While watching a music competition, I had barely let my excitement settle after hearing a contestant sing when my husband—working nearby—suddenly asked, "Wait, is that someone from Da Nang?" I nodded, and an indescribable joy welled up inside me. From that moment on, I silently rooted for my fellow townsman, even though we had never met. And what a thrill it was when the young man from Da Nang took home the championship! It’s as simple as that—because he’s from my hometown, I can’t help but feel a sense of pride and affection. That’s all!

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That feeling is just like those moments when, far from home, you suddenly hear the familiar voice of your homeland—an overwhelming mix of joy and longing. At some point, I came to realize that a hometown accent is more than just a familiar sound; it is an invisible thread that anchors the hearts of those who live far away. Like the time I watched Miss Huynh Thi Thanh Thuy proudly call out “Viet Nam” in that distinct Da Nang accent—rich and grounded, yet gentle. My heart tightened with emotion. It wasn’t just the pride of seeing someone from my hometown succeed, but also the fleeting yet profound feeling of being home again, if only for a moment.

Far from home, the sound of one’s hometown becomes a treasured memory, a lingering nostalgia, and a bridge that connects friends. I remember those early days in Ho Chi Minh City—eighteen-year-olds, unfamiliar with regional accents, eagerly asking one another where each voice came from. Our hometown accents became an excuse to start conversations, which, in turn, blossomed into friendships. As I grew older, traveled more, and met more people, I began to recognize the nuances of different accents. And not only did I cherish the sound of my own hometown, but I also came to love the distinct voices of other regions—each carrying its own stories, emotions, and the unique cultural essence of its land.

When the sound of my hometown echoes somewhere, it feels as if my heart beats in harmony with it—suddenly lighter, inexplicably warmer. It could be just a passing remark, a simple call, yet somehow, it reaches deep into my soul. To me, Da Nang is more than just a city; it is the voice of my grandmother telling stories from my childhood, the lively cries of street vendors, the gentle murmur of the Han River at dawn. These sounds have etched themselves into my memory, intertwined with my childhood, and become an inseparable part of who I am.

There was a time when a friend texted me using the words “mo”, “rua”, and it made me laugh with the joy of a child receiving a gift. Jokingly, they said they had been “blended” with a bit of my homeland and were now “half of Da Nang people”. Those seemingly small words carried an entire world of memories, stirring up a flood of tender emotions. Over time, phrases like “mo”, “te”, “rang”, and “rua” became a natural part of our conversations. Some picked them up just for fun, but before they knew it, these words had been woven seamlessly into everyday speech.

Those simple, rustic words suddenly became an invisible bridge, connecting people from different lands. My joy was not just because my hometown dialect was cherished, but because it had become a part of our heartfelt conversations—a thread binding together friends who once seemed to have nothing in common.

On days far from home, nostalgia crashes against my heart like invisible waves. In moments of exhaustion, I find myself yearning to hear the familiar accent of my hometown. My friends from Da Nang , now living in the South, feel the same. We often call each other up and head to Ba Hoa Market (in Tan Binh District, Ho Chi Minh City) to “buy a little bit of Quang accent.” Immersing ourselves in the familiar dialect—rang, te, mo, rua—and blending into the space brimming with the essence of home. We feel reenergized, as if reclaiming a part of our roots amid the drifting days away from our homeland.

The voice of one’s homeland is not just a sound—it is the essence of memory and love. No matter how far we go, it continues to echo in our hearts and serves as a gentle reminder that we once began in a place of peace. No matter how far life takes us, the accent of our roots, the rhythm of our origins, remains within our souls and becomes something that never fades.

Reporting by DUY AN – Translating by HONG VAN