linh standing there alone in the gradually emptying hall, her heart filled with a deeper sense of satisfaction than any professional praise she had ever received - the feeling of being fully herself, no longer having to hide or defend from anyone.

On the way home, Dieu Linh felt an incredible sense of relief, as if speaking out loud in front of the crowd the thoughts she had only dared to keep in her heart had helped her truly accept and let go of part of the emotional burden she had been carrying for many years.

She called her mother that night, recounting the seminar, and the new thoughts she had just realized about herself.

"Mom always told me, being poor is not your fault, only living a bad life is your fault," Mrs. Ut Thao said over the phone, her warm and familiar voice. "But I think, you should also remember one more thing - being rich is not a person's fault, my child. That boy, when he used to sit and eat at our house, I could tell by looking at him that he was not someone who looked down on anyone. I've been angry with him for eight years, partly because I'm still angry with myself, because I'm afraid I'm not worthy."

Her mother's simple but thorough words made Dieu Linh speechless, realizing that even though she had not finished middle school, she could see into her daughter's heart more clearly than anyone, including herself.

"I think mom is right," Dieu Linh admitted, her voice choked up. "You spent too many years being angry at someone, when really you should have spent that time learning to forgive yourself first."

"So now you know what to do," Mrs. Ut Thao said, her voice full of encouragement. "Don't let another eight years pass in vain, my child."

After hanging up the phone, Dieu Linh sat quietly for a long time in the small apartment, the desk lamp shining on the old sketchbook still lying neatly on the table. She thought about what she had just said in front of the crowd of students, about her mother's reminder, and about the image of Khoi Nguyen standing under the steel skylight frame last week, waiting patiently without any pressure.

She realized that she had spent too much time waiting for absolute certainty before allowing herself to move on — but perhaps, relationships between people had never operated according to an absolutely certain formula like the technical drawings she was used to working with every day. Sometimes, she thinks, people just need to be brave enough to take a step, even though they can't see the whole road ahead.

She picked up her phone, her finger slid to Khoi Nguyen's name, and typed a short message: "Are you free this weekend? I want to invite you out to eat, not because of work." She looked at that line for a long moment, her heart beating rapidly as if she had just done something much bolder than any professional decision she had ever made in her career, then pressed send before she could change her mind.

The response message came just a few minutes later: "I'm free. I'll wait." Those three short words, so simple that they were almost dry, made Dieu Linh laugh alone in the empty room, a relieved, happy laugh that she had not allowed herself to have for a long time.

She put down her phone, opened her old sketchbook again, and turned to the page with the year's drawing of "Tree Gon House" - the immature drawing of the age of fifteen or sixteen, but filled with a sincerity that she realized had never really faded over the past eight years, no matter how deeply she tried to bury it. She smiled, closed the notebook, and for the first time in a long time, went to bed with a light heart, free of all the burdens of the past.