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"Empowering children with autism through the transformative power of art"
Hanoi, Vietnam
A Journey to Visit ĐẬU NHÍ Autism Center, Hanoi
April 2, 2024
"May the connections we made today continue to ripple outward – so that art is not only a reflection of beauty, but also a voice of understanding, unity, and hope."
Văn Thuỵ Uyên Trang, Founder, Chairwoman & Head Organizer
Walking through the doors of ĐẬU NHÍ Autism Center, I was welcomed not with words, but with warmth - the kind that quietly embraces you, that lingers like a gentle song even after you’ve left. It wasn’t just a visit. It was a moment suspended in time — where everything softened, slowed, and invited me to simply be.
Here, in this peaceful corner of Hà Nội, I met children whose worlds are often misunderstood - labeled as “different,” when in truth, they are simply more: more curious, more sensitive, more honest in ways we often forget how to be.
What struck me the most wasn’t how they spoke, but how they saw.
Each glance, each hand movement, each spark in their eyes carried meaning. They didn’t rush to impress. They didn’t perform to be accepted. They simply existed, and in doing so, they reminded me that authenticity is its own quiet kind of brilliance.
Their artwork wasn’t just art. It was the truth.
From gentle brushstrokes to bold, chaotic bursts of color, each piece felt like a window into something sacred: a private world made visible. You could sense the care in their choices, not always “perfect,” but intentional. There were no rules, no molds. Just raw, unfiltered expression.
I watched as one child painted with their fingers, swirling colors together not for symmetry, but for feeling. I asked, “Why blue and yellow?” and they simply said, “Because they’re friends.” That simple reply held a kind of wisdom that textbooks will never teach. It reminded me that relationships — with colors, with people, with the world — don’t need explanations to be real. They just need to be felt.
Each interaction carried a subtle tenderness. One child gently touched the fabric of my sleeve, curious about the texture. Another offered me a sticker they had made, not with the expectation of praise, but just because they wanted to share. That sticker is now tucked into my journal, a reminder that small acts of connection are sometimes the loudest declarations of love.
In their world, logic is reimagined:
Leaves can be orange even in summer.
Eyes can be drawn as stars.
Cats can have wings if they want to fly.
There are no boundaries in their imagination, only invitations to see more, feel more, be more.
What society calls “limitations,” I witnessed as layers — rich, intricate, and full of perspective. The children at Dâu Nhí do not flatten themselves to fit our expectations. They expand beyond them. They show us how vast the mind can be when it’s not caged by conformity.
And in the quiet moments, sitting side by side, listening to the hum of the room, watching them create, I found myself unraveling. The noise of the outside world fell away, and what remained was a profound, aching clarity: this is what it means to be human.
To care deeply.
To feel differently.
To exist unapologetically.
To love, not through grand gestures, but through presence.
I left Dâu Nhí with a heart stretched wider, tender and raw in the best way. What I took away wasn’t just admiration for these children, but a renewed reverence for the act of being. Of showing up as yourself, even when the world doesn’t always understand you.
To the children of Đậu Nhí:
Thank you for your grace, your spirit, your art, your stories.
You are more than enough.
You are light in its most honest form.
And I will carry your light with me.
Always.