Bài đọc 2
Three years ago, I moved from Ho Chi Minh City to a small town in northern Germany to study engineering. I had studied German for a year before I left and thought I was well prepared. I was wrong.
On my first day, I went to the bakery to buy bread. The woman behind the counter asked me something, very quickly, in a strong local accent. I understood nothing. I pointed at a loaf, paid, and left feeling embarrassed. The language I had learned from textbooks seemed to have very little in common with the language people actually spoke.
The cold was another shock. I arrived in October, and by November it was dark by half past four in the afternoon. I had never owned a proper winter coat, and for the first few weeks I simply stayed indoors as much as possible. I missed the noise and energy of home, the street food, and above all my family.
What finally changed things was a small decision. A classmate invited me to join the university's volleyball team. I almost said no, because I was nervous about speaking German, but I went anyway. On the court, it did not matter much that my grammar was poor. We shouted, laughed and celebrated together, and after training we often went for dinner. My German improved faster in three months of volleyball than in a year of lessons.
I also learned that some things simply take time. I stopped comparing my new life with my old one and started noticing what I liked: the quiet forests near the town, the efficient trains and the way my neighbours always said hello on the stairs.
I still miss home, especially during Tet, when I can feel how far away my family is. But I now have two places I think of as home, and I have learned that feeling like a stranger is not permanent. It is just the first stage of belonging somewhere new.