Chapter 12 — The First Heartbeat

The next two weeks passed in an unprecedentedly busy cycle for Thien Kim. In addition to taking regular classes and studying for the upcoming personal first aid certification exam, she also has to spend time drafting lesson plans for the foreign object handling instruction station, searching for more reference materials, and rehearsing presentations so that they are both easy to understand and not too wordy.

"Are you okay?" Tuyet Mai asked one afternoon, when she saw Thien Kim sitting slumped at the dining table, her eyes dark from lack of sleep. "You look like you haven't slept a wink in a week."

"I'm fine," Thien Kim replied, her voice somewhat tired but still filled with determination. "There's just a lot of preparations to do for the festival. I want everything to be perfect."

"'Perfect' again," Tuyet Mai shook her head, her voice a bit worried. "Do you remember what you learned from the club? You don't have to be perfect to be worthy, have you forgotten?"

Thien Kim paused, realizing her friend was right. Although she has improved a lot in accepting imperfection during skills practice sessions, when faced with the great responsibility of organizing a community event, old perfectionist habits tend to resurface stronger than ever.

"You're right," she admitted, sighing. "I think, the pressure this time is much greater than just practicing in the club. This is the first time I have to be responsible to the whole community, not just to myself."

"Then it's even more important to remember that lesson," Tuyet Mai said, holding her friend's hand tightly. "You don't have to do everything perfectly. You just have to do your best, and trust what you've learned."

That afternoon, at the preparation meeting of the group in charge of the first aid instruction area, Thien Kim presented her completed lesson plan to Minh Vu and two other members assigned to support the CPR station and the hemostasis station.

"The foreign object treatment station will have three main parts," she presented, her voice, although still a bit shaky, was much clearer and more coherent than the first presentations in the club. "First is a short introduction about the danger and frequency of this situation in young children. Next is a tutorial on the technique of back slapping and chest compression for children under one year old, and the Heimlich technique for older children. Finally, there is a live practice session on a simulation dummy, so that parents can practice at least once on their own."

"Very detailed and methodical," Minh Vu commented, nodding in approval. "I just have one small suggestion — for the opening introduction, are you going to share your personal story? I think that would give the tutorial much more weight, instead of just dry theory."

Thien Kim paused, a familiar feeling of anxiety creeping into her heart. Sharing your story in front of a small group of friends in the club is one thing, but standing in front of dozens of strangers, recounting your weakest moment, is a completely different challenge.

"I... I'm not sure I'm ready to tell that story in public," she said, her voice trailing off.

"It's okay," Minh Vu said immediately, without any pressure. "This is just a suggestion, not a mandatory requirement. You can present it the way you feel most comfortable. The important thing is that the content is conveyed correctly and completely, not necessarily with personal stories."

Thien Kim nodded, feeling relieved that Minh Vu did not force her to do something beyond her comfortable limits. But inside, she continued to think about that suggestion throughout the following days, pondering whether she had the courage to share the real story.

In addition to preparing content, Thien Kim also had to coordinate with Germany's logistics team to arrange equipment, with Phong's media team to design promotional flyers, and with Ms. Hoa to ask permission to borrow more practice dummies from the city hospital. The large workload made her feel overwhelmed many times, but each time, Minh Vu always appeared at the right time to support and ease the burden.

One evening, when they both stayed late at school to finish printing the final flyer, Thien Kim, exhausted after a long day, blurted out a sigh. "I don't know if I can do it," she said, fatigue evident in her voice. "There's so much to worry about, and I'm afraid I'll miss something important."

Minh Vu stopped and looked at her with sincere concern. “You know, you've done a lot,” he said. "From someone who just joined the club two months ago, you're now in charge of an entire region in the most important event this year. That's no small achievement."

"But what if I screw up?" Thien Kim asked, her voice filled with anxiety. "What if a parent doesn't understand your instructions clearly, and later encounters a real situation and mishandles it?"

Minh Vu was silent for a moment, considering his answer. "I understand the worry," he said finally, his voice gentle but firm. "But think about it, without this orientation, those parents would be completely clueless. Even if your orientation wasn't absolutely perfect, it still gave them more knowledge than having nothing at all. That's what I learned from my story — not every effort needs to be perfect to be valuable."

Those words, recalling the lesson Minh Vu once shared with her about the drowning man, made Thien Kim feel deeply comforted. She realized that every time she fell into a spiral of perfectionistic anxiety, Minh Vu was always the one who pulled her back to a more balanced perspective, not by denying her worries, but by helping her see the true value behind her efforts.

"Thank you," she said, smiling with relief. "I think, if it weren't for you, I would have given up a long time ago."

"You won't give up," Minh Vu said, looking at her with trusting eyes. "I know that well, because I've seen you overcome more challenges than you thought possible in the past two months."

They continued working late into the night, perfecting the final details of the plan. When everything was ready, they both sat back, breathed a sigh of relief, looking at the results of their work spread out across the table - instruction manuals, eye-catching leaflets, detailed assignment lists for each support member.

"Only two weeks left," Minh Vu said, his voice both nervous and excited. "I believe this event will be successful."

"I hope so too," Thien Kim replied, looking out the window where darkness had covered the quiet schoolyard. "But no matter the result, I think I've learned a lot of valuable things through this preparation process."

On the way home that night, as Minh Vu took her through the lit up streets, Thien Kim felt a deeper connection than ever with him - not only a romantic relationship that was gradually blossoming, but also a friendship, a sincere companionship in the journey they were walking through together.

"You know," she said as they stopped in front of her gate. "I think I've decided. I'll share my story during the orientation session. Not because you suggested it, but because I think, if that story can help even one parent handle an emergency situation properly in the future, then it deserves to be told."

Minh Vu looked at her, his eyes filled with pride and admiration. “I think it was a very brave decision,” he said. "And I believe, your story will touch the hearts of many people."

That night, before going to bed, Thien Kim opened her notebook and wrote down the last lines of a long, tiring but meaningful day: "Today I decided to tell my story in front of a crowd, for the first time. I'm still scared, but I think, maybe this is the way for my fear to finally have a purpose — not to haunt me forever, but to help others avoid the feeling of helplessness I once experienced."

The next day, at school, Thien Kim spent recess rehearsing the opening part of her presentation in front of the girls' bathroom mirror, alone, her voice still mumbling and intermittently interrupted. She told herself, if she couldn't speak fluently in front of a silent mirror, how could she stand firm in front of dozens of strange eyes. By the fifth try, her voice began to become more steady, no longer trembling to the point of swallowing the words like the first times.

At noon, she found Tuyet Mai, pulled her friend to a deserted corner of the yard, and for the first time rehearsed her entire speech in front of a real audience, even if it was just one person. Tuyet Mai sat quietly and listened from beginning to end, not interrupting, just gently nodding in encouragement whenever Thien Kim hesitated.

"How's it going?" Thien Kim asked when it was over, her breathing was still rapid because of nervousness.

"You almost made me cry," Tuyet Mai said, her eyes really red. "But I think, you should remove the apology part at the beginning. You keep saying 'sorry for telling a sad story' twice in a row, it sounds like you're asking forgiveness. You have nothing to apologize for."

Thien Kim nodded and noted that comment in her notebook immediately. She realized that, although she had improved a lot in accepting herself, the habit of putting herself down and apologizing before someone even complained was still deeply rooted in the way she expressed herself.

"Thank you," she said, hugging her best friend. "Without you, I probably wouldn't have dared to try this."

"You can do it all yourself," Tuyet Mai smiled, patting her friend's back. "I just sat and listened."

In the evening, when checking her email again, Thien Kim saw that Minh Vu had sent the group in charge of a detailed schedule for the event day, along with a private message to her: "I heard Ms. Hoa say you're ready to share your personal story. I'm very proud of you. If you need to rehearse more before that day, just text me at any time." Thien Kim read and reread that message a few times, an involuntary smile appeared on her lips, before typing back a short thank you and putting down the phone, filled with determination for the remaining days of preparation.