The "grass is greener" syndrome - what are we really looking for?

I have a friend, Peter Dang, who once dreamed of studying in France, imagining himself sipping coffee in Parisian cafes, strolling down cobblestone streets, immersed in a world of art and culture. It was the perfect picture in his mind, a romanticized one sold by movies and social media.

Peaceful streets, beautiful people, a city steeped in history. But after a while, the magic began to wear off. The stunning scenery became ordinary, the unfamiliar streets felt unwelcoming, and every meal reminded him of home. He missed Vietnamese food, the warmth of familiarity, and the sense of belonging. The reality of Paris, though enticing, was not quite the fantasy he had in mind.

Howard Nguyen had a different dream. Before leaving for Australia, he saw it as his ticket to transformation, a place where he would study hard, adopt a healthier lifestyle, and build a successful future. He pictured a structured life with disciplined study routines, nutritious meals, and an active fitness regimen. But like Peter, Howard soon realized that expectations and reality are often worlds apart. The chores were endless. Cooking, laundry, and cleaning ate up time he thought would be spent on academics or recreation. When he got sick, no one checked on him. No one brought him a bowl of soup or reminded him to take his medicine. The independence he had longed for began to resemble isolation. Living abroad, while full of opportunities, presented significant emotional and physical challenges. The life he had envisioned required far more effort than he had anticipated.

As for me? I never felt the same disillusionment. After six years of moving between Vietnam and Australia, I have come to understand one thing. No place is perfect, only a place that suits a particular stage of your life. Each place has its own advantages and challenges. What matters most is whether it suits the person you are at that moment.

Life in Australia, for all its structured beauty, can feel incredibly calm and predictable. The streets are clean, the air is fresh, and there is no honking, no overcrowding, no chaos. The slower pace is sometimes a relief from the frenzy of Vietnam. But with this order comes a certain emotional distance. People are polite but distant. No one stops by unannounced on rainy days or when you are sick. No one insists that you eat more because you "look too thin". You exist in your own bubble, where personal space and stability are abundant, but warmth and human connection can feel scarce.

Vietnam, by contrast, is a world of beautiful chaos. The traffic is maddening, the summer heat unrelenting, and the noise inescapable. Yet there is an undeniable energy. It is a place where food delivery arrives within minutes, where street vendors remember your usual order, where a spontaneous late-night meal with friends is just a phone call away. The human connection is ever-present, and it is that warmth, that sense of being part of something bigger than yourself, that many find irreplaceable. Yes, the crowds and noise can be overwhelming, but they also create a shared experience, a sense of belonging.

Still, there is frustration. I once worked a part-time job in Vietnam and experienced firsthand the staggering wage gap. What I made in an hour in Australia was nearly 20 times what I earned in Vietnam. After a long shift, I would be exhausted, only to find that my earnings barely covered a couple of bubble teas or a modest meal. In Australia, an hour's work bought me a hearty dinner, comfort, and a sense that my time was valued. It made me wonder if staying in Vietnam was a practical choice. The grind felt relentless, and at times the rewards seemed inadequate.

The most profound difference between staying at home and moving abroad is not just the lifestyle, but how it can completely reshape your destiny.

In Vietnam, I know people from privileged backgrounds, children of government officials, heirs to large businesses. At home, they enjoy a life of comfort, influence, and social status. But when they move abroad, they find themselves in a very different reality. Some willingly take on manual jobs, working long hours in restaurants or warehouses, adjusting to a lifestyle they never imagined. Others struggle to reconcile who they were at home with who they must become abroad.

By the same token, some people leave Vietnam and really thrive. They reinvent themselves and seize opportunities that would not have been available to them back home. Some go from relative obscurity to building successful careers or businesses. But then there are those who are stuck in limbo, unable to fully commit to either place. They hesitate, unsure whether to settle abroad or return home. Their indecision prevents them from thriving in either world and leaves them feeling disconnected from both.

Pop culture and the media have conditioned us to believe that happiness lies elsewhere. Vietnamese admire Western lifestyles, imagining that the freedom and individualism portrayed in American movies will solve all their problems. Meanwhile, Westerners romanticize the East, drawn to its deep-rooted traditions, family ties, and sense of belonging. This cycle of cultural yearning leads us to believe that fulfillment lies somewhere else, not in our current reality.

But the truth is that the grass is not always greener. Every place has its own challenges, its own hidden struggles that are not always visible from the outside. What seems like an ideal life from afar often comes with unexpected trade-offs.

To me, it does not really matter. I have come to realize that I can adapt anywhere because I do not expect any place to be perfect. The question is not where you live, but how you live. Do you appreciate what you have or are you always chasing something else? You can be happy anywhere if you learn to embrace change, appreciate your surroundings, and cultivate meaningful experiences.

At the end of the day, whether you are in Vietnam or abroad, the sky remains the same. It all depends on how you choose to make yourself fit.