2,500 Days: What Living in Vietnam as a Taiwanese Expat Taught Me About Careers and Life

When I first arrived in Vietnam, I was only 21 years old. It was 2018, and I was given the opportunity to spend my final year of university interning at a footwear factory. At that age, I didn’t really know where my career anchor lay, nor did I have a clear sense of self-positioning. All I knew was that a broader horizon couldn’t be a bad thing. So, with a mix of youthful curiosity and blind courage, I packed my bags, signed up for the overseas internship program, and later chose to stay on at the factory full-time.

That was the beginning of a journey that would stretch across more than 2,500 days.

Looking back, living as an expat in Vietnam has been a masterclass in resilience, loneliness, and ultimately, self-discovery. This country did not just give me a career; it completely dismantled and rebuilt my understanding of what it means to live a meaningful life.

The Illusion of Upward Mobility: The Hidden Price of “Climbing Higher”

Perhaps because I started my overseas career so early, my growth curve spiked rapidly. By my third year in Vietnam, I had adapted to the chaotic rhythm of the city. However, 2021 brought the pandemic, forcing the global gears to slow down. For the first time, I found myself pausing to ask: What am I really chasing here? What do I actually want for my future?

My life in the footwear factory had been split down the middle: half of it was incredibly fulfilling, and the other half was deeply confusing. On one hand, I was becoming fiercely independent and watching my professional capabilities skyrocket. I also formed deep bonds with a tight-knit circle of fellow Taiwanese expats — friends who became my emotional scaffolding against the acute isolation of living abroad.

But on the other hand, the work was slowly eroding my passion and consuming my sense of self. A chronic shortage of personnel paired with a relentless, unyielding daily overtime routine began to suffocate me. In the beginning, I pushed through on sheer willpower. But eventually, my body and mind began to push back. Every muscle felt perpetually tense, and a heavy, unspoken exhaustion settled deep within me.

Hoping a change of environment would solve the internal stagnation, I took a leap and transitioned into a much larger multinational footwear corporation. I wanted to elevate my professionalism and see how far I could go.

On paper, it looked like a major career win. I was welcomed with a more prestigious title, a higher salary, and a shiny new corporate identity. But with a bigger title came astronomical expectations. I was swallowed by high-intensity development projects, an endless cascade of client meetings, and internal corporate alignments. My life shrank into a relentless loop: opening my eyes to work, grinding through late-night overtime from Monday to Saturday, and more often than not, spending my Sundays inside the factory checking product samples.

Behind the glamorous facade of a successful multinational corporate career, I was drowning in severe burnout. Standing in front of the mirror late at night, I started questioning everything: Am I actually on the right track? Why is it that the higher I climb, the emptier I feel inside?

The Breaking Point and the Escape to the Mist

The hardest part of being an expat isn’t the high-pressure cross-cultural meetings or the complex projects during the day. It’s the silence that greets you afterward. It’s that exact moment when the midnight shift ends, and you take a solitary Grab ride back to your quarters. As the chaotic honking and vibrant energy of Saigon’s daytime traffic fade away, you open the door to a quiet room where the only sound is the monotonous hum of the air conditioner.

After work, I took a Grab home.

In that stillness, a colossal wave of loneliness hits you. You realize that while you have a respectable salary and a title to be proud of, you are still adrift. In this bustling city that doesn’t belong to you, you can’t seem to find an anchor that lets your soul rest securely.

Right before a rare Vietnamese public holiday, sitting at my desk on the verge of an emotional breakdown, a voice inside me whispered: You have to stop.

Without overthinking, I booked a ticket and fled the sweltering heat of the lowlands. I needed a place where work emails couldn’t reach me, a place where I could slow down remember how to breathe.

I chose Dalat.

The moment I stepped off the plane at Lien Khuong Airport, the first breath of crisp, cool mountain air hit my face. It was a sharp, beautiful contrast to the humid, suffocating heat of Ho Chi Minh City. Inexplicably, the heavy, suffocating tightness that had been weighing down my chest for months felt instantly washed clean by that single breath. As the shuttle wound its way up the mountain roads, weaving through dense greenery, the clouds outside mirrored the clearing of my internal landscape. I felt a sense of clarity returning. I was embarking on an unscripted jungle adventure, leaving the noise of the machinery far behind.

Finding a Sanctuary: Mơ Stay — Forest Resort

To truly distance myself from the urban noise, I stayed deep within the mountains at Mơ Stay — Forest Resort

Nestled into the deep woods, the resort is a collection of beautifully crafted wooden cabins that blend seamlessly into the surrounding wilderness. Despite being enveloped by nature, the air inside remained warm and remarkably crisp, devoid of any dampness. But what truly melted my defenses was the warmth of the people; the staff greeted me with a genuine, heartfelt hospitality that felt less like service and more like family. Within hours of arriving, the negative energy I had carried for months felt entirely cleared out.

Before arriving, I worried I might find myself bored with nothing to do. Instead, my days were gently filled with forest hiking, yoga, and mindful handicraft workshops organized by the resort. It became the ultimate sanctuary to simply let go and zone out.

My favorite ritual was the mornings. Every day, I would draw back the curtains to reveal a valley completely submerged in a sea of thick, rolling white mist. It was worlds away from the rushed, sweltering mornings of Saigon. I allowed myself to move in slow motion — taking my time to wash up, brewing a cup of traditional Dalat drip coffee, and just sitting on the wooden balcony, letting my mind drift into the stillness.

In those quiet morning hours, watching the mist slowly dissolve through the pine trees, I found the most intimate connection back to myself. I returned to my core, feeling the rawest, most authentic version of who I am when the corporate titles are stripped away.

The 80% Wisdom: Carrying the Mountain Back to the City

My four-day exploration of the Dalat forest was short, but it rewrote the rules of my life. In the quiet of the woods, I finally learned how to draw a clear, non-negotiable boundary between my work and my existence.

I realized an essential truth: No matter how high you climb, if you lose yourself along the way, none of it matters. If you keep pushing yourself at 100% capacity without pausing, there will come a day when you burn out.

Returning to the reality of my corporate life in Vietnam, I set a new boundary for myself: Aim for 80% at work. This doesn’t mean slacking off; it means executing my job with high professionalism but refusing to sacrifice the entirety of my soul to a company. That remaining 20%? That is my oxygen. I’ve come to understand that without that 20% of blank space, I will eventually suffocate.

Now, I’ve learned to protect my oxygen. I make it a point to schedule at least one day a week to play pickleball with friends, or simply head out into the city alone to indulge in a comforting meal of Taiwanese food that reminds me of home. These small rituals allow me to temporarily suspend the pressures of work, and they have become my absolute best strategy for recharging my battery.

Living in Vietnam for 2,500 days has taught me that career growth is a marathon, not a sprint. And sometimes, the most productive thing you can do for your career is to step off the track, breathe in the mountain air, and remind yourself who you are running for.

Captured this on my very last day in Dalat