What Teaching English in Vietnam Taught Me
After I got my TESOL certificate and started teaching English in Vietnam , I was culture-shocked in a very specific way.
Not by the food. Not by the heat. Not even by the motorbikes.
I was shocked by how popular language centers were.
In Vietnam, they were everywhere, as common as convenience stores. One after another, on streets that already felt full.
At first, I couldn’t understand it. Then I did.
Vietnam was growing fast. Foreign companies were investing. People needed English, not as a hobby, but as a tool. For many Vietnamese professionals, speaking English meant better work, better pay, and a real chance at promotion.
And suddenly, my job didn’t feel like “teaching.”
It felt like being invited into a country that was actively building its next chapter.
If you’ve ever moved abroad for work, you know the strange mix of feelings that comes with that. You’re proud you made the leap. You’re grateful. You’re scared. You’re trying to be brave without being dramatic about it.
And you’re quietly hoping you’ll find your people.
My first community was the classroom
My students were lovely and easy to deal with.
They were respectful. They were good students. They showed up.
And I didn’t teach “by the book.”
Of course we had a book. We had topics. We had lessons to cover.
But I always wanted my students to speak freely, with minds. I wanted them to practice being themselves in a language that wasn’t their native tongue.
So I let them talk.
I corrected along the way, gently, so they could become confident.
And here’s what I didn’t expect: the more I helped them speak, the more they helped me understand Vietnam.
They shared stories about history, culture, and everyday life. They told me what mattered to them. What they were proud of. What they worried about. What they hoped for.
They weren’t just learning English.
They were giving me a map.
A culture-first map.
And slowly, without trying too hard, I started learning the language back.
Cảm ơn (gahm uhn). Thank you.
Em ơi (em oy!). Excuse me. Hey. The small call you use when you need a waiter, or when you’re trying to be polite in a busy place.
And later, when you’re finally in a circle that feels like a circle, you hear it:
Một, hai, ba, vô! (mot hi ba yo). One, two, three, cheers.
The more I learned, the more curious I became. The more I wanted to explore. Not just the tourist version of Vietnam, but the lived-in one.
The commute that taught me what “community” really means
I was assigned to a branch in Tân Bình District .
For the first month, we stayed in a hotel. After that, we had to move into our own accommodation.
I ended up in a rental apartment with other Filipino teachers who were already teaching in Vietnam. It was in District 7 .
It was very, very far.
At first, I commuted by GrabBike (motor taxi). Think Uber, but on a motorbike.
And if you add up the cost back and forth, it was expensive.
I had two options:
Move to an apartment near my school (alone, while I was still figuring everything out)
Rent a motorbike (cheap in Vietnam), and learn how to drive
Living with friends was already a plus. They knew more. They could help.
But I chose the motorbike.
Luckily, my co-teacher was an expert driver, so I learned quickly.
Still, it didn’t come easy.
Driving in Vietnam felt like fighting for your life, especially when you come from a place where you expect rules to protect you.
But then I learned the real rule.
You go with the flow.
Like a sheep in a herd.
There’s a synchronized energy on the road. A rhythm. A collective agreement that somehow works, even when it looks chaotic.
And because the motorbike was automatic, it was simple in a funny way. You just sit and go.
Until the day it almost ended.
One day, another motorbike crossed from a different side of the road and we almost hit each other. We missed by about an inch.
It was an eye-opener.
I remember thinking: if I die here, it’s over.
No license. No insurance. What happens to me?
That moment didn’t make me quit Vietnam.
It made me get serious about my life in it.
I decided to move to an apartment in Tân Bình , just a few walks away from my school.
And that’s when the city started to open.
Walking made me belong
I loved walking to work.
Not because it was romantic.
Because it was real.
I got to see what life looked like at different times of the day.
A busy market that existed only in the morning, then disappeared before noon.
A street that felt like one thing early in the day, then turned into something else by lunchtime.
By noon, it could feel like a coffee shop street.
And I started noticing how many Vietnamese people seemed genuinely happy just sitting with a glass of iced coffee.
My favorite was cà phê sữa đá .
There was something about it that felt like permission.
Permission to slow down.
Permission to be present.
Permission to enjoy a small thing without needing a big reason.
That’s also community.
Not the loud kind.
The everyday kind.
The kind that teaches your nervous system: you’re safe here.
Teaching across ages, levels, and places
My teaching schedule was mixed.
On weekdays, I taught high school students and adults.
On weekends, I taught kids.
And teaching students with zero English was challenging.
It’s humbling to realize how much confidence is tied to language. How frustrating it feels to have thoughts you can’t express.
But when a course ended and a student could finally communicate, even in simple sentences, it was so rewarding.
I also did part-time teaching in coffee shops and smaller language centers.
And I’ll say this honestly: because of my hard work, I was able to fund my travels.
That mattered.
It meant I could explore Vietnam beyond my neighborhood. I could take trips, see the beauty, and keep learning.
I learned Vietnamese words. I tried different local foods. I lived daily Vietnamese life for more than four years.
And the longer I stayed, the clearer the truth became.
Vietnamese are beautiful and nice people.
I didn’t expect to stay that long.
But I think it says a lot about how much I loved Vietnam.
What Vietnam taught me about community
Vietnam taught me that community isn’t always something you “find” all at once.
Sometimes it’s something you build through small returns.
A classroom you show up to.
A neighborhood you walk through.
A coffee you order often enough that it becomes part of your rhythm.
A group of people who help you figure things out before you even know what questions to ask.
If you’re thinking about living abroad, or you’re already in the middle of it, I want you to hear this:
You don’t have to be fearless.
You just have to be willing to keep returning.
That’s how a foreign place becomes livable.
That’s how a new life becomes yours.
The “Return Until You Belong” Framework
If you’re new in a city (or you feel like you’re starting over), try this gentle framework for building community without forcing it.
Pick one anchor place. A language center, cafe, market, gym, coworking space, class, or neighborhood street you can return to.
Return on a simple schedule. Example: three mornings a week, or every weekend.
Practice one small conversation. A greeting, a thank you, a simple question. Confidence comes from repetition.
Let people help you. Ask one practical question a week. Accept guidance without apologizing for needing it.
Track proof of belonging. Write down 3 tiny signs each week: a nod, a smile, someone remembering your order, a student improving.
Belonging is built in the ordinary days, when you keep showing up and the city starts recognizing you back.